Digging A Hole With A Touring Band

An interview with guitarist Aaron Dessner of critically renowned rockers The National and a subsequent review of their show at Babylon, December 7th, 2007. It was printed in the January issue of Time Out Istanbul.

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Whenever you travel anywhere, be it drunk on a bus in Europe or across the Bosphorus on a Dolmus you’ve got to refrain from searching for that existential sense of where you are. If anything, you’ll realize how late you might be. But by giving in, you’ll find that you’re doing something. And it could be something important.

This is probably true for moody Brooklyn rockers “The National.” The next gig is always the most important one. Looking back is always fun for a laugh, but as guitarist Aaron Dessner confessed to me from Copenhagen, the road “Seems to stifle creativity.” If that’s the case then the destination becomes paramount when touring. It’s easy to understand why there was a palpable buzz surrounding Babylon on Friday, December 7th a few hours before The National’s debut in Istanbul.

Dessner confessed that “No one wants to hear songs about a band being drunk of a bus in the middle of Europe. With an itinerary, your grasp on what’s important begins to slip. But that being said I think the more touring we do, the better we become as a band.”

I didn’t think to ask him then what’s really important for a touring band. My guess would be that it was the fans waiting outside Babylon more than a few hours before the gig.

If The National encountered any of the traffic that I did coming into Beyoglu, it promised to be an urgent gig. I jumped out of my Dolmus like a jack in the box who’d drank a little too much on the Asian side of the city.

Following a string of critically acclaimed records, the optimistically melancholic sound of these five friends has been lumped in with various other indie heroes, such as Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. What sets them apart is the unassuming manner in which they continue to conduct themselves. As Dessner put it, “We don’t write frilly songs for the sake of frills.” It’s as if their attention is better focused elsewhere, be it the gig in front of them or getting drunk on that bus, wherever it is.

The National didn’t appear to be bursting with ambition as they sauntered on stage nearly an hour late. They were victims of life on the road. Istanbul was their 33rd stop in 38 days. It was up to the eager and loyal fans swelling at Babylon to provide the only cure they could.

They opened with “Start A War,” an acoustically driven debate from “Boxer,” their latest and most relaxed full length. “Walk away now, and you’re gonna start a war” crooned vocalist Matt Berringer. But the fans were screaming “Don’t even think of walking away.” And this was only the first song.

Despite intriguing decor, the stage at Babylon is a small one. The National worked to make the most of it, regularly trading instruments. There were points when touring violinist Padma Newsome stole center stage from Berringer, adding fury and harmony. With such fervor, I don’t know how every one of his strings didn’t fall victim to that fury.
If nothing else, the band is consistent. When describing the recording of “Boxer”, Dessner told me that they “Like to keep things fair. Every instrument gets its due.”

As “Boxer” will be one of those albums that keeps people talking, I wondered how that urgently patient sound came to fruition. Dessner claimed that he had a soft spot for the ugly duckling under a rock. Hard to argue with that.

Visiting a new city rarely allows you to scratch the surface. It’s a shame that the day after the show, the band likely only had time to take in Istiklal Caddesi. This isn’t meant to liken Istanbul’s unknown haunts to ugly ducklings. But if the band likens a woefully righteous tune like “Green Gloves” to an ugly duckling, then they would have enjoyed more than the traditional hot spots in Istanbul. But that’s what guidebooks are for, I suppose.

So how do you scratch the surface of a city? And likewise, how do you see beyond a band that’s on a stage while you’re standing in a pile of cigarette butts? You work harder and make sure you get invited back. Midway through the set, I was wondering if this was going to happen.

With many of the tunes, including fan favourite “Mr. November,” the band ran through the song’s circular patterns with relative ease. It struck me as a bit lackluster.

I forgot that any and all judgment in rock and roll ought to be reserved until after the guitars stop making noise. When the final chorus broke, the band finally overpowered the audience. It was frantic rock and roll. I looked around and saw many a smoke dangling out of open mouths.

Now, on the morning of the show I was left without a ticket into the gig. I was pacing around the city with little to no regard. Though there were more than enough smiling fans milling about Babylon, I was that ugly duckling Dessner so affectionately referred to.

It was hard to come across as an unbiased journalist when speaking to Dessner. After all, I’d gladly be lumped in with those “Loyal fans.” I remember finding their previous album “Alligator” in a dank record store in Poland. I listened to it three times over and nearly missed work that day.

I couldn’t keep struggling with the thought that I wouldn’t be inside that night. I let the band know about my condition. It wasn’t long before I heard back from them. A journalist or not, I was still a fan. And they knew that. Though I was admitted into the show on only a few hours notice, I was still no better or worse than anyone else in the room. I had to do my part just as everyone else would.

“A good show grows” Dessner told me very matter of fact. It began with the wine which Berringer passed out to the front row. Then, sometime during the encore, vocalist Matt Berringer hopped into the crowd to sing a few verses. Realizing he couldn’t get a word in edgewise he took to a lectern stage left. He’d managed to escape the intensity the crowd had created and shout back at them.

Due to the band’s tight schedule it was likely they didn’t see much of Istanbul during their first day in the city. Their first impression must have been those fans up front. I suppose that wine was well deserved. It was sweet, as was the sentiment from the fans.

Sensing some timing and occasion, the crowd begged the band to play “Karen,” a tune Berringer claimed to be “Too painful to play. Not emotionally of course. It’d just be painful for you guys to hear.” But the front row was relentless. They drew smiles from most of the band. Berringer offered a mild “You guys are very commandeering. I like it.” This only added fuel to a growing fire. The night had grown; it was a teenager, upset with his pre-determined surroundings and clamoring for something more.

The National are as strangely compelling as Istanbul itself. As you move from track to track, tram stop to roasted chestnut stand it’s easy to find yourself swallowed whole. After listening to “Boxer,” you’re left wondering if you even feel like pulling yourself out of the hole that’s been dug.

Maybe one day that teenager will throw on “Boxer” and dig themselves a hole, searching for their memories of the show at the bottom somewhere. But The National will likely still be on the road. And hopefully both parties will stop and remember that the only way to get out is to learn your surroundings and learn how to use them to your advantage. Though anyone at the gig will tell you that The National visited a city worth discovering. And I’m sure that’ll mean another visit to Istanbul from the band sometime soon.

You should never stop and take stock, sure. But you should always question your motives. As the show drew to a close, Berringer told the crowd that the band had the next 24 hours in Istanbul to do as they pleased. “What should we do in Istanbul?” he asked us. More cheers and various suggestions. But really, what should any of us do?