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Beards are once again à la mode in the world of indie rock, it would seem. Either that, or we’ve just stumbled into Manchester’s annual Cider & Potatoes convention.
The bespectacled mêlée being herded into the Manchester Academy are actually fans of Brooklyn’s The National.
Arguably the most critically-acclaimed American indie rock exports of 2010, the band are in the middle of a sold-out tour to promote their fourth long player High Violet.
Clearly in a jovial mood, they follow brooding, Interpol-esque opener Mistaken For Strangers by deflecting hecklers and imploring them not to stab each other.
The gallows humour is typical of the band. Much of their material deals with themes of depression, apathy and sexual awkwardness.
Singer Matt Berninger, usually renowned for his deep, rumbling baritone, chooses to yelp the lyrics of Squalor Victoria like a dog that’s caught its balls in a mousetrap.
It’s perhaps symptomatic of a man who, though often serenely poetic, has a tendency to fall off his hinges every so often.
Despite having songs whose lyrical content veers towards the top end of the blub-ometer, they seem well-aware of the trappings of bumming out a boozed-up capacity crowd. To that end, they keep it upbeat for as long as possible.
An “old, fun song” Lit Up is the perfect tonic to warm the crowd on a cold November night and the refrain “I still owe money to the money to the money I owe” in Bloodbuzz Ohio gets the most rousing sing-along of the night.
No amount of positivity, however, can prepare this hyped-up audience for Sorrow, an emotional car crash of a song from High Violet.
The lyrics “cover me in rag and bones and sympathy, ‘cos I don’t wanna get over you” make it an absolute sob-fest. Even for the bearded ones.
The band return for a five-song encore which ends in the most unexpected and beautiful way, but not before Berninger gets to throw himself into opposite ends of the crowd for the final two choruses of Mr. November, disappearing under a sea of mostly male admirers.
This is a noteworthy point – while Berninger’s unique blend of sensitivity and darkness makes him instantly adorable to the female contingent, the songs succinctly capture the pressure of being a mid-30s male trying to hold the fraying strands of his life together.
With Berninger now back on stage and looking slightly spaced by the ordeal, one of the guitarists (who have been as vocal as their frontman during the gig) politely asks the audience to be completely silent.
It’s an incredibly ambitious feat, but they manage to play a final song, Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks, completely acoustically.
For the first time tonight, and for no other reason than that they have to be, the assembled are near-perfect in volume and pitch.
Berninger stands at the front of the stage, hands humbly clasped, like a proud choirmaster as the lyric “all the very best of us string ourselves up for love” hangs gracefully in the air.