Five Shows In Two Weeks

The National at Prospect Park, July 27

I can't figure out where the voice of The National's lead singer Matt Berninger comes from. He isn't a big guy. Certainly, his body isn't big enough to contain that delicious, warm, large voice. As he sang lyrics like "I was afraid/I'd eat your/brains" and "I'm sorry I missed you/I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain" (which latter would make an excellent corporate voicemail greeting) at the Prospect Park Bandshell, I came to this conclusion: There are, in fact, more than three dimensions, and in the fourth and fifth dimensions, Berninger is a giant.

This show was perfect in every way: relaxed crowd, pleasant evening, a local band - most of them apparently walked to the show - that knew their crowd. As they introduced their song "The Geese of Beverly Road," there was a dedication to the poor geese formerly of Prospect Park. And I'm still trying to figure out where the Veil of Cashmere is.

Morning Benders/Black Keys at Central Park, July 28

I don't quite get what all the fuss about the Black Keys is about. Yes, they're a good blues band, and I'd like to see them in a tiny, dim, smoky bar while licking BBQ sauce off my fingers and maybe have a conversation with the drummer at the bar later. But the sort of God-like status they've achieved in certain circles is beyond me, and this show did nothing to change this. Perhaps I need to become a boy in my early 20s and grow my hair down to my shoulders and wear a headband to truly understand.

The Morning Benders, on the other hand, were quite precious. "Promises" may be my favorite song of the year.

The Swell Season at Prospect Park, July 30

This free show was incredibly packed, so much so that I wound up outside the fence listening to it after deciding I didn't feel like defending my square patch of land within the fence with my fists. Which was fine: there was a nice picnic, and some annoying dogs, to add atmosphere. This is another band that I don't quite get the popularity of (yeah yeah cute little indie movie whatever yeah), but my night was made when they rocked out with a couple of Frames songs.

Basia Bulat/Tune-Yards/St. Vincent at Central Park, Aug. 1

Basia Bulat was adorable in an all-over-the-place kind of way, and she brought a little bounce to everything she played, including a cover of an incredibly depressing song called, appropriately enough, "I'm So Depressed," by Abner Jay, which was my favorite thing she did (thank you, YouTube taper - awesome video).



St. Vincent was the opposite: technically on point, but chilly to the point of alienating the crowd. There are few things that turn me off to music more than a band that doesn't look like it's having fun, and her band looked like they would rather have been chewing nails.

The highlight of this show, though, was Tune-Yards. Merrill Garbus was a hoot, with her amazing, warbling voice that she loops back on itself infinitely, and her multi-piece brass section that she brought special for the show. Here is a woman who knows how to get the audience involved, forcing us all at one point to do a gleeful shout-out to her Grandpa Lou. And when she bellowed "Grr-ah, grr-ah, we all fall DOOOOOWNN," I had the feeling that here was a star in the making.

The Dead Weather at Prospect Park, Aug. 3

The Dead Weather was so good they were able to overcome the distractions created by an obnoxious crowd that included a man who spilled at least two beers on me and a group of boys who decided to dance a poor version of Hava Nagila while we waited for the encore ("this is what they do in Brooklyn, right?" one of them said, accidentally kicking me). Oh, Jack White and Alison Mosshart, what I endure to experience your rock-star-god auras, completed by blowtorches on stage and stuffed rams heads, or something, mounted on the speakers.

They played all the big, bad, roaring anthems in epic style, but surprisingly, it was the impossibly sexy, sultry, sung-into-one-mike duet, "Will There Be Enough Water," a song I hadn't paid much attention to previously, that left me completely floored. Somebody videotaped it. Bless you, somebody.