Indie rockers The Kickback come to MOTR Pub in Over-the-Rhine tonight for a free show. The band formed just a few years ago in Chicago, where brothers Danny (drums) and Billy (vocals/guitar) had relocated from South Dakota. So far, the band has put out just one release — the Kill Fee EP, a mix of live and studio cuts — but its shimmering, winding brand of Indie Pop is said to really come alive on stage; The Kickback's live show has been lauded by The Chicago Sun-Times and other outlets for its explosiveness, while Rolling Stone, You Ain't No Picasso and other pro listeners have heaped praise on Kill Fee. Fans of The Walkmen, The Strokes, French Kicks and Pomegranates will delight in The Kickback's slanted but rocking style. The Yugos (MOTR's Artist in Residency for October) also perform.

Here's Kill Fee's great track, "Sting's Teacher Years."


• Over in Northside at Mayday, another Brooklyn Indie Pop favorite, "Dream Pop" duo Savoir Adore, headlines a free, 9 p.m. show tonight with guests, Canada's Royal Canoe and Chicago's Santah. Savoir Adore's latest, Our Nature, was released just last week and features a mix of ’80s-flavored Pop, decorated with danceable rhythms, male/female vocal tradeoffs, Electro elements, dreamy atmospherics, twinkly guitar and slinky melodies.

Give a listen to Our Nature in full here and check out the video for "Empire of Light" below.

Saturday night at Northside's Mayday is the debut of the Cincy Psych Fest, a multi-band event inspired by the popular Austin Psych Fest, a six-year-old event that showcases the current state of Psychedelic/Garage Rock and Pop, led by artists like The Black Angels, The Warlocks and Dead Meadow.  

The Cincy Psych Fest is the brain child of Laura Dolan, Laura Skaggs and creative local commercial arts enterprise We Have Become Vikings. The team has assembled a great first-year lineup of national, regional and local acts inspired by the sounds of ’60s Psychedelia and Garage. The fest will present bands on Mayday’s indoor stage as well as on an outdoor, second-floor stage. Tickets are $10 (advanced ones are available through ticketfly.com here) and the fest begins at 6 p.m.

Here are some samples from the various artists. Click the band name for more info on each.

The People’s Temple (Lansing, Mich.)


Mondo Drag (Davenport, Iowa)


Outer Minds (Chicago)


Heaven’s Gateway Drugs (Ft. Wayne, Ind.)


Sisters of Your Sunshine Vapor (Detroit)


Here are the Cincinnati bands on the bill:
The Harlequins


Ohio Knife


Cincy newcomers Children of The Emerald Fire (featuring fest organizer Laura Dolan and an all-star local music crew featuring former members of Pernicious Knifs, The High & Low and many other local groups) are also performing, as is The Tongue & Lips:


Adding to the trip will be DJ Blythe Shadburn and Doctor Robert’s Ocular Odyssey‘s Psychedelic Light Show.

Find info on all of the performers and more at cincypsychfest.com.

Boston’s Barrence Whitfield & the Savages have returned to Cincinnati in a big way this week. The R&B/Soul-rockin’ crew has several local ties, including employing prolific locally-based drummer Andy Jody on the skins. The group also features Peter Greenberg of pioneering Boston band DMZ (as well as The Lyres) and groundbreaking Cincy Garage rockers The Customs (fellow Custom Jim Cole records with the band but doesn’t play live). The Savages recorded two albums in the ’80s; their 1985 Rounder Records release, Dig Yourself, was their last until the group's recent reunion activities.  

"I met Peter at The Customs reunion in 2008, drummed for them the following year, which led to him contacting me to record Savage Kings upon the reformation of the original Savages," Jody says about his initiation into the band.

The Savages are in town to record a new album, returning to Ultrasuede studios, where they recorded Savage Kings.

"We decided to record here, partly logistics and partly in tribute to King Records," Jody says, "and it was the same studio where The Customs cut (their trademark tune) 'Long Gone.' "

Last night, Whitfield & the Savages debuted some of the new material at Shake It Records. Shake It, the label, released the Savage Kings in the States; The Customs' "Long Gone" single was the first release on the Shake It imprint.

The Savages will be warming up for recording this weekend with a two-night stand (Friday and Saturday) at The Comet in Northside. Both shows are free and kick of at 10 p.m. (Friday a DJ warms things up and Saturday Customs-inspired local rockers The Long Gones fittingly open the show).  Click here for more info on the band. Below is a live clip filmed in Paris last year.



And here's a clip (with performances and interviews) from the band's earlier days when they were featured on the BBC.

Experimental Indie/Art Pop/Hip Hop band Why? performs its first local show since the release of the group's stellar fourth studio album, Mumps, etc., earlier this month. The band — which helped build the awesome Anticon label — plays downtown tonight at the Contemporary Arts Center for an 8 p.m., all-ages show. Tickets are $14. After tonight’s show, Why? gets back on the road for a tour that’ll take them all over the U.S., then overseas for dates in Prague, Croatia, Italy, Germany and Israel, among other countries.

Here's a great music video for the Mumps track "Strawberries," filmed in Northside during the most recent 4th of July parade. The vid was directed by Scott Fredette (an accomplished video artist and also a founder of Indie Pop foursome Culture Queer) and Alex Parks.



The band members also participated in a series of videos about the making of a Why? documentary by "DIY filmmaker Gerrek Reid," aka hilarious Cincinnati native and on-the-rise L.A. comedian Andre Hyland. Check the very entertaining and often hysterically funny "Documenting WHY?" web series below.

UPDATE: Tonight's CAC concert is SOLD OUT.

The music of one of Cincinnati’s all-time greatest musical exports, The Afghan Whigs, hit me at precisely the right time. 

As a child, the music of The Beatles, The Rolling Stones and The Who tattooed itself on to my DNA, while my high school years found me becoming obsessed with College Rock, Punk, Hip Hop and Hard Rock. 

But The Afghan Whigs were my “coming-of-age” soundtrack — from (approximately) the ages of 20-27 — and, like those childhood musical heroes, their music has never left me. 

Those years were pivotal in my growth as a human being. In that brief span, I was a raging alcoholic, a one-step-from-the-gutter junkie and a newlywed — at least for a few years all at once — with a handful of relationships that played themselves out painfully woven in between, followed by the “light” that comes with sobriety and clarity.

I can’t remember exactly the first time I heard The Afghan Whigs. I knew of them right after high school by seeing their names on fliers for shows at bars I wasn’t old enough to get into. But once I finally got my hands on the band’s debut for SubPop, Up In It, in 1990, I was hooked.

While the music on Up In It still gives me a jolt every time I listen, the songs (save “You My Flower”) never became as emotionally resonant as 1992’s Congregation, 1993’s Gentlemen and 1996’s Black Love would prove to be for me. 

The sound of the Whigs’ music was the perfect transition for me from favorites like Dinosaur Jr., The Replacements and Husker Du. But there was an aura in the Whigs’ music that those groups were never capable of invoking. And originality — no one before or since has conjured the magical abstract-art guitar squiggles Whigs guitarist Rick McCollum has churned out and John Curley is one of the “Alt Rock” revolution’s most distinctive bassists, with his sublime mix of melody, feel and sheer propulsiveness. Original drummer Steve Earle also had a trademark sound in his playing, a flurry of Hard Rock bluster and shuffling dance rhythms.

Together with the hearty, evocative songwriting, The Afghan Whigs always had something more — an air of mystique and a sound beyond the trends — than their late ’80s SubPop peers, not to mention their ’90s Alternative Nation breakthrough cohorts. 

I got lost in the dark corners and ominous shadows of the music, as well as its manic moments of pure, jubilant uplift and smothering, inescapable sadness. And I soon began to pick up on the words of frontman Greg Dulli, which have repeatedly given me those moments every deep music lover has where they’re almost freaked out by how closely the lyrics mirror their own feelings and experiences.

Dulli’s lyrics were raw, clever, poetic and brutally honest “love songs.” It was the brutal honesty of his poetry about relationships that led to a still ongoing belief by detractors that Dulli is a misogynistic asshole. But I never got that vibe, even when the lyrics (always taken out of context when used against him) skewed that way, like on Gentlemen’s “Be Sweet,” where Dulli croons,“Ladies, let me tell you about myself/I got a dick for a brain/And my brain is gonna sell my ass to you/Now I'm OK, but in time I'll find I'm stuck/'Cause she wants love and I still want to fuck”

Some find Dulli’s swaggering “lothario” persona onstage off-putting and such lyrics crude, sexist, deplorable. I find them a relevant part of the story and character development, but also a realistic portrayal of a virile young man’s mental process. Dismissing Dulli’s words because you find them dick-ish or “sexist” just seems disingenuous. Men are assholes sometimes. And they can realize that in themselves. And women can be assholes, too. 

When I met my current longtime partner, she was as obsessed with Liz Phair’s music as I was The Afghan Whigs’, which made me draw some parallels between the two. She loved Liz Phair for the same reason I loved the Whigs — their music spoke directly to us and was dazzling in its self-awareness and rare candor.

It should be noted that I really love Liz Phair’s first album (the main one she built her legend upon, Exile in Guyville), but my girlfriend merely seems to tolerate my affinity for the Whigs. Still, The Afghan Whigs have tons of female fans, some who just love the sound of the band, some who appreciate the quality writing and musicianship, some who find Dulli’s honesty sexy and some who find the man himself a hunk among hunks. There are usually an equal amount of male and females in an Afghan Whigs audience. 

Dulli’s lyrics have a personal, intimate style, like something being revealed to you in a whisper or drunken yowl in the backroom of a speakeasy, which might be why most of his critics fail to consider the possibility of a non-autobiographical “narrator.” 

What Dulli’s lyrics offered to me was something I hadn’t heard before, and it all goes back to that brutal honesty. He was presenting a more complete and complex picture of love, one that admitted mistakes, wielded vitriol like a sword, cranked up the self-deprecation, wallowed in sex, drugs and misery and held on to the hope and promise that love first presents. The Whigs’ connections to classic Soul music isn’t just in the sound or beats; that lyrical description could also be about Marvin Gaye or any number of great vintage Blues and Soul artists.

Dulli sings about the emotional ups and downs a man in, out or around love feels. And his honesty made a lot of uptight people (and men trying to seem “femi-sensitive”) uncomfortable. It’s sort of like a non-ridiculous version of Howard Stern’s “He says the things we all think and feel but can’t say ourselves!” Like Charles Bukowski and Henry Miller, Dulli never ran his insight through a PC filter — he just ran it out, filter-less.

I can be masochistic in my listening habits, cuing up songs that are painful in their reminder of darker times or clinging to them during fresh, new depressing moments. But I’ve also listened to the Whigs while elated and ready to celebrate. Though I don’t have the same visceral response to the Whigs’ more upbeat “party” anthems (particularly on the band’s swan song, 1965), I’ve grown to love them almost as much.

During dysfunctional moments in love affairs, with my issues with drugs and alcohol, Gentlemen’s “Fountain and Fairfax” — with it’s lines like “Let me drink, let me tie off/I'm really slobbering now” — stung. But it was a good sting, like a shot of whiskey. Songs like these, the ones that echoed my weird, nihilistic feelings of “fuck it all,” helped me realize I wasn’t totally insane. Or at least I wasn’t the only one who was trying to understand and deal with this insanity.

Black Love closer “Faded” has been an anthem for many breakups, the Purple Rain-sway giving me the same kind of chills Wendy and Lisa get in the Prince movie when he plays the title track for the first time. And whenever my longtime battle with depression has led me to suicidal thoughts in my life, “Crime Scene (Part One),” the numb, opening salvo on the Whigs noir, emotionally-wrenching masterpiece Black Love, starts running through my brain: “Tonight, tonight I say goodbye/To everyone who loves me/Stick it to my enemies, tonight/Then I disappear.”

More than once, it’s brought me to tears and squashed all suicidal thoughts — thinking of saying goodbye to everyone who loves you is sometimes all it takes.

As I eventually got my shit together, getting off the hard drugs and managing my alcohol intake, another Whigs’ song would haunt me, but this time in a purely reassuring way. I’ve used a “program” called Rational Recovery to help me stay off of drugs and alcohol and the essence of the system is mental cognizance — being able to recognize when your mind and body are trying to get you to drink or do drugs. You turn this “feeling” into a physical thing and name it. I suppose it could be named anything, but I’ve gone with “The Beast,” per the suggestion of the Rational Recovery book. 

It sounds silly, but merely saying in my head, “That’s The Beast,” has worked wonders for me staying sober. I eventually started to cling to a line from The Afghan Whigs’ single “Debonair” from Gentlemen: “Once again the monster speaks/Reveals his face and searches for release.” It so perfectly matches my “sobriety mantra” and mental ritual, I’ve considered having it tattooed on my arm. 

I’m fairly certain that I would’ve become a huge Afghan Whigs fan if I wasn’t from Cincinnati. Even before I found a way to make a living from writing about music from the area, I loved “homegrown” music and never saw it as simply “local music.” But being able to see the Whigs in concert dozens of times, venues big and small, all over the region, including a few epic holiday shows and a couple of “secret” warm-up shows the band would sneak in before hitting the road — that certainly helped their “favorite band” status in my mind. 

The Whigs have long been a phenomenal live band. Musically, it’s always been a tight but ragged glory. But Dulli is one of the most entertaining, funniest banterers in the history of Rock & Roll. His mid-set chats (formerly trademark “smoke breaks,” though Greg is now apparently a non-smoker) were like an edgy, fired-up stand-up comedian going into the audience for some “Hey, where you from?” volleying. But in Dulli’s case, it was usually a time to talk musical tastes, new bands, maybe throw out some humorous sports commentary, playfully taunting every other person in the venue. It was loose, like party chatter, and I always found it an hysterical highlight of every Whigs show. Comedy and music are my two favorite things in the world and the Whigs usually delivered both in concert.

The band members were a few years older than me, so there was a sense of awe early on when seeing them around town. When a band I was in was playing at Sudsy Malone’s in the early ’90s, it would be a total mind-fuck to hear a Whigs member was in the crowd. Especially because I’d taken to listening to the band’s music so much, almost everything I played for a long time was informed by the Whigs. (Big C chords with a suspended 7 or mere C to E-minor chord progressions are classic early Whigs’ motifs.) 

I’m far from the only local musician from the’90s (and likely beyond) inspired by the Whigs’ music, but there was another kind of inspiration during that era when all of the band members were out and about in Cincinnati. The Whigs’ “fuck it, let’s just go do this” ambition, just getting in the van and going, actually worked. That gave a lot of musicians hope that they could be heard outside of city limits even if they were from Cincinnati. But, unlike in Seattle, where there were several groups with similar sounds rising simultaneously, the Whigs were too unique to copy to the point where a label might sign a “soundalike” band. It’s what’s great about Cincinnati music — the lack of a unifying sound as a result of artists trying to make their own unique thing. 

The Whigs were even involved in starting my career — the very first review of any piece of art I ever wrote was a take on the band’s Congregation album for a features/criticism class I took at the University of Cincinnati. (I remember getting a pretty high grade and thinking, “I got this.”) Once I’d decided I wanted to write about music full-time, I accepted an internship in New York City. Driving over the hills into New York City, the Whigs’ remix of “Miles Iz Ded” called “Rebirth of the Cool” came on some random NY/NJ-area radio station. It made me feel like I was on the right track.

Gradually, I’d meet all of the members out and about, and each had that Midwestern down-to-earthness that it usually takes outsiders to point out.  

Well, I’d meet every member except Mr. Dulli. During the peak Whigs years, Dulli seemed especially sensitive to negative press, reportedly calling out (or just calling up) writers who’d say sometimes legit, sometimes stupid things about him or his band. I was a mentally unstable substance abuser who, for reasons I don’t completely remember or understand, added a couple of dumb barbs about the band into my column or elsewhere in CityBeat over the course of a few years. They weren’t especially harsh, save for one aside where I mentioned (jokingly) that a rumor was suggesting Dulli had developed a massive bourbon habit and gained 500 lbs (or something equally outrageous). It was stupid and baseless and, given his family lives in the area and might read it (this was pre-internet-is-everywhere), he had every right to be angered by my youthful idiocy. If you’re reading this, Greg, I apologize. It was another lesson in growing the fuck up, courtesy of The Afghan Whigs. 

I came to despise that sort of trashy journalism but, in a cruel twist of fate, baseless gossip websites might just be the only job I’ll be able to get one day given the state of newspapers.

In response to my bad-taste alcoholic/obesity sentence, I received a fax (a fax!) from Dulli’s publicist saying the Greg was challenging me to an AIDS test. I’m still not totally sure why, though I think it was either a comment on my taste in women or my IV drug problem at the time. I was flummoxed. Embarrassed. Ashamed. Confused. Then tickled. “Greg Dulli knows who I am?” (Then ashamed again: “One of my musical heroes hates me.”)

That how much I love Dulli and his musical partners’ output — he might’ve strangled me with his bare hands if we ran into each other at a bar and I would’ve been all, “He touched me!” 

Many of Dulli’s more direct peers from the Cincinnati area who were around when the Whigs were coming up don’t seem to have a very positive opinion of the man, but I’ve always taken their shots at him with a grain of salt. There might have been some jealousy or maybe Greg really was an asshole in his mid-20s. I can relate. There are so many stories and legends about Dulli’s personal life and actions during his time in Cincy as the Whigs were taking off, he’s like an urban Rock Star Davy Crocket. 

None of it has ever changed how I listen to the Whigs’ music. To this day, when I’ve been in a relationship in turmoil or crumbling apart, I still think to myself, “My life is becoming an Afghan Whigs song again.” And I know there will be some emotional pain and probably a few bad decisions involved, but it’s at least going to be an interesting ride. The one that never ends. 

EDITOR’S NOTE: Marcus Mitchell, aka local Hip Hop artist and inspiration Skandal Da Ruckus Man, passed away this week after a battle with leukemia. In tribute, here is an interview with Marcus from March 2005, written by CityBeat contributor Mildred C. Fallen, from our archives. Check next week’s issue of CityBeat for more remembrances of the fallen Cincinnati music supahero.

To dub Marcus D. Mitchell a “big man” doesn’t necessarily state the obvious. In some cultures, “big man” also translates as a local personality who speaks on behalf of his people, commences rituals and parleys with other “big men.” And facing foes, big men fight for honor.

In 2000, Mitchell, better known as Skandal (or Skandal Da Ruckus Man), flew to New York to freestyle on BET’s 106 and Park and contended with other unsigned MCs on HBO’s Blaze Battle. Today, the self-described juggernaut of Supapowers has been reincarnated as an industry ghost writer and producer after someone attempted to rob him of his ambition last spring.

While he was away, thieves carted away his studio equipment and masters. Although his property never resurfaced, he feels he knew the thief’s motive.

“Damn monkeys!” he declares, still affected. “Whoever stole it was doing it to get at me personally, because they didn’t touch anything else in the house, not even money. It was Easter Sunday, at that! Man, they know they goin’ to hell!”

Depressed and unable to produce tracks or record vocals, Skandal bounced back after supportive colleagues bartered their efforts.

“A lot of cats just saw the opportunity (to barter) and was like, ‘You ain’t got no equipment? Man, I been wantin' to do beats with you for years,’ ” he says.

Producers Fame and DJ Scott pitched in and donated many of the tracks heard on Vet Game, his first in a series of mixtape compilations to be distributed through the internet. Presented by Hall of Justice Entertainment and co-sponsored by Supapowers cohorts CJ the Cynic and Da Kid, Vet Game tongue-lashes antagonists, reprimands local radio and guides listeners of a tour of the Queen City, pointing out its idiosyncrasies.

Rounding out the compilation are appearances from Trina Holidai and Michelle Hollis, Piakan, Science, Donte (of Mood), Hi-Tek and J-Wiz.

“As far as the bangers, look for ‘Get Stole On’ and ‘Spell My Name Right,’ both produced by DJ Scott. ‘The Wrong Nigga’ talks about the break-in on Easter, when I was at Mom’s gate eating a plate,” he says. Thunderous vocals set violators straight as they detonate: “Y’all ain’t do nothin’ but put Skan/Back to ’96 with the hunger pangs.”

Reloading, “The Big Payback” unflinchingly fires direct hits at local black radio and venue promoters for lack of support. On the other hand, he shouts out Big Kap of New York’s influential station, Hot 97, for giving “For the Queen” 30 spins in a week, and says the exposure opened doors for him to sell songs to other artists, which subsidized his upcoming CD, Vigilante World.

“People don’t understand; you’ve got to invest in yourself before that big record deal comes,” he explains.

“For the Queen” traces Skandal’s roots back to Woodward High School “Bomb Show” performances and huddling in rhyme-ciphers against out-of-towners on Fountain Square.

“Before all the fightin’ and shootin’ started, we defended this city against all outsiders,” he says. “It was like something out of the movie Highlander.

“(Cincinnati) always had a beast,” he continues, naming warriors who fell into obscurity. “Regan used to be the most feared in a MC battle; he passed the torch to me and Clips (J-Wiz). Now Ill Poetic is the beast.”

“I used to really, really admire (Skandal),” says Ill Poetic, a solo artist and half of the duo Definition. He met Skandal following the Blaze Battle. “He was battling at Top Cat’s and I was amazed that Zone (the other half of Definition) knew him. He was just one of those people I kept hearing about.”

Although the HBO Blaze Battle episodes are available on DVD, Skandal laments, “Ain’t no honor in battling anymore, so now songwriting is where it’s at. There’s money in it. Cats who are known for their battle rep often aren’t known for making hit records.”

Skandal hopes his upcoming release, Vigilante World, will change that.

“I got the formula,” he says. “The problem is that nobody is rockin’ the (Hip Hop) heads and the streets at the same time. There’s nothing wrong with making good music that people who don’t make music can jam to.”

Having hosted local battles, he observes that today too many MCs lack originality and rely on trading insults to win battles.

“(There) was a time when you could murder ‘em with style,” he says. “Now, you only get response from the crowd when you say a punch-line, which is what I don’t like about battling anymore."

Skandal cites crowd-judged battles and MCs who deliver pre-written raps as the demise of the art form. He also emphasizes that styles differ from region to region.

“A lot of New York rappers spit written (verses) in battles and call it a ‘freestyle.’ And in the Midwest we call freestyling right off the top of the head,” he explains. “We used to listen to the New York style, not knowin’ they was spittin’ writtens in a freestyle, and we thought New York was just ‘cold wit’ it’ off the head.”

But since New York MCs assumed the precedent for battling, Skandal says he and his friends used New York as a benchmark in the beginning until they crafted their own niche.

Endearingly, he refers to his friends Supapowers as “stand-up guys I’d take a bullet for.” But of everyone, his mother is his best friend.

“She gives me an insight to things that you can only get from experience. I’m a true mama’s boy and if anybody got anything to say about it, come holla at me,” he says.

His weightiest ambition is to appeal to the female market and he’s slimming down because he feels that MCs like Notorious B.I.G., Big Punisher and Heavy D were merely lucky to be seen as sexy.

“They were rarities,” Skandal says. “When you’re fat, I don’t give a fuck, people are biased. I wanna have the whole package, not just the skills. I wanna have the whole market on lock.”

"ATTN: Biggest bummer post-summer? Our grand opening weekend has been postponed. This weekend’s shows have to be delayed due to a few last minute construction challenges.

We are completely committed to opening the right way to make your experience the best it can be. We just can't in good conscious present anything below the very best.

Says Morrella: “We are sorry to have to delay sharing this magical venue with the music fans of the area, but our first concern will always be to make sure that it is safe and ready for public occupation. The City of Newport, our wonderful construction crews and crew of volunteers have all been working very hard to make this happen. We thank them so much. We look forward to seeing everyone next weekend for CincyPunk Fest. We will announce rescheduled dates for these shows very soon.”

Anyone who had pre-purchased tickets for this weekend’s dates may be issued a refund through ticketfly.com or may hold on to their original tickets for the soon to be announced rescheduled dates"

The National’s set was evidently well thought-out, opening with the powerful "Mistaken for Strangers," with the vocals and drums seemingly soaring through the theater.  If you haven’t had a chance to catch a show at Emery Theatre (my first experience was last week), you should certainly make that a priority. The theater, coupled with a band like the National, truly makes for an unforgettable experience. The venue alone creates a sense of intimacy between audience and act, something that is usually sacrificed to see your favorite bands.

From the very start of the set, the audience was completely engaged with the boys on stage, bursting into cheers and applause at the every songs beginning and end (and even during songs at times). The only drawback for me was the fact that Matt Berninger would simply not let me forget that the show was political. It seemed as if in between every song some sort of Democratic rhetoric (not that the other side’s rhetorical strategies are any better) was interjected.  Something about the importance of voting, or how privileged we are, which is somewhat obnoxious at that point. It’s highly doubtful that anybody was suddenly converted by The National, and even more so that anyone in attendance last night was slightest bit unsure about their vote.

I suppose that’s mostly my fault, though — I should expect such from a campaign concert.

All that aside, the audience was left in a state of bliss by the concert's end, as The National closed out their set with an unplugged version "Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks." Earlier in the night, I had spoken to a friend who had said the venue was acoustically pure, meaning that even without any sort of amplification, the sound would still resonate throughout the entire theater — and he couldn’t be more right. The sound was not hindered in any way (I was a few rows back) and it carried through the historic site as if I was the only one there. The closer truly unified the entire show into a ecstatic experience that I will certainly not forget. 

Click here for more photos from the concert.