The truth of the matter is, between Barnett mimicking Vile’s fingerpicking flightiness and Vile imitating Barnett’s laidback chordal quirkiness, it sounds like the artists don’t want to be known for what they do.
That creature is Robert Plant. In the water is Dreamland. As record, it is a question. As an answer, it is a word: yes.
Remembering the first time the heart skipped a beat may pose a challenge. But remembering the first time the xx induced my heart to swallow itself whole? Not a damn problem.
2017 was a miserable year.
Why you may ask? Because here I am, making a freaking listicle. Laugh it up fuzzballs.
The National finds themselves in that same dreamy, melancholic space—but holy hell if the music is qualifiedly defined and easy to spot.
When the music talks, the body responds.
My god, I want to give them the record Close to the Edge just to stir the band’s brain cells. Because they’re on that iron cliff between thrilling and boring progressive rock. They have the magnetic talent to stay on the safe side.