By: David Schultz

When you come across an unyieldingly vocal crowd that can’t contain their raucous cheering while providing an endless barrage of applause between songs, you can rest assured that the band pretty much killed. What about when none of the above occurs? In the case of The National, one of the blogosphere’s most beloved artists, it means they transcended the norm. For their Saturday night show at the recently opened Music Hall of Williamsburg, the hipster crowd remained respectfully quiet while The National played, savoring every note. It was such a curious response that lead singer Matt Berninger commented that a little noise would be acceptable. Hardly a poor reflection, the unusual stillness was simply the residual effect of The National’s singularly captivating nature.

Originally from Cincinnati, Ohio, The National, like many others indie-rockers, now call Brooklyn their home. After opening Terminal 5, New York City’s newest venue, The National capped off their six week U.S. tour with a pair of sold-out shows in their adopted hometown. A fantastic venue, Williamsburg’s Music Hall is architecturally similar to New York City’s Bowery Ballroom only roomier and more modern; the somewhat stylish surroundings perfectly suiting the elegant nature of The National’s subdued repertoire.

A bit of a family act, two pairs of brothers call The National their own, Aaron and Bryce Dessner and Bryan and Scott Devendorf. Along with the Berninger and Padma Newsome, who augmented the band’s live sound with keyboards and violin, The National make an unassuming lot, hardly looking like one of the most talked about and beloved indie bands. Rather, they look like they just wandered out of the audience, picked up the instruments that just happened to be on stage and instinctively knew how to enthrall the audience.

The National’s deadpan cool and magisterial sound begins with their singer. The lanky Berninger sings with a calming baritone that wavers between Leonard Cohen panache and Eighties New Wave detachment. He creates such a soothing vibe that when he lets loose, screaming “my mind’s not right” on the opening screams of “Abel” or barking out the chorus of “Mr. November,” the effect is no less than jarring. The two Dessners and Scott Devendorf continuously switched off between guitar and bass, selflessly and anonymously creating the band’s hypnotic melodies, patiently drawing out the mounting tension of the songs. Even those that never move from the slow boil, like “Racing Like A Pro,” simmer nicely.

An added bonus for the evening, Elvis Perkins offered a nice opening set, his rambunctious folk-rock a fine prelude for The National’s moody offerings. After starting with “Santa Clara,” a song they claimed they had never played live before, The National spent the next ninety minutes touching on finer moments from Boxer like “Mistaken For Strangers,” “Apartment Story” and “Slow Show” as well as “Secret Meeting,” “Looking For Astronauts” and “Daughter Of The Soho Riots” from Alligator, their 2005 breakthrough album. With the audience calling for it, singer Marla Hanson and a two piece horn section assisted in an encore closing tear through “Fake Empire.”

Before the instrumental flurry that closes their heavily downloaded hit, the crowd softly crooned the chorus along with Berninger. As they did so, the inaptness of the song became apparent: despite the late hour, no one was half awake and the empire The National are creating is anything but fake.