See? I'm not too old to go to shows on Wednesday nights. I may be old enough that I have to cut out before the encore, but I still made it out. So: the National. There are fewer songs prettier than "Wasp Nest" and "All the Wine," and you know what? They work live. Like firearms. And as a whole, the show was pretty great, with the live versions of songs from Alligator absolutely killing the studio versions. They alternately reached heights of beauty that most of the audience didn't deserve^* and occasionally fell into monotony. So God Bless the National.

Baby Dayliner, on the other hand, was an absolute trainwreck of metrosexuality and irony. One guy, dressed up, crooning along to karaoke. It actually forced me to the downstairs bar, where I lost a dollar on pinball due to an improperly repaired bumper. So you owe me a dollar, Baby Dayliner; I'll spot you the 35 minutes I'll never get back.

^*Seriously, why the fuck do you people drag yourselves out to the Black Cat on a cold night to spend $12 on a ticket and drink overpriced beer just to talk over the band? I know I'm broken-recording it here, but Shut. The. Fuck. Up.