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By virtue of their frontman, The National have always claimed their musical ancestry in the likes Hüsker Dü and The Smiths, from namechecking Bona Drag and The Cramps to all but inhaling the melodic smoke trails of Meet Me In The Bathroom-era New York of the late 1990s. If the Cincinnati rockers came to embody the self-loathing hangover and betterment rituals of the city’s debauchery – they, the future sonic librarians circling the buffet at the Plant Records afterparty – LNZNDRF swap...