The Brudenell Social Club, already a hallowed haunt for indie royalty, played host to a night that veered somewhere between spoken-word therapy, stand-up special, and dad-at-the-wedding dancefloor chaos as Matt Berninger took to the stage for what some whispered was his first proper solo show—others insist it was the second, but who’s counting when the moves are this questionable and the vibes this good?
From the off, the crowd were reverent. A week after witnessing Manchester play unwilling host to a David Gray crowd more invested in their pints than “Babylon,” tonight’s audience brought hush and heart. Even during the lush, hazy dreamscapes of support act Ronboy, not a murmur, not a phone screen in sight. They were here for Matt—and Matt delivered, in that wry, broken baritone kind of way. For Matt’s first true solo outing, it felt more like a family gathering than a debut. “It’s nice to see so many familiar faces,” he smiled, and it was clear—The National’s fan base doesn’t just run deep, it travels well too.
We’re only just meeting Get Sunk, Berninger’s upcoming solo record, but after tonight it already feels like an old friend—the kind who stays over uninvited, drinks all your wine, and still makes you miss them when they leave. The crowd, wrapped in the intimacy of newness, leaned in for every word. Opening the night with “Inland Ocean”, the first track from Get Sunk, felt immediately right—as if to say this is where the journey begins, deep in the murky waters of self-reflection, with all of Berninger’s usual traits of bruised humour, tender introspection and lyrical sleight of hand.
“Breaking Into Acting” conjured a character so clear you could picture them instantly—someone we all now feel no more than two degrees of separation from. It was a stand-out of the night, one of those songs that quietly followed us into the next day, lodged in memory with a lyric or two looping like a secret. Odd, funny, strangely moving—very Matt.
“Silver Jeep,” meanwhile, was another memorable nerve—rattling, romantic drama and carried by a very National-ish hook that clung to the air long after the final note. The duet with Ronboy added warmth and weight, a smoky tension threaded with playfulness that perfectly balanced Berninger’s vocal weariness. It felt both familiar and freshly alive.
Berninger, ever the reluctant clown, peppered the night with asides and winks. One surreal highlight saw him FaceTime collaborator Mike Brewer—and his parrot—mid-set. This is the duality of Matt: heartbreak served with a side of absurdity. He took visible joy in crediting the tapestry of collaborators woven into both Serpentine Prison and Get Sunk. Long-time collaborator, therapist and songwriter Sean O’Brien was on stage throughout, and Matt made sure he got credit for every song he had a hand in—and, it turns out, one or two he didn’t. The moment got a laugh, but also said a lot about the generosity behind the chaos.
It’s hard not to reflect on how Serpentine Prison, as thoughtful and delicately arranged as it is, never had the chance to breathe in the live setting. Released into the vacuum of lockdown, it was a record quietly adored but rarely experienced communally. Tonight changed that. Hearing those songs in the same room where breath, bass and body collide brought them to life in a way headphones never could. And yet, it’s the Get Sunk material that benefits from this moment most. These songs were born for the stage. They’ve arrived with a pulse, with punctuating gestures, with shared silence. That difference was felt in every bar. The new material breathes easier, alive with the charge of connection.
“Bonnet of Pins,” the lead single from Get Sunk, hit like a slow-building wave—one of those songs that sneaks up on you and suddenly you’re humming it the next morning while making toast. It’s classic Berninger: a little brooding, a little beautiful, and full of lines that sound like they were scribbled at closing time. It didn’t try too hard, and that’s what made it land.
“Silver Springs”—not a Fleetwood Mac cover, Matt is keen to point out as he introduced it with a grin, admitting he’s only recently realised his habit of accidentally naming songs after existing mega-hits. As if to prove the point and with perfect comedic timing, he followed it with a track called “Let It Be” (definitely not that one), and later rolled out “Little by Little,” keeping the trend alive. Whether it’s subconscious homage or just a Berninger brain blip, the titles sparked chuckles, especially when he acknowledged the madness of it all mid-set. A little levity, a lot of heart—classic Matt.
We came curious, left converted. Matt Berninger in solo mode isn’t just the frontman gone rogue—he’s a storyteller freed from anthems, willing to let the silence between words say as much as the verses themselves. And in the snug belly of the Brudenell, with a crowd that actually listens, every note mattered.
Closer “Times of Difficulty” left a lasting mark, the kind of song that sends you back to the merch table (there wasn’t one, our wallet let out a sign of relief) hoping the vinyl’s already out. It featured some vintage Berninger lines—“I’ll think of you, if you think of me, in times of difficulty”—simple but devastating in that way he does best. It touched on loneliness, on being weathered by life, on getting drunk and getting sunk, without ever overreaching. A quiet anthem for the slightly battered, it’s one we can’t wait to hear again the moment it’s released.
Whatever Get Sunk turns out to be on record, it already lives large in Leeds. A remarkable night from a remarkable voice—still finding new ways to sing about the things that hurt, and somehow make it feel like grace.
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