The National: Gloomy … with a Hint of Sunshine

IT WAS PAST SIX in the morning, in the bar of Bono's hotel in Dublin. The members of the National and REM were seated around a table. Michael Stipe, loose with whiskey, was in the mood to offer his friends in the cult Brooklyn band, whose records tend to the lugubrious and melancholy, some advice. "Why don't you guys just write a pop song? What are you afraid of? Don't be embarrassed."