Released on their own Brassland label, few people heard early albums "The National" or "Sad Songs for Dirty Lover," but those that did found a lot to like in the brothers' Leonard Cohen by way of Uncle Tupelo hybrid of alt-country and sad indie-leaning chamber pop.
Then "Alligator" garnered critical raves and a touring spot with Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. Jettisoning their alt-country influences, The National had finally crafted a sound of their own, a brooding, nourish brand of pulsing drums, sparkling pianos and taut, anthemic guitars, flanked by Berninger's haunting, drunken baritone.
"Boxer" is arguably their finest work yet. More piano-based and somber than "Alligator," the record might lack a hay-maker like its predecessor's "Mr. November," but over the course of 42 minutes, it lands a consistent flurry of jabs and body-blows to bowl over even the most reluctant listener.
As for the lyrics, Berninger has retained his penchant for non-sequiters, commencing stand-out track, "Guest Room" with "they're going to send us to prison for jerks." In general, "Boxer" finds Berninger turning inwards, with lyrics more personal than anything he's previously done.
12 tracks of beautiful but somber meditations, "Boxer" is ideal late night/last call listening. It's the kind of record that ushers you out into the street, head ringing, vision blurred, soul rambling. Call Don King, these guys are ready for pay-per-view.
