While the opening song was the same, not much else was. After all, the last time The National came to town (as headliners), they played a sold-out show at the Black Cat. This time, they doubled their audience and packed the 9:30 Club. They even had the entire show simultaneously broadcast on NPR.

What changed? Their most recent effort, Boxer, was released to rave reviews, following up on the heels of the well-received Alligator and its hit single, “Mr. November.” They’ve toured with Arcade Fire. And it’s hard not to notice a band whose singer is a natural baritone. There’s a buzz about The National, and it’s easy to see why.

From the delicate verses of “Start a War” to the dramatic build-up and rock finale of “Baby We’ll Be Fine” and “Apartment Story” through to the hard-charging crowd favorite “Abel,” the band deftly managed to be dark and brooding without being overly depressing. Just when it seemed like the music evoked overwhelming despair (“Mistaken for Strangers,” “Brainy”), the band would manage to incorporate a dramatic hook that provided much-needed musical lift. And unlike their previous headlining show at the Black Cat, the addition of keys and viola (“Ada,” “Daughter of the Soho Riots”) added texture to songs that could otherwise sound thin in a room that size.

While the band’s set suffered a few mid-show lulls, they brought their talent to bear during the closing songs and the encore. In the span of five songs, the band played what could arguably have been their best material — “Fake Empire,” “Mr. November,” “Green Gloves” and “Abel,” in that order. And in a closer that I didn’t recognize, they wrapped it all up in a song that started slowly and ended with a dramatic build-up and caucaphonous finale. (Yes, the guy with the viola did almost seem like he was going smash it.)

The National write great music and put on a compelling live performance. And while many of its fans would rather not see it happen, the next time they come around they might be headlining some place bigger.

Photos by Kyle Gustafson