The joke was seeing The National, with their pitch-perfect songs of apartment-sized intimacy, playing to Los Angeles’ spacious Wiltern Theatre. The punchline is that it worked; that every song the band played exploded with catharsis rather than implode quietly like the chapters of their albums. And all of it loops back to the simple, comforting fact that a band writing great songs will be successful regardless of hype or history. But first:

Albums like Boxer can transcend the normal rituals of fandom—sing-alongs, scribbled lyrics on notebook margins, t-shirts and trivia—and becomes something like autobiography. Not in a narrative or even emotional sense, but as a sonic document; singer Matt Berninger’s non-sequitors are beautifully rooted in lucid images, rich details and colloquial language all obviously culled from personal experience. It just as easily could be you, right now.

They’re a band who spread via word-of-mouth; I remember reports from their infamous headlining-but-not-really 2005 tour with hot-hot-hot Clap Your Hands Say Yeah; it almost sounded like people were trying to out-hype CYHSY by showing love for the National. Then one friend played me “Secret Meeting” from Alligator, and its confounding, astonishing climax slayed me.

Boxer is an album of textures; many songs begin with nothing but a frayed, repeated guitar tone (“Brainy” or the slight buzz of “Apartment Story”) or drummer Bryan Devendorf’s mind-blowing drumming patterns. It’s fitting that his snares and rhythms serve the same function as each song’s guitar, each instrument’s sound serving as the iconic entry point for the ensuing gem.

The band played nearly all of Boxer and most of the key tracks from Alligator. Every song played like the album up to their minor moments before exploding; the band fills the stage nicely with six people and the dynamic presence of lanky multi-instrumentalist Padma Newsom gave the rock some teeth. Berninger behaved like his song’s narrators, cupping the mic, beating it rhythmically and alternately standing still and moving restlessly around the stage. The most glaring omission was Boxer‘s magical “Guest Room” and its sublime guitar climax; it was, however, ably replaced by “About Today,” the standout track from the Cherry Tree EP.

That song closed the regulation set, and while the band captured the song’s bedside intimacy, they also pounded it out amid shrieking guitars, flashing lights, and Berninger’s indifferent rage. Also incredible was “Slow Show,” about as perfectly constructed as songs go, played here in several speeds that stretched and slowed the song in new ways (check the Daytrotter mp3 for an approximation).

It was crowded, and if I wasn’t lamely passive-aggressive to the point that I consider muttering a complaint to myself akin to a punch in the face, I might have asked that trio of girls behind me swinging their drinks and babbling about what they’ll wear to next week’s Girl Talk show to pipe down (“indie” is the new “alternative,” indeed). But in the same way the guitar of “Green Gloves” methodically builds a wall before washing it down with the turning tide of Newsome’s keyboard and some well-chosen chords, the inconvenience of this band’s popularity is moot. Albums as singular and perfect as Boxer only walk around the block a few times, and any chance to share this music is golden.

The National Official Site