Band of Brothers: The National

Originally from Ohio, now Brooklyn-based, The National have become one of this year's hot musical exports from The Big Apple. With their third and latest album, 'Alligator', the five-piece seem to have perfected a literate style of New York song writing: wised up, reflective, sad, emphatic, sexy, awkwardly tender, at times funny. Gigwise succumbs to the friendly, self-deprecating charm of the band's engaging front man and lyricist, Matt Berninger, and one of their guitarists, the articulate, gentle Aaron Dessner, and learns about moments of crossroads and the dangers lurking behind the closed doors of impulse.

Though the musical cognoscenti tipped their second album, 'Sad Songs For Dirty Lovers', as one of the records of 2003, it's only since 'Alligator' that people in and outside the US have at last woken up to The National's sublime, urban sound.

Matt seems at first rather bemused. "We were always operating in the shadows of The Strokes and Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Interpol. Now, after three records, people are saying we're one of the hottest New York bands," he says in his attractively husky voice. "Most people think this is our first record. It's the first record they're hearing. But," he's obviously flattered, "it's exciting to have people finally paying attention."

Aged between 29 and 34, The National are not the slickly styled New York outfit you might expect. In fact, they dress unpretentiously casually, even on stage.

We meet on a sunny, warm November day in London at their record company, Beggars Banquet. It's midday, though it has the feel of early morning hours. Matt - slim, tall, blonde, sharp blue eyes -, and Aaron - dark wavy hair, dimpled smile, striking chin -, are wrapped in layers of shirts, jumpers and jackets, steaming coffees in hand.

Sitting now in what could size-wise qualify as Beggar's Banquet's conference room, the place is furnished with wooden classroom tables plastered with hundreds of stickers. A nosy air con hums happily in the background.

Aaron says with 'Alligator' the band has matured. It's a record brimming with a lush, decadent, vivid, orchestrated sound, augmented by song arrangements by their musical collaborator and effective sixth member, Padma Newsome. There are fun rock songs, and there are beautiful, quiet moments.

Having given up their day jobs to concentrate on the record, the result is a more cohesive product than their previous albums, Aaron reflects. "I love our first three albums, but I love 'Alligator' the most. We achieved something that makes sense as a whole. We spent a lot of time working on how things fit together, with the drum beat, the bass, and took it more as a unit."

What sets them apart is that this five-piece is linked by a genuine bond, which materialises in the intimate, intricate way they play together and their intuitive sense of timing. Knowing each other from back home and accommodating two sets of brothers, Aaron says, "Bryce is my twin brother. We grew up playing music together, and you definitely hear it in the guitar playing - often we both play finger style, and there's a lot of interlocking patterns. On 'Looking for Astronauts' one guitar's playing half as fast than the other - it's like falling in between each other. This very balanced brotherly thing is happening, and I think Scott (bass, guitars) and Brian (drums) play in a similar way."

"There's a real trust," Aaron warmly enthuses. "We're very collaborative, and because it's Matt and two sets of brothers, we're very comfortable supporting him. You spend time with people - everybody insults each other once in a while. But the biggest thing is we get along very well and musically there's a lot of chemistry."

You get a real sense for that in their shows, where the stage bursts with an enviable energy centring around their front man's compelling performance. His body tensing up, clutching the mike, crooning 'Baby, We'll Be Fine'. Or he wanders the stage, biting his knuckles, curling up, settling within the circle of brothers. "I shut off and get inside the songs and try to pretend I'm singing in my living room along with the stereo," says Matt. 

"Some people say I look like I'm...," Aaron searches, "... not shy, but not very extroverted. But then something's been happening," Aaron says with a startling serenity. "People have started to respond, and sometimes I feel like I'm coming out of my shell."

Stemming from Matt Berninger's early fascination with the city, most of the songs take place in New York, which he fondly describes as a lyrical muse. "Growing up in Ohio, I built a fantasy of the city. The unreal, fictionalised version's always haunting the real New York in my brain. It's a bizarre, wonderful and terrifying place. It changes so much, it's hard to get a grasp on it. I'm obsessed with it."

Does he have a message? "Ahm...," Matt rubs his chin. "The songs don't preach. They're just little scenes," and getting assistance from his graceful hands, "common human little moments, unresolved little awkward issues that bug me."