Lately I’ve been trawling through The National’s back catalogue. In the wake of the release of High Violet, I wanted to see how the band has developed over their five album history (verdict – someone is feeling anxious (spiders, ghosts, fear and sorrow) and isolated, and wants to get away from it all. But it still sounds beautiful, and brooding, and melancholy – all my favourite things).

My first introduction to The National was 2004′s Cherry Tree ep, and I was immediately hooked on Matt Berninger’s moody rendering of alcohol-soaked tales of bravado and lust (‘I’m put together beautifully, big wet bottle in my fist, big red rose in my teeth, I’m a perfect piece of ass, like every Californian, so tall I take over the trees, with high beams shining out my back, a wing span unbelievable…‘). This was during the halcyon days of my eMusic subscription (yes, that’s how long ago it was, back when eMusic actually offered a decent deal) so I was immediately able to get everything The National had ever even thought about releasing onto my (even then ancient) ipod. Their self-titled debut struck me as patchy with moments of greatness, but with a promise of greater things and already hinting at the elegance and clarity that came later in Boxer and Alligator.

It’s been a while since I really listened to their self-titled debut, and after a period of self-imposed absence from their albums (even I, the obsessive listener, realise that too many listens eventually wears down even the most amazing song), I’ve come back to them. I put on Pay For Me last night and remembered all over again how much I love this song, even if it does channel Son Volt a little too readily.