The National @ Le Zénith, Paris

As he introduces "I Need My Girl," Matt Berninger recalls The National's first Paris appearance, a December 2002 show at La Guinguette Pirate, the now-defunct barge moored on the Seine that could accommodate only a couple hundred people. Twenty-two years later, the band stands before nearly 7,000 fans at a nearly sold-out Zénith. The distance between those two rooms tells part of the story, but not all of it. The National's rise has never been meteoric. It has been gradual, patient and built one record, one tour and one audience at a time.

Their latest album, Laugh Track, released only months after its companion piece First Two Pages of Frankenstein, finds a band that continues to evolve without abandoning its identity. The alt-country traces and Americana leanings that once prompted comparisons to Wilco have long since dissolved into something more difficult to categorize. The National thrives on contradictions: the music is introspective yet expansive, meticulously constructed yet emotionally immediate, capable of filling large venues without sacrificing intimacy.

Those qualities become even more apparent on stage. Berninger remains a fascinating frontman, alternating between awkwardness and charisma, often wandering into the crowd to blur the distinction between performer and audience. Around him, the Dessner brothers construct intricate networks of guitar lines that are simultaneously melodic and abstract. Just as important are the contributions of the rhythm section, keyboards and brass, all of which remain essential to the band's sound. In an era where many acts rely heavily on pre-recorded elements, there is something satisfying about hearing such a densely layered catalogue recreated by musicians playing every note in real time.

Across twenty-six songs and more than two hours, The National demonstrates the breadth of a catalogue that has grown steadily richer over the past two decades. Older favourites coexist comfortably with newer material, and the audience embraces both with equal enthusiasm. The atmosphere throughout the evening is striking. Thousands of people sing along to songs built around anxiety, uncertainty, longing and self-doubt, somehow transforming private concerns into a collective experience.

In that respect, The National occasionally evokes Bruce Springsteen. Not because the music sounds similar, and certainly not because the presentation relies on the same kind of showmanship. The connection lies elsewhere. Both artists have a remarkable ability to make deeply personal songs feel communal. Springsteen achieves it through extroversion and directness. The National arrives at a similar destination through introspection, ambiguity and understatement. Standing in the Zénith tonight, it is difficult not to be impressed by how naturally that connection forms between the band and its audience.

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