The National @ Electric Ballroom, Camden, London

Packed out with thousands of bearded men on the verge of weeping, there is nowhere warmer in London tonight. The National are one of those obscurely big bands – iceberg-like, if you will – poking above the mainstream line of successful recognition, while below culminates a mass of word-of-mouth fandom and solidly crafted adoration.

Fortunately tonight they reward their fans with a tasteful blend of old and new; where the entirety of new album High Violet is played and somehow neatly rubs shoulders with those pre-ordained tear testers. ‘Anyone’s Ghost’ creeps in on hardened guitar lines, whereas the double-delight of ‘Slow Show’ and ‘Mistaken For Strangers’ prove a pair of succinct high and low in reverse order.

‘Bloodbuzz Ohio’ gets the first of the raised voices in the crowd, appreciative rather than aggrieved and Matt Berninger seems to spend an eternity clasping the upright mic with eyes firmly shut. His romantic soul isn’t lost by the middle of the set either, claiming: “singing songs about things that make you feel down can make you feel up; that’s my science lesson”, before falling soft into what he calls the celebratory ‘Sorrow’ with it’s brushes of strings and piano.

Almost going unnoticed, a brass section is tucked into the right pocket of the stage and make their presence known for a gently enveloping ‘Conversation 16’. The mood so far has been one of contemplation, mostly instilled by Berninger’s vocal it must be said. But as the cracks appear in that – they’re magestic, fully intended cracks – ‘Abel’ becomes a rebellious chant with drum fractions that sees the beardy gathering breaking out of their watery-eyed daze. There’s even a pop at political irony, with a passing “good luck for tomorrow” given.

This creates an unprecedented joyful encore, whose sombre start of ‘Fake Empire’ is hardly a send off; but, fortunately Berninger diving into the audience for ‘Terrible Love’ and losing the woodiness of his vocal for a more throaty rendition of “it takes an ocean not to break,” is just the ticket. While the plaid shirted grown boys may not be the empirical army, they are certainly part of an on-wardly growing loyal legion.