While I'm only familiar with maybe two albums of her early work, I often feel alone in thoroughly enjoying the late* PJ Harvey. I frequently return to Stories From the City..., and I thought White Chalk was an interesting departure, but To Bring You My Love failed to draw me in for return listens.

England seems in ways to merge the lo-fi sounds of her earlier albums with the songwriting of the later ones. Harvey retains the upper register vocals from White Chalk, which are not preferable to her assertive voice. Harvey sounds like an elderly woman narrating stories of her youth from her rocking chair on the porch. Perhaps this is what she had intended (having stated that she required a more narrative approach for the songs) but isn't most flattering. Musically, England is positive and quickly placed, each song moving with the drive and rhythm of a freight train on the countryside. The Colour of the Earth ends a little awkwardly, sounding as if there's more to come instead of wrapping things up neatly.

I was not particularly grasped by this. I think she's written better albums, and while I appreciate the positive tone and the rhythm of Let England Shake, I didn't find it particularly memorable. I like to see artists go for changes in their styles, but simply put, PJ Harvey has written better.

If there is one word associated with The National more than any other, it is "grower". This is a term I have disagreed with wholeheartedly, primarily on the basis that the fans who use it are insufferably annoying. By the average National fan's definition of the word, it is flagrantly impossible to enjoy Boxer in full upon the first listen. Whether you have mildly enjoyed it, or suffered a joyous cardiac event in its wake, the ensuing discussion is much the same.

"Boxer is [great/terrible]. I [loved/disliked] it."
"Just wait though, it grows on you."
"Okay, but I already said I [loved/hated] it."
"It's a grower, you'll see."
"For the love of everything sacred, I get it already!"
"Just give it time. You'll see."

...As if Boxer were a seed requiring time and nourishment to germinate into actual enjoyment, and as though National fans have doctorates in botany and only they can comprehend the process.

I have bitterly denied the term "grower" since first discovering the album a year ago, but believe I have finally come to understand what all of this pretentiousness is about. It wasn't until my 2010 year end review that I noticed Boxer had become my most played album of all time. This was genuinely surprising. I had not been conscious of playing it so much, and what was more, it was no older to me than when I first heard it.

There is something about Boxer which is permanent. Comfortable. Routine. It is an album managing to convey feelings of boredom and mediocrity without falling into them. It is both lush and subdued in its instrumentation. Matt Berninger's tired voice and sober lyrics express stagnancy and disenchantment. Boxer is the dark rings around your eyes as you stir in the morning hours. It is the tie you loosen at the end of an eight hour day.

Boxer is a thoughtful album, melancholy and dryly funny, applicable to any emotion or season. This balance has allowed me to enjoy it consistently for longer than any other album. During a turbulent year, Boxer has been a shred of stability. It is an album for all of the compliant, ordinary people. It is the perfect fit.

I still do not believe that Boxer is a "grower" in any sense that can be monitored. You can't count the rings in its bark, or the penciled ticks in the doorway marking its growth. Boxer is unconscious and visceral, a parasite quietly reproducing within your system as you follow your schedule. It is only upon examination that you are made aware of how deeply rooted it has become. It is with this in mind that I must give The National's relentlessly obnoxious fans some due credit. It's not that your enjoyment of Boxer must follow a mathematical incline, but that its personal appeal, subtle and restrained, consumes the listener. Just wait. You'll see.