4Q Magazine

Interpol - Interpol (Review)

by James Carney on 18.09.10


Interpol
(2010, Matador)

Since the release of Turn on the Bright Lights, one of the most critically acclaimed records of the early 2000s, Interpol have been on a steady decline. Nothing they’ve released has been outright terrible, but nothing moved with the same sense of purpose. As much as the Interpol backstory pollutes any reading of a new release, and asking for another Bright Lights would be tantamount to asking for another Is This It, the questions raised by Interpol still linger on how it stands in regard to their debut; whether or not Interpol is a return to form, a metamorphosis, a reinvention, an admission of mediocrity, or a petrified recoil.

For a start, the record invites a wealth of preconceptions being a mid-career eponymous record; the classic signifier of big statement with a capital BS. This is on top of the return to minimalist cover art, after Our Love to Admire’s shocking explosion of colour and carnivore. The record is more “cinematic” than previous Interpol; it feels darker, more resigned, and some people will surely fall over themselves in praise of ‘Barricade’ as vintage Interpol. It isn’t, and it shouldn’t be; it simply picks up the pace a little more than the rest of the record. ‘Lights’, the dramatic centrepiece feels, like much of the record, terribly laboured, although ‘Summer Well’ has enough vitality to carry the weight of its themes. It’s less oppressive than the tracks the precede it, and the delicate melodic elements deliver the punch effectively.

Interpol focuses on texture and depth over hooks even more so than its predecessor, but dive too deep and you’ll split your head open. The texture is something of a porcelain and chromium membrane; our aesthetic to admire. If Joy Division’s Closer was a theatrical testament to despair and ruin; Interpol is theatrical testament to creative catatonia. It’s not that the record borders on self-parody; it encases an idea of the look of the Interpol sound. Sometimes an idea or hook surfaces that captures this essences and the turmoil is quite compelling, if a little disturbing and perhaps not always the way the band intended.

Interpol is plagued with lethargy and inertia that more often depict a worn out band than the concept of being worn out, but there is something to be said for the polished, cinematic professionalism on display through its sterility. It’s a slight departure from, and slightly better than Our Love to Admire.

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