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Interpol 'Antics'

added 17 September 2004 at 17.44

First off, there’s no need to start off this review with a synopsis of how Interpol are pioneering the nu-goth movement, so we won’t. It’s been done everywhere else. And it’s fucking boring. Let’s leave that for the wunderbores. No, instead of plotting the timeline from the first time Robert Smith caked himself in too much eyeliner, we’ll start off from that most important of times – now.

Interpol have made the album of the year. Better, even, than their out-of-nowhere debut. Because Interpol are unashamedly now, and if you don’t like them, it’s you who’s the retro gimp-monkey, not them. This review isn’t going to tell you any of the bad bits about ‘Antics’. Because there aren’t any.

Interpol are all about simplicity; the suave, dapper suits reflect the control of their music, the cold, detached stares in press shots reflect their taut rigidity. They’re cool about being serious and serious about being cool. If you get off on The Libs fucking up their songs in a haze of drunken bum notes, then you won’t like Interpol. In the world of the ‘Pol, perfection gleams out from every angle. It’s never polished, though; nothing on ‘Antics’ is swept under the carpet of a giant mixing desk, instead, every instrument is meticulously mixed into a battle of attention-grabbing dynamics.

The ‘hold it off, hold it off’ pricktease goes on all the way though ‘Antics’, but you always get the payoff. Discounting first track ‘Next Exit’, a poor cousin of anything on ‘Turn On The Bright Lights’ (hey, we got carried away in that first paragraph), everything here is a lesson in the power of subtlety. There’s nothing as immediately blood-rushing as ‘PDA’ or ‘Obstacle #1’, but the consideration makes for an extendedly enthralling listen. On ‘Turn On…’, ‘Evil’ would’ve been loud and brash, dispensing itself in a series of schizoid sneers, but here it’s a calculated and withdrawn rock song, not imposing itself fully until the blazing, ballsy final chorus.

‘Narc’ follows in the same he’s-a-psycho-but-we-never-knew-it manner, Paul Banks’ and Daniel Kessler’s angular guitar lines eyeballing each other whilst Carlos D and Sam Fogarino struggle relentlessly to contain the beast. ‘Take You On A Cruise’ is possibly the best thing they’ve done, a stop-start, night-time fairytale, where Carlos D’s valium-disco basslines inject vibrancy into comatose, swooping guitars and where Banks is at his most oblique: “Timeless like a broken watch/I make money like Fred Astaire”. Banks is like an evil Michael Stipe, possibly aware that only bands reaching the peak of their powers get away with lines like that.

But ‘Antics’ isn’t the sound of  a band getting away with it, it’s the sound of a band setting the standard, the sound of a band whose obsession with getting it right is resulting in song after song of sonic bliss. Obsess and be obsessed.

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