Interpol - Turn On TheBright Lights

Fri 3rd Dec, 2004 in Music Reviews

In a post-Strokes world, when everyone was wetting their pants over snappy songs, sharp riffs, and disheveled indie boys, Interpol quietly released their debut, Turn On The Bright Lights. The well manicured four-piece from NYC made an album that didn’t offer the instant gratification of 3-minute pop songs that the ‘The’ bands were pedaling. Instead, all who bought the album had to let it stew for a while, and two years later obsessive fans, critical acclaim and a host imitators are what Interpol enjoy.

Untitled opens the album by means of introduction, an almost-instrumental with glimmering guitars and a steady thud. Follower Obstacle 1, the song everyone freaks out to at indie discos everywhere, is an urgent, meticulously arranged piece with the schizophrenic pleadings of singer Paul Banks about ‘stabbing yourself in the neck’. Such random lyrics are plentiful, Banks preferring to shroud his dark ruminations in obscurity.

When he sings ‘subway she is a porno’ in NYC, you’re either going to scratch your chin and chew on it for a couple of hours, or scoff and its ridiculousness. Whichever you do, you cannot deny the tranquil beauty of the song, as the chords caress like hushed tones in a church. The intensity of PDA is next, with a monotone Banks banging on about ‘200 couches’ as drummer Sam Fogarino thrashes out disco beats.

Say Hello To The Angels is probably the most upbeat song on the album – it swings with a bashful smile before a guitar breakdown heightens the urgency. Of course, Interpol are not known for upbeat; ‘dark’, ‘sombre’, and ‘Joy Division’ are often the terms bandied about when one is in conversation about the band. All three can be used abundantly when discussing Obstacle 2, an angsty, bass-heavy, emotion charged tune.

It is the strength of its parts which sets Bright Lights apart. All four members of the band have very definite ideas about what their contribution to the sound is, and so in each bassline, each melody, each drum sequence, each chord progression, you will hear the idiosyncrasies of each member, each strong in their own right. No clearer is this than on Stella Was A Diver And She Was Always Down, a soaring, desperate tune, laden with despair.

Follower Roland is a menacing three minutes of murderous intent, with the industrial clang of guitars and the seductive growl of ‘c’mon, c’mon pussycat’ of Banks. After that The New sounds positively romantic, as guitars chime in and Banks sings yearningly, ‘I can’t pretend I don’t need to defend some part of me from you’. But then everything drops out and the song spirals into paranoia, a dizzy fall into the subconscious.

The sensual allure of Leif Erikson is warm like the hold of a lover, a simmering bed of guitars and keys as Banks intones, ‘she says I’m just prey for the female; well then hook me up and throw me babycakes, cos I like to get hooked’. Closer Specialist is a seven minute epic opus, with brooding bass and Bank’s soft coos.

Unlike the the brash rush of New Rock that emerged, Interpol’s Bright Lights had to sit with you and age, like a fine wine, before the nuances of each song revealed themselves. And in that process the strength of the seductive moodiness of the band enticed many. And even persuaded a few to carefully comb their hair, dust off that black tailored suit, and polish those shoes – who new rock could look so good?