Review: Interpol, self-titled.


With very fond memories of Turn on the Bright Lights and Antics, and a strong will to forgive them for Our Love to Admire, I was really excited to pick up Interpol’s new, self-titled album.

The first time round, this album had me deeply disenchanted. Speculating that perhaps Interpol have been consuming too many pheromones in their tea (see film clip for ‘Lights’), I gave it a second chance.

Although a couple of tracks do save Interpol’s keister, said tracks all seem to be concentrated in the first half of the album. It’s like going to the pub with some friends; the start of the evening features captivating conversation topics like if zombies ever need condiments, or the inevitable “what does it all mean?” philosophical musing. Copious amounts of alcohol later and BAM! Everyone’s digressed in to insipid ramblings. Or maybe that’s just my experience?

Analogies aside, this album seems contrived and lackluster. To his credit, Paul Banks still has a way with peculiar lyrics, but not one track truly stands out, nor do any of them even come close to the brilliance that is Interpol’s early work.

Sadly, this must be what Interpol- throwing- in –the- towel sounds like.

– Sophie.


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