Interpol "Antics" (Matador Records)
Sounds Like: More of the same B+
"Turn on the Bright Lights" primed Interpol for stardom. Not since the Cure and the Smiths have dismal, disheartening atmospherics been juxtaposed with pop music for the masses.
Paul Banks would serve as the tortured frontman in a custom-tailored suit and Prada loafers, while bassist Carlos D would serve as their very own Crispin Glover. Daniel Kessler was the mad scientist, oddly detached from the monster he created, and Sam Fogarino was the 55-year-old trying his damnedest to make people think he's 35 (sort of what Joey Fatone is to *NSYNC). These fortunate sons would make the Strokes look like gutter-punks.
Personalities aside, the debut was mesmerizing. The result: "Turn on the Bright Lights" would outsell ethereal rock's flagship record, "Loveless," by My Bloody Valentine.
So when Interpol was faced with the hurdle of recording a sophomore LP, there were a plethora of possibilities. Would "Antics" be more experimental, more poppy, more danceable, darker, more abstract, more abrasive or more electronic? Would they retreat to Morocco and make their "Think Tank"? Would they fly to Abbey Road Studio One and experiment with grandiose orchestral arrangements?
The answer is no across the board. "Antics" paves no new roads, investigates no new direction and, most notably, takes no risks whatsoever. Familiar sounds are the result of familiar environment, and that is Interpol's return to Tarquin Studios in Bridgeport, Conn.
Lyrics have never been Interpol's strong suit. In 2002, when asked about Bank's libretto, Carlos D told Left of the Dial Magazine, "I was never big on lyrics. Why not go read a poem instead?" He has a point. If you're looking for double entendre, lines like "her stories are boring and stuff" or "we have 200 couches" just won't cut it.
Naturally, "Antics" would get the same treatment. "Time is like a broken watch / And make money like Fred Astaire" Banks drones on "Take You on a Cruise." (For more of Banks' trademark vague and opaque parallels on time, see "Public Pervert" and "Leif Erikson.") "Not Even Jail" suffers from the pen the most. "You're making people's lives feel less private," he whines. Yeah, because being in a successful rock band is like, so inconvenient.
"Evil" is "Antics" most memorable track, with infectious lead bass, the precise absence of guitar pre-chorus and its sparse inclusion (for Interpol standards) only to leave an opportune aperture for its return (listen to the mandolin-like riffage that kicks in at 1:18). "But hey, who's on trial?" asks Banks. Interpol is. And a disappointing sophomore outing would prove these guys as just another marginal band from New York City.
But the democracy of Interpol is stronger than ever; no particular instrument is in the background or foreground, no member predominantly outshines; concurrently, no one is held back. Banks's low croon (which has aged as more Michael Stipe and less Ian Curtis), Carlos D's intricate and convoluted bass lines (seemingly unrelated to what his bandmates are playing), Daniel Kessler's counterpoint riffs and Sam Fogarino's manic but calculated drumming comprise the ideal band. Interpol has no leaders and has no followers. (Except maybe that lackey they take on the road to play keyboards.)
The biggest fault with "Antics" is that as the album progresses, it proves to be tired and formulaic. So is "more of the same" a bad thing? It depends whether listeners want progress, or they want a band that chooses to revolve instead of evolve. Jean-Michel Basquiat's nom de graffiti, SAMO, comes to mind - meaning "the same old shit." And that's exactly what "Antics" is.
