Interpol at Radio City Music Hall by Matthew Eisman
This is going to be a new, regular-ish feature. Looking back at some great albums from 2002 (heck may even go back to 1992), TheMusic.FM is going to engage in commentary, looking at some highlights, low lights, flashes in the pans and missed opportunities.
We’re starting off with Turn on the Bright Lights by Interpol. Interpol released their debut on August 20, 2002 on Matador Records. It has received plenty of accolades including being named best album of 2002 by Pitchfork as well as being named one of the best albums of the aughts by magazines like NME and Rolling Stone.
With the help of David Williams, TheMusic.FM is looking back on Turn on the Bright Lights.
Dave Williams’ Take on Turn on the Bright Lights
I get the feeling that this is going to be one of those instances where my partner is going to have a slight advantage of age and awareness in terms of context and fitting it in its most appropriate measure, as when this record was initially released I completely ignored it.
Yes, I was so enamored and in love with other groups of the time (read: The White Stripes and The Walkmen, mostly), that I let one of the most beloved records of the era slip through my fingers, and I never cared to look back. Interpol never grabbed my attention, and I immediately dismissed them as annoying because of Paul Bank’s unpleasant, unpretty bassy voice and stiff delivery.
My what a difference a decade and a tour of duty in a college radio station will make! While my exposure to Interpol increased through the aforementioned venue as well as moving to the city so closely associated with the band, I still never appreciated them for who they were or what they represent. So what do I honestly care about 2002’s Turn On the Bright Lights, or any thing else that Interpol has created, or what they represent?
Many reviews of the album (then) point to how nobody should dismiss Turn On the Bright Lights for the obvious Joy Division homages in the band’s brand of melancholy romance. I was never one for Joy Division either, so this is all coming to me through relatively fresh ears, and I have to think really hard about what it would have been like to be where I am now, then.
Interpol in California by Debi Del Grande
So I’m a twentysomething, living in early gentrified Brooklyn, spending my cash to go see Interpol over at Mercury Lounge on the lower east side on a Thursday. I’m wearing my Von Dutch cap, and. . . Oh, what the fuck ever – this was 2002, post-9/11 New York City, post-Guiliani.
While I’m sure many of these songs were written (or were in the process of being created to some degree) prior to the terrorist attacks and before the emotional aftermath gripped the city, it’s hard to remove that sense of the nation’s own despondency and irritable insecurity from the album’s deep, moody groove. And the jangling, abstract guitar noise is just what New York City bands do. The lyrics in “NYC” give credence to the songs being the product of pre-9/11 ennui, “Leif Erikson,” perhaps post.
Regardless, hearing this record is a reflection of that uncertainty in time – if not purely a product of post 9/11 thinking, but certainly the sort of anxious dissatisfaction that seemed to stretch on even beyond the threat of Y2K and the burden of living in a new millennium, and expecting so much out of living to see time reach such a milestone.
Turn on the Bright Lights is very much a product of when it was released, and even as indie bands have become increasingly explorative of post-modern ideas of how to blend past and still sound like the future, there’s something to be said about this particular record still being relevant, despite it being drenched in such a particular mood.
Interpol’s lyrics, damning their own detachment and liking it that way – I won’t call them ‘mopey,’ and Paul Banks’ delivery keeps the mood away from self-pity – is perhaps the most universal thing about the record. The even-ground of the production that keeps all of the players at bay and lets the overall product shine keeps the record grounded as a celebration the glorious aloofness regarded as a hallmark of pop-art and all things celebrated in Andy Warhol’s New York.
Turn on the Bright Lights is still a fascinating record to listen to, and being a product of its time does not make it lose any relevance whatsoever; however, even a mere decade after its release, it seems the cultural zeitgeist is looking on for sunnier ways to spend the apocalypse, which is why I suspect many won’t look to this record as I do now as a guidepost for music’s future.
Interpol in Reno by Debi Del Grande
Charles Poladian’s Take on Turn on the Bright Lights
Interpol’s Turn on the Bright Lights is turning 10 years old this year. In the wake of The Strokes and New York getting another musical renaissance (The Strokes a year earlier and plenty of emerging bands like The Walkmen and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs coming out right around 2001 and 2002), Interpol made an impression with their debut.
Turn on the Bright Lights is as much about discovery as it is a measure of composition. The songs are crafted with a deft understanding of arrangement, fully formed and fully realized. A band shouldn’t sound this good in their debut but they do. In some ways they have yet to reach those same stoic heights. Even before Turn on the Bright Lights came out, Interpol had already delivered “Specialist,” “PDA,” and “NYC” which put people on notice and set the hype machine in full gear.
The understated “Untitled” opens Turn on the Bright Lights and the concept of who Interpol is as a band is crystallized in those short repetitive phrases. The first two lines are practically unchanged throughout the song with subjects being added to “surprise sometime” (that being “I” and “You”) and closing out with the only non-repeated phrase “When you’re down.” Carlos D’s bass lines burrow and probe instinctively and with restraint.
Interpol at Music Hall of Williamsburg
Speaking of Carlos D, I always thought the Joy Division comparisons fit better with Carlos D than with Paul Banks. There are similarities between Banks and Ian Curtis, in terms of range and delivery, but there is plenty of terrain between the two of them. Carlos D on the other had fits perfectly in the mold of Peter Hook, bassist for Joy Division and New Order.
This is where the sense of discovery comes in to play in Turn on the Bright Lights. Music was being mined. Crate junkies like James Murphy and Jack White were going to shape the decade to come and The Strokes’ garage revival gave birth to countless counterfeits. Looking back, there was a discovery that the 1980′s had plenty to offer. Cult acts like Television or Roxy Music became quite popular to name drop. The internet reached its potential thanks to savvy users and the concept of P2P, later in the form of torrents.
Interpol – Stella Was a Diver and She Was Always Down
Did we mention that it was a new millennium? A future that none of imagined living in. Sci-Fi was placed in 2000 and beyond because it seemed alien almost as unattainable as flying cars. But we crossed that millennial barrier with gusto, looking back at all we accomplished and looking ahead to our science-fiction reality.
Through this time of change (pre-2008 President Obama’s campaign) the 90′s gave way to hyper-aware aughts. Some things remained constant such as bad fashion and bad pop, but there was plenty to mull over. The World Trade Center attacks on 09/11 shaped the course of our country and our beliefs, further causing a moment of reflection. With the lens fully turned on ourselves as well as our place, music reflected such uncertainty with clarity.
Whether or not Banks and company were channeling this, it definitely made their style fashionable. Daniel Kessler’s jittery guitars were an interesting counterpoint to the steadiness of Carlos D and Banks. Sam Fogarino on drums punctuated the silence and acted as a musical bridge between Kessler, Banks and Carlos D.
Lyrically, there is a sense of Banks looking at the present, comparing the past and predicting the future in songs like “Obstacle 1” or “The New.” Everything is juxtaposed, trying to get pieced together. A search for some semblance of understanding. In a lot of ways Interpol was groping. The sexuality present in “Say Hello to the Angels” or “Stella Was a Diver and She Was Always Down” were tossed off either in a rush or in abstract. There was something seedy or dangerous to Banks about sexuality. Drugs are alluded to in the same way and at time the two taboos intersect (most notably in “Stella”).
Through all of this, Turn on the Bright Lights has aged gracefully. A decade has seen plenty of change and while moods and styles move on but there is plenty to admire in Interpol’s debut.
