Into the City with Interpol
Artist: Interpol
Album: Antics (Matador, 2004)
Sndtrk for: Twenty blocks down Avenue of the Americas, NYC
When Interpol released their debut album, Turn on the Bright Lights, last year, I initially deemed it derivative. Later on, though, I realized that I was listening to it constantly. Even though Joy Division and Echo & The Bunnymen comparisons are never far off, Bright Lights has really stood on its own merits. Without question, it's a disc that creates a very dark and somber mood, yet I found myself enjoying it at home, at work and out, anytime and anywhere. So when word spread of a follow-up, I wondered, in what direction would such a band travel?
When critics and fans heralded Bright Lights as an instant classic, it became clear that Interpol had set the bar pretty high for themselves. So where does a band go after such a feat? From listening to Antics, I would say that Interpol approached their sophomore effort with an understanding that there is no reason to change their sound, so much as to expand it slightly.
All of the band's signature elements are present here: echoing and ethereal vocals, delay-drenched downpicked guitar riffs and jangly chords, and Paul Banks’ vague, poetic lyrics. With their formerly omnipresent sense of gloom lightened up here and there with a few upbeat tunes, Interpol have managed to maintain their trademark sound without repeating themselves. And, just like Bright Lights, Antics provides a nice cinematic backdrop to whatever situation you may find yourself in.
While I was running errands around the city on a gorgeous day a few weeks ago, “Next Exit,” the first song on Antics came on. I heard the lines, “We ain’t goin’ to the town/We’re going to the city/We’re gonna trek this shit around/And make this place a heart to be a part of again.” Inspired by that sentiment, I opted to bask in the autumn sunlight with a stroll down to the Brooklyn-bound L train rather than transferring to it from the N or R. Walking down the Avenue of the Americas from 34th street to 14th street, I paused here and there to take photos of whatever fit into the Antics frame.
For a city with so much character and history, Manhattan has become increasingly gentrified. But for every tourist-trapping, ubiquitous Starbucks, McDonald’s or Subway, there's a small, family-owned business that let you know you’re in NEW YORK, not Anytown, USA. Although fairly well-known by now, Interpol are like those mom-and-pop shops, if only in the way that the band projects an unmistakable Big Apple aura in both their sound and vision.
The dark, disco-bumpin' rhythms of “Narc” and “Slow Hands” give Interpol a dancier, more upbeat feel, without sacrificing the band's dark drama. It’s great music to walk to; I cruised down the street like nothing could stop me. The soaring, infectious chorus of “Slow Hands” injected me with haunting nostalgia for the Cure, Joy Division and other ‘80s music icons I had worshipped in my youth. The driving beat, ethereal keyboards and building chorus of “Even Jail” were so compelling that the song -- combined with my observations of pedestrians of all walks of life -- really left me in an emotionally vulnerable state.
Though I usually weave through the Manhattan crowds like a Porsche on the highway, I found myself wanting to actually approach people. It didn’t quite add up, but it somehow felt right, so I didn’t fight it. While walking past a Starbucks between 23rd and 24th streets, I spotted a fortune teller strangely positioned outside the storefront. I politely asked permission to take a photo of her and her wares, but I was denied.
"What if I pay the five bucks for a reading?" I inquired.
"No," the Indian woman explained. "It is not the way."
Feeling slightly disappointed and even a little silly, I cut my photographic losses and headed home. The final track on Antics, "A Time to be so Small" came on, and I felt the New York sunset swallow me into its vast maw, returning me to where I began.
Photos by Hal Miller
Album: Antics (Matador, 2004)
Sndtrk for: Twenty blocks down Avenue of the Americas, NYC
Album images courtesy of Matador Records
When Interpol released their debut album, Turn on the Bright Lights, last year, I initially deemed it derivative. Later on, though, I realized that I was listening to it constantly. Even though Joy Division and Echo & The Bunnymen comparisons are never far off, Bright Lights has really stood on its own merits. Without question, it's a disc that creates a very dark and somber mood, yet I found myself enjoying it at home, at work and out, anytime and anywhere. So when word spread of a follow-up, I wondered, in what direction would such a band travel?
When critics and fans heralded Bright Lights as an instant classic, it became clear that Interpol had set the bar pretty high for themselves. So where does a band go after such a feat? From listening to Antics, I would say that Interpol approached their sophomore effort with an understanding that there is no reason to change their sound, so much as to expand it slightly.
All of the band's signature elements are present here: echoing and ethereal vocals, delay-drenched downpicked guitar riffs and jangly chords, and Paul Banks’ vague, poetic lyrics. With their formerly omnipresent sense of gloom lightened up here and there with a few upbeat tunes, Interpol have managed to maintain their trademark sound without repeating themselves. And, just like Bright Lights, Antics provides a nice cinematic backdrop to whatever situation you may find yourself in.
While I was running errands around the city on a gorgeous day a few weeks ago, “Next Exit,” the first song on Antics came on. I heard the lines, “We ain’t goin’ to the town/We’re going to the city/We’re gonna trek this shit around/And make this place a heart to be a part of again.” Inspired by that sentiment, I opted to bask in the autumn sunlight with a stroll down to the Brooklyn-bound L train rather than transferring to it from the N or R. Walking down the Avenue of the Americas from 34th street to 14th street, I paused here and there to take photos of whatever fit into the Antics frame.
For a city with so much character and history, Manhattan has become increasingly gentrified. But for every tourist-trapping, ubiquitous Starbucks, McDonald’s or Subway, there's a small, family-owned business that let you know you’re in NEW YORK, not Anytown, USA. Although fairly well-known by now, Interpol are like those mom-and-pop shops, if only in the way that the band projects an unmistakable Big Apple aura in both their sound and vision.
The dark, disco-bumpin' rhythms of “Narc” and “Slow Hands” give Interpol a dancier, more upbeat feel, without sacrificing the band's dark drama. It’s great music to walk to; I cruised down the street like nothing could stop me. The soaring, infectious chorus of “Slow Hands” injected me with haunting nostalgia for the Cure, Joy Division and other ‘80s music icons I had worshipped in my youth. The driving beat, ethereal keyboards and building chorus of “Even Jail” were so compelling that the song -- combined with my observations of pedestrians of all walks of life -- really left me in an emotionally vulnerable state.
Though I usually weave through the Manhattan crowds like a Porsche on the highway, I found myself wanting to actually approach people. It didn’t quite add up, but it somehow felt right, so I didn’t fight it. While walking past a Starbucks between 23rd and 24th streets, I spotted a fortune teller strangely positioned outside the storefront. I politely asked permission to take a photo of her and her wares, but I was denied.
"What if I pay the five bucks for a reading?" I inquired.
"No," the Indian woman explained. "It is not the way."
Feeling slightly disappointed and even a little silly, I cut my photographic losses and headed home. The final track on Antics, "A Time to be so Small" came on, and I felt the New York sunset swallow me into its vast maw, returning me to where I began.
Photos by Hal Miller
posted by Hal Miller at 6:45 PM
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