Interpol: Our Love To Admire

INTERPOL: OUR LOVE TO ADMIRE (2007)

1) Pioneer To The Falls; 2) No I In Threesome; 3) The Scale; 4) The Heinrich Maneuver; 5) Mammoth; 6) Pace Is The Trick; 7) All Fired Up; 8) Rest My Chemistry; 9) Who Do You Think; 10) Wrecking Ball; 11) The Lighthouse.

General verdict: Catchier songs, better vocals, slightly more diversity than before — but not enough to sneak through a second window of opportunity.

If someday the dust settles, the cards are reshuffled, and the memory of Interpol as «one of those bands that spearheaded the short-lived garage / post-punk / indie revival in the 2000s with their groundpoking debut album» is erased from the public conscience — in that case, I would not be too surprised if Our Love To Admire, rather than its two predecessors, became the most highly appreciated Interpol album. Admittedly, this does not mean much, but if there ever really was an aesthetic agenda that could be called Interpolʼs own, my own sixth sense tells me that it was here where they really came closest of all to proving this.

Upon first listen, Our Love Was To Admire may feel like an obvious slump — a pretty grim feeling for those who werenʼt too overwhelmed with the earlier records in the first place. The engine is winding down, the songs are getting slower and more soulful, with more emphasis on Paul Banksʼ vocals than ever before and romantic sentimentalism frequently overshadowing the tightness of the rhythm section. Itʼs not quite the safe zone of «adult contemporary» yet, but one might easily get the feeling that this is the direction in which the band is moving, and that the measly five years separating Our Love from Bright Lights should not be enough time for the band to earn the right to cuddle up by the fireplace.

Surprisingly, though, with repeated listens this record began growing on me — not a lot, but, well, letʼs say there was clearly some positive dynamics involved, as opposed to Bright Lights where each new listen just made it a more and more annoying experience. What is the difference? After some consideration, I think I count two. One, the album actually shows a bit of musical growth: the songs can no longer be reduced to the same «hold down those two chords for eternity» pattern. There are still quite a few exercises in minimalism, but some songs rather prefer to follow the jangly folk patterns of the Byrds-to-Smiths legacy, others adopt a grittier, harder rocking sound closer to the Black Keys, and the final number, ʽLighthouseʼ, brings them closer to psychedelic, dreamy shoegaze than anything they ever did before. One may or may not favor the results, but at least they are trying to expand the formula, that much is obvious.

Second and even more surprising, the vocal melodies are getting better — to the point where some of the songs begin featuring clear vocal hooks, even if Paul Banks is still Paul Banks and his singing voice is still nothing to write home about. This is most likely the main reason why I manage to remember (at least temporarily) and feel content about the first two songs. ʽPioneer To The Fallsʼ is arguably the best straightahead love song they ever did, largely because of Banksʼ vocal inflections on bits like "the soul can wait..." and "you fly straight into my heart" — and they must have felt it, too, because sometimes Banks slips into pure a cappella mode, and it is good, though still no Ian Curtis (at least a semi-octave lower would be nice, thank you). In any case, it is the first time where I actually feel like I care about their stonefaced melancholia, and am ready to consider, if not accept, their attempts to slip into the spirit of a two-hundred year old literary romantic. Weird, but true.

What is even more true, I suppose, is that my favorite song on the album, ʽNo I In Threesomeʼ, is most likely my favorite because it comes closest of all to imitating the sound of classic Arcade Fire. That introduction — repetitive bass, then guitars, then pianos, then lots of extra noises in the background — is the kind of tension-raising strategy that made Arcade Fire so outstanding, and this is a pretty decent attempt to do the same thing without ten thousand people in the studio. The hilarious thing about it is that if you do not keep a close watch on the lyrics (including ignoring the song title, duh), the punchline — "alone we may fight, so just let us be free" — will make the song look like some anthemic battle cry; but if you do keep a close watch, particularly at the moment when "let us be free" becomes "let us be three", you realize that the song is really about trying to save a failing romance by introducing, um, an extra element into the relationship, which gives the whole experience a sarcastic-ironic angle that adds depth to the anthemic atmosphere. Anyway, the most important thing is that, to me, the song has its own face, which is something I could never admit about any given tune on Bright Lights.

It was also released as a promotional single, but, unfortunately, the two main singles from the album showed the somewhat more familiar, less sentimental and rockier face of Interpol, though, again, if you listen very closely, the vocal melodies of both ʽThe Heinrich Maneuverʼ and ʽMammothʼ are more poppy than ever before — and that ghostly falsetto introduction of "spare me the suspense..." in ʽMammothʼ, along with the blues-rock guitar riff that signs off each verse with a flourish, hints that now they may be looking to Sixtiesʼ rather than Seventiesʼ garage rock for inspiration. They are both decent songs, but they do not have that special soulful substance of the two openers. Iʼd rather place my trust in the slow, tired trudge of ʽRest My Chemistryʼ, whose chorus is emotionally captivating and linguistically intriguing.

Do not get me wrong: all the kind words above in no means imply that, all of a sudden, Interpol have matured into a truly interesting band. The only point is that they traveled a certain road from their first album to their third one, and I differ here from the critical consensus stating that the road was downhill all the way; much as Iʼd like to agree — because so much of recent pop music can be described as «one good album and fifteen inferior clones» — in this case I just think it was largely a matter of Zeitgeist: somehow, for some reason, the musically and spiritually dull Bright Lights did capture it, but by the time they grew themselves some musical muscle and some relatable emotionality, the window was closed. This record was simply too much of a departure from their «golden standard», yet not enough of an artistic success to attract new legions of fans (for instance, from emo circles — or even from the National Geographic audience, despite the seductive album cover).