Interpol: Marauder

INTERPOL: MARAUDER (2018)

1) If You Really Love Nothing; 2) The Rover; 3) Complications; 4) Flight Of Fancy; 5) Stay In Touch; 6) Interlude 1; 7) Mountain Child; 8) Nysmaw; 9) Surveillance; 10) Number 10; 11) Partyʼs Over; 12) Interlude 2; 13) It Probably Matters.

General verdict: An attempt to repeat an attempt to get back where it all began, but at this point, things start REALLY getting tedious.

I just cannot resist this, sorry — "if you really love nothing", you will probably enjoy Interpolʼs sixth album, whose only reason for existence, the way I see it, is Paul Julian Banksʼ stubborn refusal to switch to a safe and fruitful career in teaching English and Comparative Literature and his insistence on continuing to make a living as an artist. I checked it out of the usual sense of duty — to see if, perchance, there might be an occasional sign of life and development; after all, Paul Banks is only two years younger than myself, and... oh wait.

Ahem. Anyway, here is a brief lowdown: Marauder is a collection of eleven mid-tempo pop-rockers (plus two brief smudges of grey cloudy noise called ʽInterlude 1ʼ and ʽInterlude 2ʼ) that all sound the same and all sound slightly inferior to anything on the bandʼs first three albums. Is it better or worse than El Pintor? It is difficult for me to say because, having written about El Pintor one week ago, I already remember next to nothing about that record, and I am sure I will remember even less about this one tomorrow. If you want another bunch of variations on varia­tions on variations on monotonous post-punk riffage, and another bunch of monotonously depressed and permanently desensitized Weltschmerz vocals, be their guest.

I do have to admit that at this point nothing irks me more about the whole thing than the hideous production. I could see, for instance, that opening riff to ʽThe Roverʼ as playfully immersive, but even when it is played solo, it is crippled by thin tone and alienating reverb, and as soon as the rhythm section and the vocals come in, it is buried alive under a gruesomely compressed rhythm guitar — the only thing that could make this song worthwhile killed off in a matter of ten seconds. (Also, on top of that Paul Banksʼ voice begins sounding more and more like Ozzy Osbourne with each passing year, and an Ozzy-like tone atop murky, boring music is hell.)

I guess this is the best I can say about the album: Banks and Kessler are still trying to invent new guitar melodies — other than ʽThe Roverʼ, distinctive guitar riffs are to be found on ʽStay In Touchʼ, the slightly reggae-ish ʽComplicationsʼ, and a couple other songs. But the guitar tone is always the same, thin and drenched in reverb, and they always seem to come up with an idea only to have it go under as soon as the band kicks in, in favor of general atmosphere — and that general atmosphere has not changed ONE SINGLE BIT in SIXTEEN YEARS. I mean, goddam­mit, even AC/DC happened to change their production style once or twice in sixteen years (not to mention their lead singer, though this was more of an act of Godʼs will). Question: Why did Interpol record six albums which all sound the same? Answer: Because we live in a wonderful world where you can actually allow yourself to record just one legendary album (even one as deeply flawed as Bright Lights) and then spend the rest of your life coasting on its glory.