SAY WHAT YOU WANT ABOUT INGERSOL, the New Model Ingersoll pulleth nary a suckerpunch when it comes to music, especially the vile collaboration known as Interpol. I could have said it, but I couldn't have said it better and Ingersol said it first:
Interpol is everything wrong with modern music in an overpriced haircut. Interpol is the hollowness of the New York City music scene cast onto a national stage with a music press too petrified to call them out for what they are. Interpol is the musical equivalent of a political axiom: that a lie, if it's said often enough and with enough conviction, can eventually gain universal acceptance. That lie, in this case, is that Interpol's first album, Turn on the Bright Lights, had anything new or interesting about it. It was junior-varsity Joy Division, and despite the best efforts of their defenders to just assert the contrary - "yes, it prizes the low-end of the sonic spectrum, yes, the bass clearly carries the tune and fails to be drowned out by the guitar noise, yes, that was Joy Division's innovation, yes the lyrics are sung in a baritone with a motherfucking slight and affected English accent, and yes, they only use the guitar chords used on "Atmosphere," but in spite of all that, they don't sound much like Joy Division" - they sound exactly like Joy Division, and as I've said before in this space, they ought to at least acknowledge that.
Can I get an "AMEN?"
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UPDATE: The rock critic robot has reviewed Interpol in this breathless manner:
Some things never change.
How many bands have reinvented themselves as successfully as Interpol? The lyrics are darker and more introspective than on earlier releases. Interpol is unsafe at any speed. On its major-label debut, Interpol demonstrates an affinity for rock-rap grunge. The masters of R.E.M.-lite teen anthems are back.
"Pants" won't win any Grammies this year.
The same obsessions -- homelessness and a friend's suicide -- are here in spades. I will have this album on repeat mode, forever
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