The band pound and tinkle and sweep with more elegance and expression than ever before.
P J Lucas 2007
"I live my life in cocaine. Just a rage and three types of yes. I've made stairways such scenes for things to regret."
-Rest My Chemistry
Yep, we've all been there. Ice chinks in the fifth Chivas Regal and you're hitting on the wrong girl again and she's just staring at your nosebleed and all you can think about is the dry cleaning bill for your switchblade-sharp Agnes B suit and shirt combo. Or maybe not.
Okay, some background. Interpol are 4 New York City draculas who sport cufflinks, oversized shades and hip tiepins and make darker-than-the-black death post rock with a thumping core of rainswept romance at the centre. In short they're cooler than an ice pick dipped in liquid nitrogen and
stabbed into your ink-black heart.
This is their third album and basically it's the perfect wingman to the other two. More layers, more washy keyboards, more engulfing, chiming reverb soaked guitars and yep, more of the same.
As usual singer Paul Banks sings loads of cool, cryptic lines about time and love and the corruption inside him, in his otherworldly baritone, and the band pound and tinkle and sweep with more elegance and expression than ever before.
Okay so there are a couple of boring bits, and nothing quite as good as "Public Pervert", from Antics, or "PDA", from Turn On The Bright Lights, but what do you want, blood? This band have gotten better - they're tighter than a laser-guided smart bomb, the beats are more swingy, and Carlos D's bass and keys are even more expressive and swooning.
Buy this, sit on a bus in the rain and imagine you're on your fifth Chivas and there's blood on your tiepin.