NYC’s Interpol used to be masters at taking a mellow, Joy Division-esque base and unexpectedly manning the living daylights out of it. They showed how thrilling the combination of morose 80’s post-punk and flailing guitars could actually be, feeling no need to restrain themselves from matching the level of grandeur set by UK’s Muse.
That being said, their fourth album is self-titled, and shamefully so. The album prominently displays the band’s dirty laundry; Interpol have clearly been unable to resolve internal conflicts and the tumultuousness which resulted in Carlos D’s unfortunate departure manifests itself song after song. Save their first single, “Barricade”, there is nothing remotely gripping on Interpol, just the forgettable fluttering of existential crisis wrapped around a massive regression to commonplace beats which fail to inspire the horror they so desperately wish to generate. The album is terribly amateur, “Try It On” sounds like an adolescent piano player exploring scales for the first time. Interpol have attempted to navigate new musical territory, but their flimsy ship has plummeted to the bottom of the dark seas without so much as an audible attempt at resistance. Uninspired keys on “Summer Well”? Snooze worthy repetition on “Safe Without”?
Thanks but no thanks.
2/5
