Interpol - London, UK - Spring 2005
By: Clara Burtenshaw
It is little wonder that in a world riddled with fear, anxiety, and self-loathing that the things that unite us in our despair and reassure us we aren't alone in our sentiments are those we grasp to most tightly.
In the music of Interpol, who first (properly) burst onto the scene and into our worlds in 2001, people found the modern day voice of J. Alfred Prufrock, in the world-weary vocals of Paul Banks and the band's ability to capture human frailty in three timeless minutes. The difficulty of unrequited love within the harsh confines of an aggressive, modern city, and the insecurities of feeling a stranger of modern urbanity are themes bound together by Interpol's tight, burning melodies and enticingly elusive lyrics.
On the day of their final sold-out show at Brixton Academy, rockfeedback is ushered into a dressing-room upstairs, and sat on a leather sofa with the drummer, delighted to find him gregarious and forthcoming and nothing further from the shadowy, morose figure that certain sectors paint the band to be. And Sam Fogarino concurs that melancholia is a conception of the band, but perhaps mistakenly so.
'I don't think we wear it on our sleeves,' he opens. 'Melancholy can be taken in so many different ways, and it can be perceived as simply serious introspection. I don't see us as always being melancholy; there are darker emotions addressed or touched upon - not just self-sadness. I think what it comes down to is that Interpol, musically, is approached very seriously, and I think that part of us shines through.'
Press pressure to live up to and convey a certain image is the last thing on the band's mind, however.
'F**k the media. They want to put you in this little box and the truth gets so stretched out of proportion; I love reading that we all wear nothing but Dolce and Gabbana.'
Strong words, but it cannot be denied though that when it comes to music's current penchant for sharp suits and smart tailoring, Interpol are its sartorial progenitors, a notoriously tender subject for the band, which makes the inevitable question of what labels will be worn tonight a tentative one.
'This is Agnes B,' Sam gestures, 'but still not D& G, or Helmut Lang. Well... it's gratis, so it's not like I'm walking around having paid 1,500 euros for a f**king leather jacket. Actually these are my favourite,' he says, pointing down the length of his trousers. 'I got these pants in L.A. from a place called Camden Lock , and they were like 80 dollars; usually me or Carlos would have to go and get them tailored, but I just had to get these hemmed and that was it.' Smart.
Sam describes Interpol's rise over the last four years as a normal healthy climb upwards, but stresses that they are a hardworking band, having toured non-stop for sixteen months, taking time off only to continue writing the follow-up to 'Turn On The Bright Lights' and record it before going back on tour with Curiosa - ten months ago - and they have been out ever since. All the tours, he claims, have contributed something to the collective expansion of Interpol, mentally and otherwise.
You must have some rock and roll stories to tell...
'I could, I would, but all that craziness is just a blur. I guess I would speak as the oldest of Interpol...'
And the wisest...?
'Through experience. I don't think I've always been the wisest; it's trial and error and I guess I dived in. At the beginning, when we did start touring, we stepped up a notch in terms of what and who was around. I tasted it, and I did dirty things in the ladies room and at the Columbia hotel and I've come out at the other side and it's now that I realise that Interpol is the real thing and means more to me than any drug or drink or any woman. That's when you realise that the crazy thing is fleeting; I'm glad I took a taste, but at the end of the day I could tell you nothing that would enlighten you. To say (faking a drugged roadie accent), 'Dude, it was f**king great - I got so high' is embarrassing at this point in time... but I will say that I wasn't above it.
Digressing back to the topic of relentless touring, Sam explains that Interpol like to keep things simple onstage, and refrain from improvising as some other bands do...
'I don't think there's anything negative that lingers from repeating the same songs. There's something that we extract from it, I need the consistency. As a human-being, it does get tiring, but improvisation wouldn't solve that; you need to take a break from it for a while. Historically, up until this point the records have been completed in terms of songwriting and the songs that we're going to record, so we've never gone into a studio cold. All the improvisation has been done in our rehearsal studio, without technology and us facing each other playing. As a band, we'll see where that goes, but as far as any improv live, it's not us, you know?'
With so much of the band's success based on months spent in the close quarters of a tourbus, one would expect the band to be resentful of their hyped-up contemporaries, who have achieved overnight success without the hard graft, but this is surprisingly not the case.
'I think I feel more wary for them in terms of staying power,' he rationalises. 'I don't begrudge any band for receiving any amount of success, I don't care if they've worked hard or not, it's not my concern, and it's just so easy to pick on bands like that as well. When someone gets thrust into that position you have to wonder how they are going to follow that up and whether they can repeat it; that's what's going to be expected of all the bands that are doing well right now and whether that's just or not is not for me to say. I just wish them luck. I think we got all our problems out of the way initially and if they come up again in a transition to any other level we'll be able to maintain.'
And such a 'transition' took place with the release of 'Antics' in 2004, which propelled the band to a new level of acclaim and reverence. The change was evident not only in the manner the band will be received by fans in Brixton tonight, but musically on the LP too, which demonstrates a band who have mastered the formula of restraint and catharsis to perfection.
Recorded in Tarquin Studios, the top floor of a home for children with autism in Connecticut, the band could polish the raw guitar riffs first laid down there.
'We didn't learn the lessons until we went in to do the album, but maybe just before we attacked the body of what was to be 'Antics', there were some things to reflect upon from the first session. Going back to the first studio was pretty crucial, in terms of having the comfort to branch out a little bit without going too far off course. Working with Peter Kadis, the same engineer, and using the same equipment, you just know you can command it better. I think we all managed to hold on tightly and not let the weight of expectation infect the process. We give and take each other's critique as opposed to listening to anybody else, and unless it's someone that we consider contemporaries or that we respect, we're pretty self-reliant, but the pressure seeps in on occasion.'
As to contemporaries' advice that has been taken to heart, Sam recalls nothing that has moved mountains but that the support given to the band has been of most value, from other local New York cohorts to Robert Smith (indeed, while on tour with The Cure, some key advice was shared between the bands' two frontmen). Sam too, however, has worked with a legend, having remixed 'Length of Love' with punk music pioneer Bob Mould.
'Him accepting to do the remix with me was beyond encouragement, and in a way he was a rival: someone that I honoured and respected. Now, it's funny talking to him because we became very good friends after I put the starry-eyed gaze upon him to the side. We spent two days in the studio and there was never any kind of clash, head-butting, or insecurity on my part because he's a big indie rock icon. It was very easy, very fluid, and very nice.'
The shady characters and hopeless romantics of 'Stella...', 'Roland,' 'Leif Erikson' and 'Evil' make Interpol's story-telling glossed with misery a rarity in the music business, and the abstract nature of the lyrics tangible to the listener.
'Paul does the lyrics as well as the vocal melodies and Daniel usually comes in with the initial melody, whether a couple of notes or a couple of parts, those ideas become full fledged progressions. For the most part, everyone is really involved somewhere, but after the initial ideas are presented Paul is in control of what he sings and the way he sings, for obvious reasons.' As to some of the subject-matter and whether Paul Banks has a fascination with women's names, Sam replies, laughing, 'All that I can say is yes... as to why and how...'
Yet it was guitarist Daniel Kessler who formed the driving force behind the band, handpicking academic Carlos, and writer Paul initially whilst at NYU. Before joining the band, Sam was a partner in a vintage clothes store and, had it not been for the band, would more than likely still be there.
'When I joined the band after they were established locally in New York I knew it wouldn't be a waste of time as Daniel was involved, and that something was going to happen. It could have just stayed in New York and never left, but I knew that for the amount of time that I would be in this band that it would be worth it. Things started to happen when I just kind of let go of strong desires and was content with what I was doing as a person.'
He puts the notorious insularity of the band down to the fact that they have all experienced alienation at some point, and that qualities beyond the music ended up being the band's impetus. 'Punk-rock started because of the togetherness in alienation, it might seem trite and clichéd now, but if you feel this sort of alienation, but you realise you have something in common, it's hard to break through and reach out to another person. The one thing that's good within the band is that at least we can count on each other and the one thing we try not to do is alienate each other.'
The band's name was a source of much confusion in the early days, and receiving correspondence meant for the international organization from which they take their name was a regular occurrence.
'At the beginning of the band, we used to get emails and some of them were humorous, and we'd be like this is a Yahoo account... but some of them were kind of serious. It got kind of scary and you'd quickly reply, 'This is a rock band, you need to contact the real people 'cos your brother's missing...''
So, no secrets the public should know about then?
'No. If I told you, I'd be in big trouble.'
The New York landscape has been a fertile inspiration point for the band who describe its mood as back to normal after the events of September the 11th - just as arrogant and dismissive as ever, 'It could be a really great place, but on the whole NY is really self-centred; it could be the most unforgiving and unfriendly place at the same time.'
The drummer finds himself equally uncomfortable going out within the city.
'It's nothing to do with my position in the band or Interpol's celebrity, if you will, though I use that term loosely, we're just not at that point anymore. It's the same here in London or any big city, I just kind of lay low... smaller towns are fun to go out in sometimes, but doing this is enough, it really feeds part of your social life as well, I don't really need to leave the dressing room after the show to interact.'
While we are left wondering what sort of interaction he might mean he goes on to tell us about their current (top-20) single 'C'mere', which features remixes by the band. As to whether they give fans a taste of the band's individual musical preferences, Sam responds:
'I think they do, but just a fraction of it gives a glimpse of where we might go as individuals. Then again Carlos and my mix were very remix specific, with the intention of being dancefloor friendly. Daniel and Paul are a little more self-indulgent in the best possible way; there was more personal expression in that. I think people are really going to get a lot out of Paul's remix because it's a different perspective; it's tagged a remix because we're all comfortable with the phrase but he does this really beautiful interpretation of 'Narc'. It slays me every time I listen to it; it's the element of the band that's totally naked and standing alone, so I think people are going to be quite thrilled with that.'
The goals for Interpol now are wide open.
'We'll take it as it comes, no matter how big it gets, or where it may level off. As long as we still like doing it and the music has a trait or quality, then we'll be OK. It doesn't matter what is happening around us or if we're playing Wembley or the back of Brixton again, it doesn't matter.'
But it matters to the assemblage of fans, who clasp their music to their hearts with clenched fists and know that they are not alone. To them all: feel safe. Interpol are not going anywhere just yet.
Photo-Credit: Marie-Alicia
Artists in this article: Interpol