Interpol / The Double - London Scala - 14/9/04
5/5
By: Toby L
Set-List: 'Obstacle 1', 'Evil', 'Say Hello To The Angels', 'Slow Hands', 'Length of Love', 'NYC', 'Not Even Jail', 'NARC', 'Leif Erikson', 'PDA', ENCORE, 'Stella...', 'Roland'.
For once, it's a fitting setting. The decadence drips from the walls of King's Cross' Scala; lavish interiors, this evening housing a sense of urgent anticipation that stings. But still, such an outing is all too little, humble to satisfy the actual demand. Interpol, one of the word-of-mouth sensations of all time, are in town and it's only slightly f**king exciting - a 750-capacity gig barely accommodating the potential 3,000-draw their emergence in the town could, and will next time, prompt.
And why? Where to start. They're a band whose sweeping atmospherics are - at their minimum - enriched with vivid euphoria, chopping guitar and bass-thudding giddiness, and barking vocals as haunting as they eek soulful. It's icy, 21st century pop music, for people with good hair, and an innate, aching emptiness that they can't quite define.
And seeing as the latter constitutes for most of us these days, Interpol are one of our generation's most important bands - stylistic, wilfully cultish, and melodically aeons ahead of their contemporaries: eerie, compulsive, brooding, yet heartening. Intensity seldom soars so sleekly.
But there's a further treat in store first. It's called The Double - a foursome from Brooklyn, New York. They're quite wonderful - in a fuzzy synth f**k-up kinda way - songs that nestle and, like our headliners, brood deep into the subconscious before slipping away and leaving you with a shudder over the whole ordeal. And if it wasn't so epic and searing, we might have noted down some song-titles; shame - our getting hypnotised got in the way.
A warming pre-cursor, we perch on some of the venue's steps and, half an hour later, drop jaws in unison - the lights cake the crowd in a blinding gleam, and a side-door opens. The applause is catastrophic. Taking in traditional set-opener 'Obstacle 1', the resultant cheers are boy band-worthy; our gloomy foursome must recognise this - they stare at one another in uncertain shock as every track thereafter is greeted with a reception that shivers the spine - vocalist Paul Banks even quivers, before twitching, 'Thanks.' (Any 'Pol-nut will know this is a vast rarity).
And grandiose and scintillating as it all is, it's their new, second album 'Antics' that provides the standout highlights - whether the stomping bombast of 'Slow Hands', dark, jaded-Radiohead guitar-inflections of 'Length Of Love', or a positively elegiac 'NARC', which takes off. Come the arrival of more familiar fare - a desolate 'NYC'; the first set-closing rouse of 'PDA' - it's little wonder that the experience now feels more akin to a spiritual awakening than a mere return performance.
Somehow, it appears we deserve more - so their re-entrance and subsequent bow-out on two classic 'Turn On The Bright Lights' numbers only helps matters to conclude that much more longingly. Tears well, arms are thrown up, and the sort of communal hysteria usually wont to major sporting events or the winning of wars is adopted - only without either such event's brutality. Undeterred bliss.
We walk out, still caught up in the whirlwind, and pass bassist Carlos D some minutes later struggling, and succeeding, in earnest to sneak hardcore fans into the band's plush, 'invite-only' after-show setting. Even after such a transcendent showing, it's reassuring to learn that such purveyors of peerless songwriting masterclass are just as keen to be amongst the orbit of those that they're inadvertently inspiring, without any sign of contempt, nor urge for a petulant ego-stroke. Their trade truly is a blessing.
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