We're Going to the City: Interpol, Antics 20th Anniversary

11/18/24 THE SALT SHED - The air was thick with smoke machine fog, and toward the front, it was warm. Lights pinwheeled and flashed in staccato and swerved up and down like a TV being turned off, yet, it was the music that kept me grounded, Paul Bank’s bleakly melodic voice, he who sounds like a half brother of Michael Stipe and Ian Curtis. It was Interpol’s Antics 20th Anniversary Tour, and I’d been saving my rum and lemonade for when the music began. “Next Exit” was calm, reflective, but then, as I have the track ordering of Antics practically memorized, the opening bass of “Evil” commenced and the crowd shrieked with excitement–and then I had to chug my rum and lemonade. And I can’t say when it kicked in because of the above circumstances of dense fog and heat, as well as disorienting lights that would have primed Interpol–as I thought later–to be the band most suited to play in a planetarium with planets flying overhead, or under a clear night of stars, if possible.

I could also guess–by how many people took out their phones to record vertical clips of Paul Banks or Daniel Kessler mostly–which tunes were popular favorites from the album–namely, “Evil,” “Narc,” “Slow Hands,” and “C’mere.” That last one surprised me, and I was partially disgusted by the couple who decided to pull in and kiss during “C’mere” like it was some kind of wedding anthem. “You’re in love with someone else / It should be me?” “We make time / Try to find somebody else?” Do these people even hear the lyrics? Most of Interpol’s relationship songs, if not all, are edged with conflict, and most of the time I don’t see it working out. There are love-related nice lines in “C’mere,” but they seem weak compared to other tracks. Frankly it is one of my lesser favorites, and I wondered how deeply the couple was listening to Interpol. Luckily, after the conclusion of Antics, I got in front of them for the rest of the set so they wouldn’t keep blocking my view with their Public Displays of Affection.

I also learned that I must unpopularly find “Not Even Jail” to be one of the best tracks on Antics. Probably because, “I pretend like no one else / to try control myself” is so dead-on true that I wonder what it must feel like to be able to sing lyrics you wrote yourself, clearly articulated about yourself. Ominous lines like “I’ll subtract pain by ounces / Yeah, I will start painting houses,” sound like another nod to being a hitman, and “I promise to commit no acts of violence / Beit physical, or otherwise,” as if he has a history intrigue me endlessly. “Not even jail,” what does it mean? Was he in jail? Not even jail will stop him… from? The message, “Remember take hold of your time here / Give some meaning to the means / To your end” is moving to me, an emotional mission statement. It’s the only track that could follow up “Slow Hands,” a song about both being in love and being an assassin or hitman whose victims are either not found, (“Yeah nobody searches / Nobody cares somehow”) or is doomed to be killed himself (“You put the weights all around yourself.”) The most beautiful best love line of Antics is in “Slow Hands:” “You make me wanna pick up a guitar / And celebrate the myriad ways that I love you.” I love it, especially because I am a guitarist. Naturally these two songs complete the trifecta of my favorite album tracks with the song “Evil,” which according to Banks from a 2024 interview in the Guardian, is not about serial killers, real or imagined, which I prefer to my earlier beliefs. Anyway, I’m glad these songs are separated by enough tracks to be contemplated separately.

“Evil,” which I had thought was about the relationship between one killer and his partner, (to explain my interpretation up til now) is about more than killing, it’s about, what if we could find some other way to be happy? “Why can’t we look the other way?” The duality of the thrill of what they're doing, “Right will take you places / Yeah, maybe to the beach / When your friends they do come crying / Tell them how your pleasure’s set upon slow release” and regret from it–what I imagine is reflected in the line, “Rosemary / Heaven restores you in life.” Or is that line regretful? Or is he reliving it? Anyway… it’s also about loneliness, a motif in many an Interpol song, which makes “Evil” particularly sharp: “I spent a lifespan with no cellmate / The long way back.” That line is lacerating in its truth. I think it’s better to know it isn’t about serial killers, because, in short, something about songs from the perspectives of killers or something like them hits me on a deeper level that I can’t quite explain, but that “Slow Hands,” “Not Even Jail,” and “Evil,” express clearly.

The heart-rending lyrics don’t stop there. Let me not forget the killer closing line off Antics, “When the cadaverous mob saves its doors for the dead men / You cannot leave.” For a story from the perspective of some sea creatures, man, it’s dark.

Antics aside, I liked every track Interpol played. I knew each song, save for “Lights” which I had thought was an intro to “All the Rage Back Home” by the time I recognized what was playing, since they played one straight into the other. Even for my less-liked tracks, “Pioneer to the Falls” and “All the Rage Back Home,” and “Rest My Chemistry” (all of which I like)–through the haze and the lights I could focus and stare at Paul Banks all night, dressed in a brown leather jacket over a white buttoned shirt, dark slacks, and dark mirror-reflective aviators, reminding me of Adler from Black Ops Cold War, although thinner with shorter hair and no facial scar. (I’m sure it was coincidental.) I love when a musician wears shades onstage. The rest of the band had suits or dress shirts.

Through the haze of fog and rum, Banks’ voice was something to gravitate to, in all respects. It was warm enough to wonder if he was sweating under the leather jacket, but who knows, Interpol played half in silhouette, without moving from their positions onstage except in the dark with the lights out to tune or adjust their instrument settings. Not much was said between songs but “Thank you very much” and “This song is from our first album.” I didn’t need explanations, and they didn’t give any. I appreciated that Interpol simply played their music. Kessler was animated, but Interpol didn’t need any posing or BS. They were modest. I was perfectly happy watching Banks in total silhouette in the haze of red, green, white, or blue light, only his shades reflecting now and then in perfect silver mirrors as the sole indication of where he might or might not be looking. Did he mind the guy who kept screaming for Interpol to play “Song Seven” between each song, or that I recorded entire songs on my phone, or the cheering during solos and musical pauses, or the audience filming any part of the show? I don’t know. It was fascinating that his shades were the only thing not in silhouette for extended periods of the performance, so that when the lights occasionally glowed gold and illuminated him so you could see his face, I realized how much I wanted to see him, to prove he’s a real human being, someone who feels the way I feel. The shades could have been for style, or to not have to feel the crowd looking at him, or to conceal his looking at the crowd. It’s not like he needed them to see. Interpol seemed to prefer the dark.

During a few songs from Turn on the Bright Lights three horizontal lights flashed red in a trapezoidal formation–a recreation of the album cover; other times, narrow lights rotated together like peppermint candy but with a blue background, and I wondered if the sensory overload might have been getting overpowering–but instead of collapsing, I thought Interpol would be amazing to see inside a planetarium with projected planets flying over them or playing under a sky of stars, (thinking this during the chorus of “Public Pervert:” “So swoon baby starry night,” but the rum had a hand in that too, probably).

“Length of Love" - light visuals are prominent

Right–the other songs they played. I didn’t expect to hear “No I in Threesome,” but I had hoped to. Safe to say it’s my favorite song about a threesome, and I am going to keep studying it. On topics of love and frustration, “My Desire” with its line, “I’m a frustrated man,” was necessary to hear. “The Rover:” while it’s catchy and one of my favorites, the concert made me realize that it’s the songs with the more brutal lyrics, or lonely ones, that I prefer. “Roland,” another exciting one, has both the darker lyrics and the catchy guitar that “The Rover” has. Is Roland a killer? Or only a misunderstood butcher who “severed segments” and “secretly he liked that?” The ambiguity of the crime, if there was more to simply being caught carrying knives, and his friendship with the narrator turns the knife and adds a layer of doubt. “The New,” as I witnessed firsthand, has a solo involving Kessler detuning one note and retuning it. I originally thought it was one string bent by a whammy bar, but no he actually tuned and detuned the string live. I was impressed. I thought it was cool.

Interpol closed with “Obstacle 1,” and for the encore played “The New” and “PDA.” With “Obstacle 1” and “PDA” I admit it was slightly embarrassing to have everyone around you singing along. Interpol struck me as a band that–though impossible–you should watch alone. I mean that ideally, I would be the only one in the crowd or the only audience member, but somehow still remain anonymous and undetected by Interpol as I sang along to these deeply introspective, lonely, and emotional lyrics. Ideally, I could tune out the annoying voices and remove those blocking my view and stare at Paul Banks’ silhouette and mirror shades for another hour or so, singing of frustration, loneliness, love, and violence as the lights continued to pinwheel and occasionally give glimpses that he was not only a shadow with silver shades, but actually there, a human being who has felt like I've felt.