Put early Radiohead and Joy Division in a blender, whiz it up with some crushed velvet and an abandoned cityscape, and you've got Interpol. They're a band with a strangely massive sound - not stadium-expansive, but instead straining against the walls of a small club. They're a band with a sound suited to the dark, a dark filled with insomnia and expensive hi-fi. Listen to them through the best headphones you can find, and loose yourself in the moodiness, the gloom and weird freedom of asking where did it all go wrong? It's a beautiful sound. It's got all the warmth of the dim light at four in the morning, the loneliness of being the only one awake, the exhaustion of still getting on with life after a night lying awake. It's a comforting sound, interesting enough to hold your attention, but still has that kind of vague monotony you could fall asleep to if you wanted to. It's a simultaneously strong and delicate album, beautiful to listen to once, but endlessly rewarding if you have the time.
8.9/10
Mollx
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