October 2003, Ice Palace, Miami, Fla.
Some albums just speak to you, know your language as well as anyone, hit all the notes at the right time in your life. This is what Interpol’s 2002 release Turn On the Bright Lights did to me, I heard the opening drum beat of “PDA” and that was all I needed.
I’m a sucker for moodiness, thrashing guitars and deep-voiced lyrics with obscure references, so Bright Light’s claustrophobic freedom (is there such a thing?) was a revelation.
Part of this project has me going back to see what albums came out during certain years, and 2002 was packed — Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots, Up The Bracket, A Rush Of Blood To The Head, The Last Broadcast, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, The Eminem Show. This is an all-star list of albums that persevere a dozen years later, and Turn On the Bright Lights shines just as bright. Given the chance, I had to see them play this album live.
The Ice Palace is a building of concrete and sparseness in the art district of Miami, an area during my youth you wouldn’t go to without an armed tank. It was apropos for Interpol, it captured their clean, black-and-white aesthetic. I went with my wife, but I know there were other co-workers of ours in attendance with a couple hundred others that night.
The band was nearing the end of its touring run for Bright Lights, having written songs for Antics, which came out in 2004. Two songs from Antics (“C’mere” and “NARC”) would play this night, but most every song from Bright Lights was on the menu. All wearing black, the band took the stage to a dry-ice fog, backlit in white lights on the simple stage against a bare concrete wall.
Paul Banks is not a demonstrative leadman, or he wasn’t at the time, he looked all of his youth but remained in firm control of the proceedings — he’s a guy comfortable onstage. But it was bassist Carlos D who was seen as the band’s star, and you could see why. He played to the crowd with his low-slung bass which would give the band a signature sound. When he left the band in 2010, people thought the band was over, and it took it four years to put out another one.
Opening with “Untitled,” the band moved to “Say Hello to the Angels” and into the odd and understated “Stella Was a Diver and She Was Always Down”. But it wasn’t until “NYC” that the room took off.
“NYC” is Interpol at its innermost Joy Division, the dour lyrics (I’m sick of spending these lonely nights/Training myself not to care) surrounded by sounds of beautiful ease. To play this then go straight into “PDA” (just as the album does), was a smart choice live. What makes “PDA” so good is its anticipation — repetition at the outset in bass and lyrics (WE HAVE 200 COUCHES), leading to the bridge of arpeggio guitar before the calamitous ending. Everything in the song builds to Carlos D’s little bass hook before the drums bring the tune racing home. My god this is good live.
I’ve seen the band a couple times since, but nothing as good as this. Catching a band early leads to good memories.
