Review: Interpol – A Fine Mess EP


A Fine Mess




Whatever the hell term you want to use in describing Interpol’s status in 2019 – let’s go with post imperial, just for now – they seem to be enjoying themselves more than ever.

The loss of Carlos Dengler seemed at the time more likely to affect the band’s symmetry rather than their output, and the trio’s work since has indeed carried much the same watermark as before, sixth album Marauder as reassuringly monochromatic as ever.

This sense of permanence has always been a big part of the appeal, of course, along with the New Yorker’s fastidious use of decades old weaponry, the grift an eye-of-the-needle skill for turning slight variation into an endlessly satisfying continuum.

A Fine Mess is the bus’ next stop, five songs which originated as part of the Marauder sessions with producer Dave Fridmann but that have been quite deliberately bent a little further out of shape since. Opening with the title track, it’s immediately apparent that some scuffing up has taken place, the normally urbane vocals of Paul Banks grittily frayed, whilst the signature guitar work is more jagged and urgent.

Given the format and timing, you might have expected this to be a diversionary exercise, but as the atmospheres build across the icy, unforgiving Real Life and The Weekend’s evident paranoia (‘Please say this whole adventure is dialling in/The deep state, it’s all self-interest, leave it there’), the weight of contrary evidence is enough to have obsessives saluting the credentials of a unique chapter.

These are, however, men of process. No Big Deal features a slight loosening of the tourniquet and flits ‘From the beach..to the strip club’ as a salute to Banks & co.’s grandest traditions; closer Thrones could’ve been plucked from almost any location in the post-Dengler canon.

There’s something vaguely oxymoronic about its title that suits a Fine Mess perfectly; controlled but sometimes a little frantic, heading for a familiar line on the horizon but taking the scenic route to get there.

There are a dozen metaphors to describe where Interpol are at any given moment, but letting the grass grow under their feet isn’t one of them.

(Andy Peterson)


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