Interpol Turn on the Bright Lights 10th Anniversary Review

There was a rush of categorization when Interpol’s Turn on the Bright Lights first came out in 2002, as if their music had to be explained away as something that had already been done before, so as to not get too excited. For me, my first impression of Interpol was the Sonic Youth and Television influence in the dueling guitars, but music critics were comparing them to bands I had never even heard of: Joy Division, the Kitchens of Distinction, and the Chameleons to name a few. 

So I checked them out. Yes, Interpol inspired me to check out obscure 80‘s acts. And they didn’t really sound like Interpol. There definitely were passing similarities, but there wasn’t anything that I would really call inspiration. Just a few disparate flavors of the music. Joy Division sounded clammy and cloistered -- like the world of a suicide case on speed-- lacking the soaring expansiveness of Interpol’s compositions. The Chameleons had similar atmospherics but not anywhere close to the thrilling intensity, and if you want to listen to a band where every single song sounds the same, I present you with the Kitchens of Distinction.

There is, however, one name that isn’t really bandied about with Interpol, which now that I think about it is pretty obvious, since Interpol always seemed to groove harder and bound higher than so-called peers such as the Strokes or the Killers. A band that was regularly beaten up by the critics for much of its life. A band with the balls to let it all hang out while keeping tongue firmly in cheek. 

Led Zeppelin.

Jimmy Page, Robert Plant, John Paul Jones, John Bonham. That Led Zeppelin.

Isn’t this the case? For all the Ian Curtis comparisons, lead singer Paul Bank’s lyrics have more in common with the pervy innuendos of “Trampled Underfoot” than with the the grim seriousness of “She’s Lost Control.” Banks works by brief impressions and phrases; he imparts a sense of mysticism about the wonder of it all that could scale the “Battle of Evermore.” Guitarist Daniel Kessler is the architect of the group, the one whose wisdom pulled it all together, while bassist Carlos D channels the dark genius of Jimmy Page by way of his ellitical bass riffs. And drummer Sam Fogorino. He’s the guy who really makes them a rock band, the boulderous onrush in “PDA” recalling Bonham’s “When the Levee Breaks.”

More than any individual similarities is how they come together as a band. Some bands are little more than songwriting vehicles, with other members being sort of drones that the lead guy tells what to do -- hello, Smashing Pumpkins. Others are sprawling messes that try to stuff in every member’s whims. If there’s one thing that unites Interpol and the Zep the most, it is how their songs are sprawling and yet focused, with each individual member distinct and yet part of the whole, their parts organically rambling out and rushing together again. It leaves me feeling at the end of a 4 minute song like I’ve just listened to a half hour concerto, not entirely grasping what I’ve just heard which makes it all the better.

The occasion for this essay is the tenth anniversary release of Turn on the Bright Lights, Interpol’s debut album. It is a 3 disc set with one disc a remastered album, a demos and b-sides disc, and a DVD featuring some early concert footage and music videos. The remaster job does do away with some low-end muddiness of the guitars, but then Interpol was never really a band that relied so much on the specific timbre of a guitar chord since they’d have moved on before you could dwell on it. Still, it is an audible improvement.

The second disc contains some classic B-sides like “Song 7” and “Specialist,” which could only be found on some early EP’s. What’s new are some early demos which show a few ideas that were scrapped for the album. “Stella” in particular is very different from the album version, with M83-esque electronica and extra harmonies in the choruses, while “Gavillian” is like a flash-forward to the style they employed in their third album “Our Love to Admire.” 

The DVD contains fragments of live shows where you can see the early passion, the raw energy contained in the underground clubs, and you’ll see the best live footage of the band from their early Troubadour shows. It makes you realize that what you hear on the record is really what they sound like live. The music videos as well are artistically striking, “Obstacle 1” managing to make an empty escalator compelling (yes, it works) and “NYC” contrasting wolfish cold against airport modernity. 

Every essay written about Turn on the Bright Lights always has a shot about how their subsequent albums disappointed. I disagree. Their subsequent albums were thoughtful explorations of ideas, that expanded their sound in some ways and tightened it in others. They never rested on their laurels, and never put out anything half-hearted. But compared to their later efforts, Turn on the Bright Lights is lighter and spaced out just a little bit more, resulting in an almost jazzy feel. With that in mind, if there’s one track that contains the soul of Turn on the Bright Lights, it has to be “Stella was a Diver and She Was Always Down.” The wordiest title of any of their songs, it’s one of their more wandering compositions with a breezy new-wave feel that’s missing from their later works, and a paen that could only come with the innocence of youth, Banks singing the simple phrase, “Stella I love you.”

Interpol came out when people still bought CD’s, when albums were the dominant statement a band could make. Today, ten years later, we live in an iTunes world of decontexualization and mish-mashes, bringing us full-circle to the early days of the music industry when it was all about the single, not the album. Is rock dead? Do I have to ask? In any case, Turn on the Bright Lights to me isn’t a part of the “early 2000‘s post-punk revival,” but instead stands up with Nirvana’s Nevermind and Pearl Jam’s Ten, and how about Led Zeppelin’s Houses of the Holy, as a rock monument to the ages. And when it’s all said and done, it might be the last rock album to really matter.