Interpol
Interpol
Matador
Sept. 7

By Jason Cunningham

Interpol isn’t a bad band. Yes they’ve overrated and yes the hype that has consumed most of their career leaves a lot to be desired. This makes Interpol another forgettable band. Since Interpol has never really seemed worthy of their praise, my expectations for their latest release, the self-titled Interpol, were low to say the least. Judging from their third album, Our Love to Admire, it seemed like more bloated hipster garbage was going to be thoughtlessly tossed out into the listening space.

After listening to Interpol my expectations were more than satisfied. Opposed to the 1980s driven sound that made the band listenable in its brightest moments, the listener is given an album that depressingly drones on. It’s aimless, it’s boring and even at the album’s best points Interpol still finds a way to make a song’s highlights less pleasing. Each track clumsily dribbles out as drool down these uncreative chins.

Interpol’s leader Paul Banks, who may have his chin partly if not fully gone up his own ass, might remind listeners of that friend in high school who consistently made shitty post-punk music with lyrics that were meant to be dark. If that friend got a chance to release an album as a grown man it’d literally just be this. These songs aren’t the worst things to listen to, but at times are bad enough to warrant laughter. The response to Interpol hasn’t been too bad. Many critics have given the album favorable reviews. Ignore those critics.

This album isn’t bad enough to reach entertaining for the wrong reasons status and it’s not good enough to listen to twice. After the second listen I actually felt my day get a little worse having wasted energy that could have been focused on a better album.

Just skip this one. Pretend it doesn’t exist. Listen to the first two Interpol albums and remember what it felt like to wonder if this band’s potential would go anywhere impressive. So far I’m impressed with with how far downhill they’ve actually gone, slipping into a purely unmemorable sound that seems like it’ll stick.