1,282 INTERPOL, Water From Our Eyes, Bristol O2 Academy, Thursday 1st June 2023

 

An odd one, this, from NYC post-punk guitar gloom merchants Interpol, back in my “live” crosshairs after a 5-year absence, which itself followed an absence of over 13 years… Interpol and the sadly missed Stellastarr* were easily the 2 most promising bands to emerge from a very fertile New York post-punk rock scene in the early 2000’s (Strokes? Shmrokes…), their sophomore 2004 effort “Antics” finding particular favour with me due to its’ dark, Bunnyesque atmospherics and sweeping drama, and giving me cause (after a fine set at this very venue in December 2004, gig 649) to proclaim them a truly important and influential band for this new Millennium. Their subsequent releases unfortunately proved to be anything but, to the point that I wasn’t really expecting much from their appearance on the Cure Hyde Park gig undercard in 2018 (gig 1,095). They however were the most pleasant surprise of that day, delivering a strident and sparkling performance, and I’ve at least enjoyed their subsequent couple of albums, whilst still acknowledging they’re not up to “Antics” standards. I was more intrigued than keen, therefore, when Stuart mentioned this one to me, but sorted tix anyway. Let’s see what this now-veteran band are still capable of “live”…

Stu picked me up at 6 and we hit the road for a sun-bathed drive down, joining the O2 Priority queue as it funnelled in and grabbing a barrier spot, house right. Result! Chatted away the time until openers Water From Our Eyes at 7.45. An NYC duo, they took “discordant” to a whole other level, a total random mess of taped beatbox and sheet metalwork noise, overlaid with shards of guitar and monotone female vocals, as if “Metal Machine Music”-era Lou Reed and early Laurie Anderson had actually had a kid, although nowhere near as cool as that sounds… Just as I was about to file them with the likes of Merz, Th’ Faith Healers and Russian Caravan as truly awful supports, they actually played a decent song, Summery, lilting and a little throwaway but still a zillion times better than before, and their subsequent material was more coherent, recalling the muddled moroseness of Viet Cong. It still felt less of a set, more an experimental art installation; they’re no doubt deeply hip in NYC art circles but, a better ending aside, I was glad when they were done!

A more difficult than expected return from a comfort break still saw me back in position for 9: a busy one, this, and a surprisingly young crowd… Interpol then took the stage to a mysterious white backlit strobe, however their insular and claustrophobic opener “Toni” was unfortunately dominated from the off by overpowering growling bass, with vocalist Paul Banks’ voice utterly submerged and indecipherable in the mix. Uh oh… Oldie “Obstacle 1” was an utter mess, the mix muddled and still bass-dominated, an early “Narc”’s staccato guitar riffery then overpowered the sound, the stripped-back, dubby mid-section the only time the mix sounded balanced, and “C’Mere” honestly sounded to me as if Banks and fellow guitarist Daniel Kessler were playing different songs, one guitar pattern actually sounding rather off-key too…

 

It took until Evil”, 8^th (!) number in, for the sound to even approach a balanced mix, its’ seething urgency and dynamic building chorus comfortably the set highlight, with Banks’ haunting, robotic vocals thankfully a little more audible, if still way too low in the mix. “If they’d got that wrong, I’d have just gone into the toilet to cry for the rest of the set,” I remarked to Stu afterwards! Thereafter things thankfully improved, with “All The Rage Back Home” a bombastic hurtling car chase of a song, the less overtly guitar-heavy “Take You On A Cruise” clear and balanced, and the strident punkish catapult twang of “Roland” highlights amongst some indifferent and morose bedfellows. The taut elasticity and bleak staccato pinprick guitar of “PDA” ended a proper Curate’s Egg of a set, the sound variable at best (and utter shite at worst), the band aloof and taciturn (Banks’ one comment about Bristol being beautiful – “I had a lovely day [here]” – notwithstanding).

 A 3 song encore featuring the haunting build of “Lights” to a widescreen wall of sound which thankfully stayed just the right side of discordant, a plaintive and rather lovely actually “No I In Threesome”, and closer “Slow Hands” which again sadly suffered from the mix, rounded off proceedings. Persistence paid off with the keyboard player’s list, then Stu and I hit the road debating this performance. As I said, an odd one, this, and a tough one to write up too. Like the girl with the curl, when this set was good (e.g. “Evil”, “Roland” and “No I In Threesome”) it was absolutely splendid, but when it was bad (most of the first 7 numbers, and bits and bobs thereafter sadly) it was very poor, either bass or guitar dominated, the sound unbalanced and with Paul Banks’ vocals either too quiet or utterly absent throughout. I’d so hoped for better from Interpol tonight, but after this performance, don’t be surprised if they’re off my gig radar for another 5 years or more…

1,095 BRITISH SUMMER TIME PRESENTS THE CURE 40TH ANNIVERSARY, Plus Supporting Undercard, London Hyde Park, Saturday 7th July 2018

The third Saturday in a row “oop the Smoke”, and this one’s the biggest of the lot; a massive all day outdoor show in London’s iconic Hyde Park, on the hottest day of the year? Woah…

Arguably, it wasn’t supposed to be like this… British Summer time (the season, not the event!) is normally unpredictable at best, mitigating against such big events on my part. But when BST (the event this time) announced this one as part of their annual programme of huge Hyde Park extravaganzas, I couldn’t resist… it wasn’t so much the chance to see post-punk goth/pop icons The Cure again after 25 years – I like them fine but can take or leave them (much more of a Bunnymen fan back in the day, when it seemed you were either one or the other) – but more so the stellar and totally apposite undercard of post-punk/ shoegaze bands, that enticed me into parting with the big ticket price, getting on the Cure fanclub presale (despite not being a member!) and locking one down before they quickly sold out. Having booked early, I was anticipating needing layers or even waterproofs to survive the day, but when it came around the country was gripped in a lengthy heatwave, so this was going to be a different proposition altogether!

The heatwave wasn’t the only thing gripping the nation; with World Cup 2018 in full swing and Gareth Southgate’s excellent young England side due to play their crucial Quarter Final game against Sweden that afternoon, clashing with a couple of the bands I’d booked specifically to see, a decision had to be made. Rock won the day over footy, though, so an early departure at 9.30 with my wingman and Cure aficionado Rich May got us to Osterley tube car park for 11, and a baking hot Hyde Park for just before midday. Sought out some shade from the unrelenting heat before joining the GA queue at 12.40 – thankfully the organisers threw us hardy early-comers a bone and opened up the gates well before the scheduled 1.30, giving us time not only to get our bearings in the large site (due to accommodate 65,000 grumpy heatstroke-affected goths today!), but, more importantly, wander down the front and get admission to the “Golden Circle” at the front of the main “Great Oak” stage! Result!

So, I divested myself of my t-shirt and slathered up, and we grabbed a respectable viewing spot midway back in the GC – I’m normally one for getting a whole chunk closer to the front, but it’s way too hot to be that close to that many other people – particularly in my shirtless and increasingly sweaty state! Still, we were in a good viewing place for openers PALE WAVES at 1.40. A promising young band I’d been meaning to check out, their set felt like an enjoyable yet indiscriminate rummage through their parents’ record collections (dad with the gothy post-punk, mum with the slightly Deacon Blue-ish soul-inflected shiny bouncy pop), also feeling like the soundtrack to some 80’s John Hughes bratpack teen romance movies, all plangent dynamics and wispy ethereal vocals. We even pinpointed one of their kick-drum-fuelled crescendos in an early “Heavenly” as the point when Molly Ringwold kisses John McCarthy at the end of the film! Nonetheless, it was fun, tuneful and I’d certainly check out their album now. A quick run out to fill my water bottle (which would be the routine for the day – regular rehydration keeping me going in this heat!) then got us back in the by-now rapidly-filling Circle for SLOWDIVE, running early at 2.40. A band I’d blanked on back in their early 90’s shoegaze heyday, finding what I’d heard wispy and insubstantial, and lacking in the pacier dynamics of fellow genre-lumpees Ride, Lush etc., I nonetheless very much enjoyed their comeback album last year so approached this set with an open mind. Early oldie “Catch The Breeze” was absorbing and stately layered dreampop and newie “Star Roving” unexpectedly and splendidly dynamic, making up for a sandwiched “Crazy For You” which I felt was a little throwaway. “Sugar For The Pill” was lovely and touching, and final number “When The Sun Hits” a growling rocker with a roaring crescendo, ending a variable but oft-times excellent vignette. They enjoyed it anyway, Rachel Goswell gushing that she could see her dad in the viewing terraces, house right, then bringing her child onstage at the end to wave at the crowd, before doubtless pissing off with the rest of the band to catch the rest of the first half of the footy!

 The mood of the increasing crowd was buoyed by England going 1-0 up shortly afterwards, so were in party spirits to welcome EDITORS, on just after 3.45 (half-time, coincidentally…!). Ten years or so ago, I’d bullishly declared Editors the Best Of British and potential headliners in any age, but since then they’ve delivered 3 albums of diminishing quality, their most recent, this year’s “Violence” a morose and plodding, and frankly dull, little beast. I was therefore hoping they’d just go full-on festival mode and concentrate on the bangers for this 45-minute set, rather than focus too much on this newer stuff. The truth is, as always, somewhere in between; blustering opener “Hallelujah (So Low)” dragged, but a subsequent “Smokers Outside The Hospital Doors” was soaring and epic as ever, albeit with the final chorus losing some of its’ oomph after the operatically building late crescendo, and an itchy, claustrophobic rhythmic post-punk double of “Blood” and “Munich” were both excellent, the angular and kinetic Tom Smith getting the crowd onside with a, “what a day… should we mention the football?” comment. “Racing Rats” was ace, anthemic and insistent, making up for an overlong couple of mid-set newies, then the robotic synth of “Papillon” was lengthy and epic, getting the crowd jumping. Shame they didn’t end it there, as final number “Magazine” was smooth stadium pomp, but an odd one to finish on. As with Slowdive, some excellent moments “live”, but in all honesty they’re sadly a couple of albums past their recorded best…

A quick departure from the Golden Circle then, and a dash to the back of the open and exposed arena to the smaller Barclaycard Stage; Scotland’s THE TWILIGHT SAD, protegees of both Editors and Robert Smith of The Cure, were well into their set, heavily-accented vocalist James Graham quipping, “this is Summer time music for you to cool down to!” as they embarked on another morose little bedsit ditty. A band totally fitting their name, “There’s A Girl In The Corner” was gloomy and doomy, initially recalling Joy Division’s “She’s Lost Control”, and “And She Would Darken The Memory” was a bleak and bare exposition of lost love. Before their final number, a Frightened Rabbit cover in tribute to Scott Hutchison, so sadly lost recently, Graham announced, “it means everything that you’re standing there, so thank you so fucking much!” to a roar of approval. A fine set, well worth crossing the park for, and well-received too by the ebullient crowd, their mood being lifted further as news filtered through that England had won 2-0 and were in the World Cup Semi Final!

This brought us to just after 5, the place started to really fill up with the footy-watching latecomers and there was a lull in proceedings, for me at least… tempting though the chicken curry may have been, I decided against that because the parched arena, if anything, was getting even hotter in the relentless late afternoon sun! Sufficed with an £8 (!) burger, munching it as we wandered back towards the Great Oak stage, meeting up with Rich’s brother Colin, his lady Jane and friends to catch some of GOLDFRAPP. The one outlier on the bill for me, the blue jumpsuited Alison led her band through some smooth commercial techno glam synth, very Bowie-esque (an early number even appropriating the rhythm from “The Jean Genie”) and therefore really not all that bad, actually, albeit somewhat unmemorable and short of real hooks. However, I did recognise one number from a TV ad (!), and her final number reminded me of 70’s oldie “The Crunch” by The Rah Band!

Rich and I filled up with fluid (me water, Rich beer!) and took a walk back into the by-now very pungently sweet-smelling GC (I’d forgotten how much these big outdoor shows positively reek of cannabis at times!) for INTERPOL, on at 6.30. Fourteen years ago, following their outstanding sophomore effort “Antics”, I’d declared them an important and influential band for the new millennium, and since then they’d made every effort to prove me wrong, with a couple of subsequent albums which were so forgettable they never really touched the sides. Probably the one band I was least looking forward to on this stacked bill, then, so I shouldn’t have been surprised as they again set out to prove me wrong, delivering from the outset a dynamic and electrifying set of superbly building and dramatic doomy post-punk. Opener “Not Even Jail” was typical, ominously building to a seethingly huge crescendo with Paul Banks’ commanding baritone a feature, possibly the best sounding number of the night, and “All The Rage Back Home” was cranked up, amped up and galloping. “A great honour to play here – and on a great day too… go England!” announced Banks, currying the enthusiastic crowd’s favour before the elegiac opening to a deliciously dark “Obstacle No. 1”, then new single “The Rover” was a frenzied B movie car chase soundtrack, and might just have put Interpol back on my “Best Of” CD for this year! (Very) oldie “Roland” was an embryonic NYC punk rock blast straight out of Max’s Kansas City in the 70’s, and overall Interpol were totally smashing it, so it was a damn shame that their set overlapped slightly with my potential highlights of the day and I had to leave a couple of numbers short of the end, hearing the excellent “Evil” only as a distant echo, as I arrived back over by a silent, packed and anticipatory Barclaycard Stage.

Suddenly the silence was broken… by the bright synth pop tones and Kenneth Wolstenholme commentary intro to New Order’s “World In Motion”! As entrance music tracks go, this was a stroke of genius, capturing the mood of the day and the crowd perfectly, Mark Gardener then leading the band on, singing along to the backing track. RIDE are winning the day, I thought, and they’ve not even started playing yet! Without further ado, “Lannoy Point” kicked off, the smooth dual harmonies of Gardener and Andy Bell overlapping splendidly for an excellent rendition of their 2017 album opening track, and the angular and pulsating wah-wah of oldie “Seagull” was pounding and magnificent, the crowd going nuts as the track sped up to a noisy conclusion. “I’ve got a massive semi!” Bell quipped before asking if anyone knew the score of the other Quarter Final (being played at the time), then a libidinous, lugubrious “Leave Them All Behind” was stretched, loose-limbed and groovy as all get out. “Vapour Trail” however even topped that, this ordinarily lazy, hazy and introspective moody dreamlike shoegaze number taking serious flight, feeling like a celebration as the crowd filled in with a terrace chant of the riff, prompting Gardener to comment, “what a fucking day… incredible!” All too soon, “Drive Blind” capped my Set Of The Day with a tremendous and thunderous feedback mid-section, Gardener blowing kisses and initiating “England!” chants whilst coaxing feedback noise from his effects pedals. Superb stuff!

 The headliners had already started at this point, but I stuck around to grab a Ride list, then some eats on the wander back into the Golden Circle. By then THE CURE had already delivered a plaintive “Pictures Of You”, mainman Robert Smith’s distinctive and curiously pleading vocal style already the main feature, dominating the mix, particularly over the very quiet guitars… As I mentioned, I like The Cure fine, but they’re one of those bands (Simple Minds and Adam And The Ants being obvious others) who have a “watershed” song, before which I’m happy with any of their stuff, and after which I don’t really care much for… Said number, the funky “The Walk”, marking the point where their early, frantic, stripped and tinny new wave morphed into a mixture of bleak bedsit goth and trite toytown pop, was early in the set and actually sounded quite good, recalling those mid 80’s Level 3 days a little. “Just Like Heaven” prompted much happy twirling from the devotees, and the haunting opening to a deliciously ominous “A Forest” led to a beefy bass outro, but, those apart, the set drifted for me somewhat in the middle and I was distracted by a rather convincing Robert Smith lookalike wandering around the enclosure, being stopped by impressed random punters for selfie pics!

After a well-delivered and crowd-pleasing 1 ½ hour set replete with hits, they were off briefly at 9.45; however the subsequent 10 song (!) encore was largely great and way much more to my Cure era. “Friday I’m In Love” was sturdy, joyful and singalong, “Why Can’t I Be You” a soaring and brassy Motown stomp, then, after profuse thanks from an otherwise taciturn Smith, the stark, pleading break-up jangle of “Boys Don’t Cry” led to my set highlight, a thrillingly jagged, tense and taut “Jumping Someone Else’s Train”. Inevitable finale “Killing An Arab” sounded superb, a rampant, full-on punkish blast through their debut single, tough and growling, a great way to finish the day, and a performance which, on reflection, was about as good as I’d hoped and way better than I’d feared. “It’s been a good first 4 decades, here’s to the next ones!” deadpanned Smith as he left the stage to rapturous applause from the devoted, and we headed off to Green Park tube, finding egress remarkably easy, catching a quick tube back to Osterley and the car, at which point I finally – finally! – put my t-shirt back on!

 So, back home for 12.30, having survived the relentless heat, and having thoroughly enjoyed our day. All the bands I wanted to see delivered at least some excellent highlights, Ride for me capturing the euphoric mood of the day with a perfectly judged set to win my Band Of The Day. But overall a great day in excellent company and a great way to celebrate the 40^th Anniversary of an enduring and iconic band in The Cure. In all ways, then, this was a hot one!

596 INTERPOL, British Sea Power, London Shepherd's Bush Empire, Wednesday 24 June 2003

Nothing better on my birthday than having a gig to go to, and there were plenty in London to choose from. However, we'd already gotten tix for this one before the clashing REM and Longwave gigs were announced, so we stuck with it - REM sold out in moments anyway! So Rachel picked me up from work and, after a good run, we parked at the Bush at 7, getting KFC picnic tea on Shepherd's Bush Green before hitting this old theatre venue and taking our circle seats early. Good view!

An intriguing new band supported - British Sea Power, all chunky socks, tin hats and tree branches adorning the stage. After 3 songs I'd written them off as a sub-Coral early Bunnymen rip-off with a bad vocalist (the second number in particular sounding exactly like the Bunnymen's "Crocodiles"), but then the guitarist took over vocal chores for a surprisingly affecting number which recalled the atmospherics of Kitchens Of Distinction, and thus was far and away the best number of the set. Things picked up thereafter, actually, with a bit more originality, whilst retaining the Bunny similarities in their edgy spookiness, which left me wanting to check them out at Reading this year. A set of two halves, indeed!

We knew what to expect from Interpol, following their dark, brooding Joy Division-esque debut CD "Turn On The Bright Lights", and they did not disappoint. From the stark, bare stage set up to the black suits, through to the mesmeric and melancholy music, led by the metronomic fretwork of guitarist and mainman, the impressively-sideburned Daniel Kessler, their set was an exercise in precise, studied atmospherics and effortless cool. Vocalist Paul Banks' haunting baritone even recalled Ian Curtis at times, as their dark little songs, more together and dynamic than the occasionally fragile CD versions, created a chilling atmosphere, and was rapturously received by this sell-out crowd. More than any of their contemporaries, NYC's Interpol seem well equipped to develop into larger venues, although it'll be interesting to hear how their next album progresses their notably derivative sound. All in all, though, an impressive set and a perfect way to spend my 38th birthday! Also, a quick sprint home saw us back by midnight!

649 INTERPOL, Secret Machines, Bristol Academy, Wednesday 15 December 2004

The last gig of a slow year saw myself and a last-minute companion Beef hitting the Academy for NYC's Interpol. Hit the venue at 8 as support Secret Machines were a couple of numbers into their set. Top new band at Reading Festival this year only by default, they'd certainly come on in leaps and bounds since that problematic-sounding set. Now a holy-tipped NYC combo like their tour companions, their metronomic, atmospheric spacerock sounded a lot more cohesive and coherent in an indoor venue than in the Reading tiny tent. Still a little monotone and long-winded at times, they were nevertheless a lot more enjoyable. Potential taking a step forward...

Interpol, however, are now fully realised and firing on all cylinders. After a 2 year hiatus following their debut CD, they've delivered a sublime follow-up, "Antics", which makes that debut sound flat and one-dimensional by comparison. Still harking back to the gloomy rockist sound of the early 80's, they're no longer totally in thrall to the likes of Joy Division and "Heaven Up Here"-era Bunnymen. Still drawing the mood and menace from that time into their own, effortlessly cool sound, they've now fused their own identity to the work, sounding less derivative and more inspired in the process.

The set was, appropriately, superb. Dry-ice swathed and back-lit, they switched between both albums for the set material, trilby-hatted Paul Banks' metronomic vocals and Daniel Kessler's choppy guitar work a feature throughout. An hour of brilliant atmosphere, mood, menace and control was capped with a couple of encores and some unexpected, effusive thanks from the band. No, Interpol, thank you, for becoming what you've threatened to be all along; a truly important and influential band for the new Millennium!