Interpol
Live at Third Man Records
THIRD MAN
Made up of eight propulsive tracks spanning their 20-plus years together as a band, Live at Third Man Records is a raw showcase of Interpol’s technical mastery. It feels curated and mature as it settles in as a commendable evolution of their timeless sound. Straying from their loyalty to Matador for a session at Jack White’s iconic Third Man label, the NYC institution recorded a direct-to-disc live show in Nashville back in June, which followed a main-stage appearance at Cruel World Fest in May and preceded a stint with The Smashing Pumpkins and, currently, a global tour celebrating 20 years of Antics. Safe to say, even when wedged into the early indie oeuvre alongside The Strokes, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and The White Stripes, Interpol are still pushing their ever-melancholic sonic integrity.
This anthology postures itself like an exhibition in an art gallery, with eight polished capsules of noir doctrine properly preserved through direct-to-acetate recording. Fitting for Interpol, this tedious analog process captures their dark, atmospheric grandeur straight from the live show, where it was cut on a 1955 Scully lathe out of King Records (home of James Brown) and pressed in Detroit. In stride with Jack White’s purist agenda, Interpol produces a more-than-high-quality performance without any of their familiar studio fog. Not even a fan sneering “Joy Division rules” in the segue between “Narc” and “My Desire” can detract from the depth echoing off Sam Fogarino’s vertebrate drumline or guitarist Daniel Kessler’s wooly gain.
Despite Paul Banks’ skittish intonations rattling his unapologetic voice on “Say Hello to the Angels,” the exposed clarity rings hard to replicate in a studio’s controlled world. On the record’s back half, the crooning softens, spotlighting Kessler’s angular solo on “Lights” as it transforms into “NYC,” and they all sound as coolly detached and bittersweet as ever. If you close your eyes you can almost see the band’s seemingly tattooed-on suits. For fans of Interpol, the record offers an immediate spot at the barricade through its sound alone, though casual listeners looking for a fresh reinvention may fall disillusioned.
Such is the endemic Interpol blur. The band stands guarded only by notoriety on Live at Third Man, evolving beyond the energy that initially defined them. Still writing alienating anthems, still unpredictable and commanding their prime, Interpol lifts the red curtain off their notorious ennui to invite the world into eight acts of genuine celebrity, for better and for worse. It’s a curation of their own museum, and it’s well worth the ticket.
