Pioneer To The Falls might just be the loneliest song ever played by four people. Dismal, sauntering and vaguely latin-sounding guitars accompany a lurching bassline and the signature minimalism of the drums, all of them marching unenthusiastically on a road to nowhere in particular.
But the centerpiece is, as always, the vocals. Paul Banks's vocal style, originally highly derivative of Ian Curtis's, had by 2007 evolved into its own distinct instrument. Somehow both aloof and inviting, his soft baritone always implies pains and troubles, but the idiosyncratic obscurity of the lyrics keeps one perpetually guessing what those troubles might be. When coupled with the general tightness of the band and their incredibly understated style, it often leaves Interpol sounding like it could be a solo project. I've certainly listened to solo artists who sound more like a band than they do (but I mean that in a good way).
Pioneer To The Falls finally lets its emotions out in the bridge just aft of the song's halfway mark, suddenly cascading into major chords with a rush of warmth that feels distinctly like a release. This release is brought screaming back into dank depression with an a cappella verse, and then bottled up for the outro, which is also gorgeous in its own right, a riveting dance between pitter-pattering snare rolls and some deft whammy bar action.
What really makes Pioneer To The Falls such a beautiful, brilliant opening track, however, is how open and expansive it is sonically, perfectly setting the tone for the often-overlooked gem that is Our Love To Admire. On their deservedly much-lauded first albums, Turn On The Bright Lights and Antics, Interpol had always played their cards very close to their chest, preferring experimentation and off-kilter spontaneity to any kind of grand ambitions. Our Love To Admire, right from the opening track, is something altogether different. It's a huge, soaring work, far more laid-back and confident than its predecessors, with just enough self-aware swagger to keep it interesting.
There's a self-assuredness, direction and maturity to the album that goes far past anything the band had previously achieved, resulting in powerful songs, both emotionally and physically. The emotional power comes in songs like The Scale, where the loneliness in Banks's voice becomes its own instrument, and the cynical, resigned No I In Threesome, where Banks seems to be explaining to his girlfriend why they should see other people, but makes it sound like he's talking about killing himself by lopping off his head with garden shears.
The physical power rests with songs like the evil clangor of Mammoth, its vicious guitar lick and relentless refrains containing such power and vitriol that it's hard to believe it's on the same album as No I In Threesome, and the energetic charisma of The Heinrich Maneuver, a ready-for-radio post-punk classic that has about as much fun as Interpol ever allowed themselves to have.
And yet, despite the confidence, there remains the wayward desperation that made Interpol interesting to begin with. All Fired Up scrambles breathlessly up its verses, only to come crashing down face-first into the spiraling vortex of overlapping guitars that make up the choruses. Pace Is The Trick, Who Do You Think and Wrecking Ball amble about with the quartet's characteristic brand of befuddled nihilism, perfectly capturing what the group always did best whilst simultaneously maintaining Our Love To Admire's high standard of pomp and extravagance.
Amid all the doom and gloom, Rest My Chemistry is a sudden bout of calmness and honesty. The lyrics are open and transparent, with Banks confessing to need for rest and sobriety after days of bathing "in nothing but sweat" and making "stairways scenes for things to regret." I think we've all been there. Perhaps not to the extent you have, Paul (what with the "living your life in cocaine" and all), but it certainly admits to an endearingly mundane experience when compared to Interpol's usual subject matter.
Our Love To Admire is then closed with the gentle strum and heartbreaking croon of The Lighthouse. It's as atmospheric and cinematic as the band has ever been (which is saying quite a lot), the perfect showcase for the dreamy wistfulness of their calmer work, especially after the drums finally kick in for the outro.
When at its best (Pioneer To The Falls, No I In Threesome, Mammoth, The Lighthouse), Our Love To Admire seems to float on its own strangely powerful current, simultaneously smooth and deceptively calm as it sucks you inexorably into its undertow. It's a mesmerizing work, impossible to deny or resist, and goes beyond the post-punk revival stylings of Turn On The Bright Lights and Antics to become something grander and more difficult to categorize; something truly timeless.
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