Ask your average indie aficionado to describe Interpol and they'll probably offer you one word: miserablists. The New York four piece have carved themselves a sizeable space in the bottomless musical pit of doom and despair occupied by such carefree spirits as Nirvana's Kurt Cobain and, dare we say it, Joy Division's Ian Curits, and that's largely thanks to the marriage of Daniel Kessler's lilting, cold guitar tricks with Paul Banks's deep vocals, which creates a distinctive sound so dark, yet vast, that it threatens to swallow you whole. Certainly, this isn't the sort of stuff you can play at parties and when faced with the prospect of a full ninety minutes entrenched in such melancholy, your Saturday night suddenly becomes a lot bleaker.
But then, that's somewhat unfair to Interpol. For starters, they've brought Floridian indie-alt rapscallions Surfer Blood along for the ride and their sumptuous blend of scuzzy, distorted guitars with funky bass lines and Beach Boys-esque melodies immediately brings a smile to the face. These guys have tunes by the dozen, including candidate for Single of the Year 'Swim', and enough witty repartaie to keep the masses interested. Lead singer John Paul Pitts is on fine, exuberant form, claiming that a trip to Liverpool has prevented the band from falling apart, and that the deliciously catchy 'Take It Easy' is about how attractive he is. Before long, he's crowdsurfing his way to the back of the venue, and then he's in the crowd, offering up the mic, shimmying with da laydeez, trying to get himself laid (yes, he openly admits this).
Clearly, this is markedly different from anything we could expect from our headline act - you won't catch Paul dancing around the stage with maracas, that's for sure - but then, that just adds to the diversity of the experience. And anyhow, Interpol's bleak reputation isn't entirely justified: while between-song banter is sparse, confined mainly to polite "thank you"s, there are gigantic smiles on faces throughout, a telling acknowledgement of the crowd's somewhat insatiable lust for more. Liverpool's indie contingent are at their loudest and most lively this evening, screaming every word, battering into one another with reckless abandon. It probably helps that this is a 'Turn on the Bright Lights'-heavy set, featuring no less than six tracks from one of the decade's greatest albums.
The singles are here - an early 'Obstacle 1' gets things going, 'PDA' induces delirium and an astoundingly epic 'NYC' makes grown men cry - but it's the others that provide the biggest highlights. 'Say Hello to the Angels' sounds even wilder than on record, threatening to fall apart at the seams at the breakneck pace at which Kessler delivers those unforgiving guitar chops. 'Hands Away', meanwhile, gives Banks a chance to relax his voice a little and demonstrate the full spectrum of his vocal range, delivering a beautifully cracked rendition. And then, folks, we have 'The New', six minutes of angular indie heaven, unaired for years but finally taken off the shelf, dusted down and given the good ol' fashioned seeing to that it deserves.
There are plenty other moments to savour, of course. The new material translates well, with current single 'Barricade' and the cascading riffs in 'Memory Serves' sticking firmly in the mind, while classic singles 'Slow Hands' and 'Evil' are met with the kind of devotional hysteria usually reserved round these parts for a sighting in McCartney's Bar. It's left to an extended 'Not Even Jail' to close proceedings, and it's a brilliant decision. The track is probably Interpol's finest hour and its dark, moribund proto-gothrock stylings are given extra gravitas tonight by essentially turning everything up to eleven.
It would be a mistake to write Interpol off as a bunch of gloom-wallowers, mired in the sound of unrelenting misery. They've carved their own niche, sure, and yes, it's hardly Alphabeat territory, but this stuff rocks like a bastard and if you get it, like the 2,000 here tonight, you'll leave safe in the knowledge that you've just witnessed something spectacular.
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