Howdy, Interpol, by Hank Layton

When people asked which concert I was attending, I usually answered, “It’s a band called Interpol.” I could never just say, “Interpol.” That was usually followed by, “What kind of music do they play?” Then, “It’s, like, indie rock stuff.” Surprisingly, nobody ever asked me, the amazing live-action linguist that I was, to suggest a few songs to test drive. Even when I told them that Interpol is my favorite band of all time, nobody was interested. I’m not heartbroken. I understand.

I don’t trust other people’s tastes, either.

So why do people like me make such a distinction? “My favorite band…OF ALL TIME!” What does that mean? Why do we take pride in having a favorite? It’s not like we don’t listen to other bands. We love other bands. But why, somewhere around 2006, did I push in the chad for Interpol and some of you selected The Vines? (Ha-ha, you suck!)

I discovered Interpol when I was discovering myself – my freshman year of college. It was there that my ears were happily introduced to Interpol, The Killers, The Stills, Franz Ferdinand, The Strokes, and The Hives – just a few of the plethora of bands that would shape my taste in music forever. Interpol was always the one that got me, though. They were the band that I listened to most frequently and at the loudest volume. They were the band whose every lyric I wanted to memorize. They were the band whose album cover graced my desktop background. They were the band whose sound I most wanted to mimic if I ever learned how to play a fucking instrument.

Maybe the reason I picked Interpol to be my absolute and undeniable favorite group of musicians was for nights like Easter, when I saw them play live for what could prove to be the final time. It was a strange experience, standing there knowing this could be the last time I see a band that meant so much to me. It was at the Beaumont Club in Kansas City, and it was only the second time I had seen them; the first was in October, 2007, in a much larger venue. Since that first show, the band released a new album and was on its second bassist after the exit of Carlos D – who was the heart and soul of Interpol both on stage and in stereo. He was, as I often described him, the man.

The band was big in the early 2000s, a force coming out of New York City along with The Strokes. Their first two releases were Turn on the Bright Lights and Antics. The plot made a right turn with the third album, Our Love to Admire. Then things kind of stalled with the release of a self-titled (uh oh!) album in 2010. Most people jumped off around Our Love to Admire, so much that Interpol didn’t get very much publicity. A lot of people simply forgot about them.

Interpol’s sound changed over the years. Although this is a natural, reoccurring trend in rock band behavior, many Interpol fans were turned off by their decisions, particularly the decrease in tempo. Despite a couple of exceptions, the band slammed on the brakes over its last two albums. They tried to get a little psychedelic, as if their instruments were hovering above the floor. The change not only lost them a number of fans but it also lost them Carlos D. By all accounts, he had one foot out the studio door while slappin’ da bass on Interpol.

Lead singer Paul Banks already has a solo album. Drummer Sam Fogarino has side projects, and I’m pretty sure he picked “Lights” to be a single of the band’s latest album so that they had to play it at every show and, thus, would provide him a smoke break before the encore. (He plays half the song one-handed.) Lead guitarist Daniel Kessler looks like he’s still having a good time, and that makes sense because his instrument has been the most consistent throughout Interpol’s tenure. Also, Kessler is a badass dancer. Check out the video for “Barricade” for proof. In the video, also notice the absence of Carlos D and his replacement, who quit while Interpol was touring Europe earlier this year.

The body language of the band at the concert was very telling. It seemed like Banks was forcing interaction with the crowd. The first thing he said when they took the stage was “Howdy,” followed by a smirk that would prove to be his go-to facial expression between songs. After a rather mind-blowing performance of “Lights,” one that featured red strobe lights and had me concerned, briefly, that I was going to suffer a seizure, Banks did the smirk and said, “That one was called ‘Lights.’ Off our latest. Record.” Just like that, with each final syllable pounding into the microphone. Everything came off as sarcastic. I’m usually a horrible judge of body language, but something seemed…off.

Oh well.

I’m in this for the long haul, ya’ll. As Interpol has grown up and made bad decisions, so have I. As they’ve changed their look, so have I. I’ve stuck it out. We’ve stuck it out. They’re my favorite band. “My favorite band of all time.” I might have my favorite songs, but I cherish everything they’ve recorded. Every Interpol tune that pops up on shuffle is a challenge for me to skip. I have to turn it up. They’re no longer my desktop background (there’s a babe in a bikini now), but they take up four of the six slots in my car’s CD player. I know almost all of their lyrics, even if I have no idea what they mean. I HAVE AN INTERPOL SHIRT!

Their older songs will always take me back to the time in my life when I first fell in love with the sound. The songs on Our Love to Admire will always take me back to my early twenties, to that first concert. The songs on Interpol will, in time, remind me of where I am now. One day, I’ll look at all their songs as a whole.

Yet as I grow older, so will my tastes. Will I one day look back on Interpol as a childish fascination? Will a new band regain the coveted status of being this everyman’s favorite band? Will my high school obsession with rap make a comeback? Maybe Interpol will always be my favorite band. Maybe I’ll be cranking “Stella Was a Diver and She Was Always Down” when I’m in an old folks’ home, bitching to everybody about how they didn’t play this song – my favorite – at a concert in Kansas City, Easter night, 2011.