Sunday 17/10/04 Interpol, Secret Machines @ Riviera, Chicago

October 19, 2004 by Josh Cox

The Curtis brothers of Secret Machines appear to be in a heated competition with Paul Banks of Interpol in the Barmy Lyrics Stakes, ‘04. Ever since 'Turn on the Bright Lights' sold 300,000 copies, the fiscal intake of Paul Banks has apparently been on the level with that of the late Fred Astaire. what’s with these song titles, Interpol? 'Public Pervert'? 'Length of Love'? Did 2 Live Crew reunite and no one told us? Is Lil’ Jon the executive producer of this album? No small wonder that the packaging of 'Antics' involves a wrap-around sleeve, like a porn mag on a magazine rack. Speaking of S&M, Secret Machines, for their part, offer up this vibrant portrait of human bondage with their song, 'You Are Chains': "You are chains / when you’re chained / with a chain." With an intro like that, we are all but assured that The Maggot from Goldie Lookin’ Chain will materialize at any moment to bust some rhymes in a Prometheus-stylee: "we got no hope and we got no culture / all our pickled livers plucked away by vultures. "

Because that is what this song is about, right, Secret Machines? It’s a re-imagining of the boulder-bound trials of our mythological thief of fire. You knows it. Please don’t tell us otherwise. Please don’t tell us it’s what we fear the most. Please don’t tell us that this song is a tribute to those newly reformed troubadours of chained women, Tears For Fears.

No matter, either one of these two bands could read from the driest portion of a technical writing manual on Visual Basic and make it sound riveting. 'First Wave Intact' is classic Eighties arcade game Defender writ large, as sorties depart with varying degrees of success (first wave down / first wave intact). If the scientists responsible for that botched Mars lander would have substituted SM’s 'Nowhere Again' for whatever crap Damon Albarn wired into the spacecraft to scare the aliens away, perhaps the apparatus would have landed intact and the Earth as we know it today would not be in the sorry state that it’s in. Instead. “Oh you’d be surprised / How we race / while our lives / erased.” These lyrics should be mandatory on all forthcoming SETI discharges into the cosmos, as they encapsulate the futility of the human condition more succinctly than any Socratic oath, let alone some dodgy, sub par Bowie impersonation from Herr Blur. Druggy waltz 'The Leaves Are Gone' feels like a solitary stroll through the Czech countryside, as a cruel Slavic winter bites at your heels. Braggadocio in lyrics is typically the domain of insecure rappers, however, whether intentional or not, 'The Road Leads Where Its Led' contains a self-fulfilling prophecy for Secret Machines: “they’re blowing all the other kids away.” Not an easy act to follow, but Interpol are up for it.

'Next Exit' much like 'Under Control' by The Strokes, is Interpol’s statement of departure from their established canon. Sounding like the house band for a sock hop chaperoned and organized by David Lynch, the song is like nothing they’ve ever done before and better than anything they’ve ever recorded. As an opener, it floors what most bands can offer in an entire set.

Resigned, yet resonant, the voice of Paul Banks comes through like a chorus of obstinate Lou Reeds. The band is so eager to dispel those pesky Joy Division associations that they’re now borrowing from a smorgasbord of rock titans, past and present. Just listen to the first four tracks off 'Antics'. If 'Next Exit' is their Strokes costume, in 'Evil' they’re dressing up as the Pixies, in particular, Carlos D, whose bassline is on loan from Kim Deal—holster and red armband, courtesy the gestapo. In behavior and attire alike, Carlos interjects a surging current of menace to the show. When he raises the neck of his bass to the air, he may as well be changing clips on a submachine gun, mowing us down when the chorus kicks in. This is like watching that bit in 'The Sound of Music' when the Von Trapp family performs in front a gargantuan swastika. Barring a few trills of Arabian guitar flutter that Team Kapranos employs, 'Narc' is a sound-alike to Franz Ferdinand’s 'Tell Her Tonight'. Daniel Kessler’s soaring intro to 'Take You On A Cruise' recalls a riff pilfered from the Peter Buck bible of guitar tablature. 'Not Even Jail' is not just the rallying cry of every chart-topping imprisoned rapper, it’s also one of the best tracks off 'Antics', drawing a huge response, along with agitated dance mantra, 'Slow Hands'. A storming performance, this all but assures the longevity of Interpol. As long as Carlos quells any urge to add goose-stepping and nostril-width mustaches to his repertoire, Interpol should not be turning into Rammstein any time soon.