Interpolitics

A few years down the road, while participating in a foreign-study program that took him to France, Banks met Daniel Kessler, another singer/guitarist. The duo hooked up again in 1998 at New York University, where Banks was pursuing a double major in English lit and comparative lit; together they formed Interpol, along with a pair of fellow NYU students, bassist Carlos Dengler and drummer Greg Drudy (replaced in time by Sam Fogarino). During the extended period of woodshedding that followed, Banks supported himself with editorial-assistant assignments at magazines such as Interview, where he had regular phone contact with many of pop culture's shiniest luminaries.

"A lot of them really surprised me with how personable and friendly they were," Banks maintained. A request to name names drew a typically cautious reply: "I don't know. I think that's probably kind of tacky, right?" But he reconsidered, saying, "I guess because it's not a bad thing, and because he contributes to the magazine almost every issue, I could tell you that Elton John is an extremely friendly guy."

Happy chats with the mega-famous would probably have a demystifying affect on most folks, but not Banks, who said he's never bought into the mythology of stardom. Maybe that's why, despite the intelligence of the Interview staffers with whom he worked, he quickly concluded that he wasn't cut out for that brand of journalism.

"It was the wrong field for me," he said. "I wouldn't want to write at a lifestyle or celebrity magazine, because of the fundamental limitations of how you can present your information, which I thought was really boring. On the one hand, I was sympathetic, but on the other hand, I kind of felt like, why would you want to do this if you're forced to have these stupid angles and compartmentalize everything so that it fits the readership of the periodical? It would kill the creative joy for me to do shit like 'Colin Farrell is so hot! On the set of Tigerland with the new, hot actor!'"

Of course, it wouldn't be long before Banks himself was subjected to similar coverage, albeit with an alterna-rock twist. Interpol began gigging heavily in 2000, and its Euro-centric stylings, captured on a couple of independently issued EPs, promptly hit the sweet spot with listeners on both sides of the Atlantic. By early 2001, the foursome had already come to the attention of British DJ/hipster-institution John Peel, who honored them with a BBC Radio session. After Mogwai, the Arab Strap and other trendies offered Interpol plum show-opening slots, the press hopped aboard, granting the group semi-official membership in the Strokes-led resuscitation of the NYC rock underground. Viewed from this perspective, it was nearly inevitable that the band would sign with Matador, one of the States' most venerable cult imprints.

The hype that came with this attention made Banks worry "that there would be jaded people coming to our shows. Like, 'I want to see what the big fucking deal is about.' But I didn't get much of a sense of it happening. You never know how many people walk away saying, ŒThat sucked.' But I never really sensed that there was that kind of contingent in the audience."

However, plenty of people fitting this description have taken on Bright Lights, which divided tastemakers from the beginning. Sure, the disc is striking, dramatic, hook-filled, assured -- but doesn't it also seem a touch familiar? Frankly, yes: The echoey, moody guitar patterns, the eerily danceable rhythms, the wailed, distorted and/or crooned vocals, and the elliptical lyrics all hark back to the first post-punk era, when moderately depressed lads first discovered the empowering aspects of pancake makeup and eyeliner. But the Interpolers pull these elements together with tremendous aplomb on numbers like "PDA," whose video was nominated for a 2003 MTV Video Music Award in the MTV2 category; it lost to "Girl's Not Grey," by another Return to Maybelline group, AFI.

The players offer occasional hints that they're fully aware of the game being played. For instance, both "Untitled" and "Obstacle 1," the CD's willfully evocative opening tracks, sport the declarations "We can cap the old times'/We can top the old lines," which can be interpreted as a sort of retro statement of purpose. Even so, those who feel that lack of originality is a sin punishable by death will be sharpening their guillotines by the end of "Say Hello to the Angels," which bears more than a passing melodic resemblance to the Smiths' "This Charming Man." Others may prefer to lie back and enjoy it.