interpol - turn off the bright lights 
Interpol is one of those bands that can make you lose much of a night of drinking with comrades arguing as to which band is closer. It is likely that the names of Joy Division, Echo & The Bunnymen, Bauhaus and The Smiths come to light. For the third round discussion perhaps least comparison shop, and more to the unique contributions and innovations that the band brings its genre and its historical moment. By the end of the night (if pitchers would be measured in around the fifth) any kind of cynicism and objectivity is likely to be gone and all that remains is a terrible and tragic love for the band that could make a record as fragile and beautiful as Turn On The Bright Lights possible.
The disc opens with the atmospheric Untitled it envuelve a uno con ecos de guitarras hipnóticas y lo entrega suavemente a los brazos de Obstacle 1. Obstacle 1 es la primera gran pieza de este album, donde uno puede detectar la fuerza y ambición que está reventando dentro de esta banda, y que además le anuncia a uno que lo que está por venir no es un disco cualquiera. Obstacle 1 varía de una sección a otra, donde la banda dispara ideas brillantes cada treinta segundos, ideas que muchas bandas usarían para hacer un disco entero.
El tono melancólico se mantiene a través de NYC, para luego reventarle a uno en la cara con la creciente tensión de PDA donde la tristeza se convierte en otra cosa, en algo distinto. Say Hello To The Angels con su recalls galloping percussion rhythm so characteristic of New York bands like Talking Heads and historical Ramones or Iggy Pop when he played at CBGBs in the late seventies. Then the band plunges us into another moment of weakness with Hands Away, followed by a witty love song Obstacle 2, where the band leads us to tip low to keep track and try to keep pace.
At this point, if you are already emotionally exhausted, is when you tie all the undercurrents of sadness, melancholy and despair of the disk in the effective application for Stella Was A Diver And She Was Always Down. The song is devastating since the beginning, when Paul Banks monotonically announces that chilling the title as if carelessly submitting to a friend. The theme of indifference and secrecy in the beloved, the melodic structure that loads one through the mood swing, the helpless cries of "Stella I love you" is repeated to the final terms by one's heart, the central axis back toward which constructs the LP.
After that can not be more, but nobody told that to the Interpol. The opening guitar reminds me a little Roland Daniel Ash, but quickly enters new but familiar sonic territory, and rescues a little of the depths generated by Stella. Batteries and rain cathartic guitar prepares one to finish the trip with some strength. He follows the New, perhaps the song with a pop structure more familiar, almost comforting warm until it explodes into a relentless instrumental passage. The album closes with Leif Erikson (the Viking name is the first European to reach American soil in 1001 AD), a sensitive and confidential work and deeply moving that subtly brings us back to the starting point.
