I don't know whether this is a love song or a horror story, but I love Interpol. They're a stunningly good band. My song of the day is their "Slow Hands" off the band's 2004 album "Antics." I adore how unabashedly in love the song's protagonist is, which is belied by the detached sound of frontman Paul Banks' voice.
It makes for an awkwardly beautiful declaration of devotion, akin to but more successful than George McFly's initial gambit in "Back to the Future" when he tells his future wife that she is his "density." I'd take it in a heartbeat:
"I submit my incentive is romance/I watch the pole dance of the stars/We rejoice that the hurting is so painless from the distance of passing cars/And I am married to your charms and grace/I just go crazy like the good old days/You are me want to pick up a guitar and celebrate the myriad ways that I love you. . ."
I saw Interpol at Coachella many years ago and they were great. All faces were deadpan and the bandpass attired in frontier Victorian Doc Holliday attire. Then they played like they were on fire. But more full of ennui than panicked about it.
While I'll always take the goth, sonically speaking, I hope Paul Banks—whose voice carries a sort of Ian Curtis hollowness—is happier than he sounds.
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