Images by Atiba Jefferson

Within the rugged glamour of New York City’s explosive early-2000s rock and roll scene—often remembered by The Strokes’ laid-back, affluent sensibility and LCD Soundsystem’s brilliant Manhattan jubilance—there was a band that was more mysterious, more serious, and more insistent on making their way through the muck: Interpol.

Where other bands found somewhat immediate hype and notoriety, Interpol took a bit longer to make sense to their audience—slow burn with a payoff so sharp and articulated that, in hindsight, their being destined for greatness seems obvious.

With their 2002 debut, Turn On The Bright Lights, Interpol succeeded in creating a record that existed comfortably alongside but not fully migrated with their contemporaries, imbued with the style, gravity, and drama for which they have become adored. The Other Side Of Make-Believe, Interpol’s seventh album, released on July 15th, 2022, carries with it equally well-determined style and drama, but with a greater sense of narrative, intentional arrangements, and the refinement that comes with continued artistic development and age. This year marks the 20th anniversary of TOTBL (time flies and it feels bad), and being fans of the new album, we thought we ought to catch up with Interpol guitarist/songwriter/cinephile, Daniel Kessler.

I have some really big broad questions for you. First of all, congratulations and happy anniversary. How’re you feeling about twenty years of Turn On The Bright Lights?

I’m a bit in disbelief that it’s been so long. Trying to avoid all the clichés that come with something like this.

Clichés?

Yeah, like, ‘It feels like just yesterday!’ But it is crazy to think that twenty years have gone by.

I mean, it’s huge, man.

Yeah, I think the first time you do anything sort of big like that, you remember it more vividly. It’s incredible that seven records have come out since then and, talking about it now, I never would have expected back then that any of this would have happened.

You’ve recently come out with a new record, The Other Side Of Make-Believe. How do you feel about your evolution as a musician and a songwriter from TOTBL to TOSOMB?

Especially considering how long it took to get signed to put out that first record and recording it—the most I had hoped for was the opportunity to put out that one album. If someone had told me back then how things would turn out, I would have had a massive panic attack. It’s amazing. I’m really grateful for everything that has happened between the release of that record and now, but I’m also very grateful for the four or five years we had before making that record. It served us well as far as getting comfortable being in a band, developing as a songwriter, and getting comfortable with our chemistry. Having that period was something that enabled us to grow. We started getting a little bit of attention after that first record; we were comfortable doing our own thing and not thinking too much about people’s expectations and reactions. Our DNA was already kind of solidified.

I think that period of time right before breaking is sort of the most painful but also the most valuable period.

What seemed like a difficult time in the sense that people weren’t paying attention to us, feeling a little futile, ultimately served us well. I remember those difficult moments in the early days when no one was coming to our shows and record labels rejected our demos; just these very difficult times, but in hindsight, I’m really grateful for that.

There’s that old saying that you have your whole life to make your first album, but only a year or a few months between albums after that. Do you think that’s true? 

I think that is sort of true. That was definitely something in my brain when we put out TOTBL, which is why we immediately started working on our second album, Antics. We wanted to start building material before we had the chance to think things over too hard. We just wanted to keep doing what we were doing and naturally grow from those two records. I think once we had done that, we’d sort of built the process for ourselves. I think those are things that are important—keep doing what you’re doing and building toward your future. Not necessarily thinking, ‘I hope this resonates with people,’ or worrying about how things are going to work, but giving yourself the space to say and do what you want without hindrance or expectations.

Do you value making art for yourself?

If anyone paid attention to what you did on your first record, it’s because of what got you to that first record, which is what moved you first. You are your own barometer in that sense. I think you’re going to really dilute yourself and won’t do anyone a service if you start thinking about what other people want and how you’ll be received, and I think people will see through that. What drove me to write songs in the first place is the same thing that moves me to write songs today. It’s the same alarm system I’ve had since I was a teenager. When a song resonates with me, there’s an excitement and enthusiasm that you can’t get all the time, but when you get it, it’s like a drug. You recognize the feeling. I’m not someone who writes sixty songs a year; I can only get that feeling once in a while, so when it’s there, you chase that feeling.

Though you make art for yourself and attempt to isolate yourself from outside influence and expectations from your fans, those expectations still exist. How do you cope with the pressure that comes from that?

I think there is a selfishness to being an artist because it is self-expression, so you have to feel it. It’s not about, ‘We hope we have these kinds of commercial results.’ We’ve never had that conversation. It’s more about asking ourselves, ‘What do we want to say?’ I remember before TOTBL wondering if I’d still be able to write songs if people had expectations for them, and that’s why I’m so grateful for those years before when I solidified my process. If I had [been successful] earlier, the process might have been less solid and affected by what people expect from me. I have the same joy in songwriting as I did as a teenager and I do it in the same way. I love having my classical guitar, love writing while watching films and drinking coffee—the joy of that is the greatest thing ever. When you bring it to a room where we are working on songs, there is so much going back and forth between the three of us, you don’t think about the expectations outside. The best feeling for me is when you leave a room and the song just took a turn in an unexpected direction and it’s infinitely better than what it was before starting the rehearsal. It’s been decades, and that feeling is still there. It’s why I equated it to a drug earlier. You just want that. It’s also never been like, ‘We need to make a record.’ We never do it because we have to, we do it when we have ideas and want to, and you bring ideas to each other to work on and become deeply invested in these songs. You think these are the best things you’ve ever done, and that’s the way it should feel. For me, it should feel like the latest thing is the best thing.

I know you’ve been asked a lot about your musical influences, so I have some music-adjacent influence questions to ask. Whose career do you look to and think, ‘That is sick. I wanna do that’?

Ah, man. I don’t know. There are people that I admire, but I don’t think there’s anyone that I want to emulate exactly. Someone like Nick Cave I think is incredible. His volume of work, obviously as a musician, but also as a screenwriter and a filmmaker, an incredible live performer; someone like him is just exceptional. Aphex Twin, too, is just incredible. He’s been doing it for decades and decades—a trailblazing career—and you still know very little about who he actually is. You know as much today about him as you did back then! That’s crazy to me.

You seem to be pretty into film. Are you a screenwriter? Filmmaker?

No, but I would say that film is maybe an even greater influence on me than music. I write everything while watching films and have done so since before TOTBL. Something about having the visual stimulation and emotion of a film while writing is good for my process. Just sitting down in a chair and writing is a little daunting, a little sterile, though I know that probably the majority of people do it that way. I need a little bit of a distraction, some visual stimulation. I enjoy it, and it’s worked so far.

What’s the last good thing that you saw?

Ah, I’m a little jet lagged so I’m spacing.

What’d you watch on the plane?

I watched The Duke with Helen Mirren and Jim Broadbent. I’m a big Helen Mirren fan; Jim Broadbent is incredible. A very tight film. I liked it. I rewatch a lot of things. I rewatched Barry Lindon a few days ago which is great; Kubrick really flexing.

Yeah, the use of natural light and the distant cinematography!

Even thematically, there is nothing to equate it to. I mean, you can’t compare it to Dr. Strangelove, or 2001, The Shining. It shows once again that this guy can do anything. All of those films are just exceptional and so committed. I think films have been like a companion to me my whole life; there’s a great comfort to them. Films that I really enjoy, I can rewatch them over, like The Passenger. ‘Passenger’—the song from the new record—I gave it that tag name because I was watching the film The Passenger.

You should try writing or directing!

One thing that is not lost on me is that as far as the actual execution of a film, just to do one scene, the amount of effort it takes to make it. When you see a Tarkovsky movie and you realize that they only had one shot to make this thing happen and film it just right. It’s not lost on me; everything it takes to capture all this. I’m in awe and admire the art.

If you weren’t making music, do you think you’d be working in film?

I don’t know, man. Before the band, I was working at record labels. I just knew that I wanted to be around music, but I never thought I could make music because the odds are just stacked against it, so from the moment I finished school, I started working at record labels until right about when the band started touring. I was all in on music, I guess.

A couple of questions from a fan to close us out: your stage presence is legendary, especially your footwork. Do you have dancing influences?

Oh, man. I don’t think so? For me, I think it’s harder to stay still on stage and do that thousand-yard stare. I just couldn’t do it; it’s even more nerve-wracking than connecting emotionally with the music and moving around at my own pace…  I don’t, but I appreciate the question.

Fashion influences?

I would say a lot of the stuff from the early ’60s French and Italian films, that kind of style where everyday people presented themselves in a way that’s sort of timeless. There’s that coupled with the fact that I was born in London and some of my earliest memories are of seeing The Specials, and I always thought there was something about their suits and the way they presented. Their outfits were just great. I thought so as a five-year-old and I think so today.

How important do you think presence and looks are to a performance?

I don’t think looks are important for a performance at all. It’s more about what you like and what you feel comfortable in. Maybe the best band I’ve ever seen—one of the most influential bands in my life—is Fugazi, and those guys are the antithesis of caring about what they wore. They wear what they want and they put on the greatest rock show ever. It’s about what feels authentic. For me, I feel more comfortable wearing a suit than putting on a pair of blue jeans like my mom just dressed me and sent me off to school.

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