Guitarist Daniel Kessler is the brain trust, the one whose industry experience and musical ingenuity shaped the band and guided them through precarious beginnings. The four members of Interpol are each intriguing in their own right, and they complement each other well. Rather, it's an attempt to reintroduce the people who made it and take you through the five years between Interpol's formation at NYU and the August 2002 release of a record that still resonates to this day, even for people who are too young to remember the fall of the Twin Towers, or never lived anywhere near them.
This oral history isn't meant to deconstruct that idea, nor is it meant as a straight chronology or a song-by-song analysis. In fact, the album is so inseparable from time and place that it often threatens to be viewed as public domain, siphoned from the ether of downtown Manhattan, rather than having been meticulously crafted from untold hours of rehearsals. Suffused with faded glory, existential longing, and an irrepressible belief in itself, Bright Lights simply was how most people inside and outside the five boroughs visualized New York City in 2002: living with the heavy burdens of 9/11's fallout but still intoxicated with the possibilities the city and the future had to offer. But it never fails to remind you of whence it came. In the 10 years since the release of Turn on the Bright Lights, Interpol's debut LP has been certified gold, topped numerous year-end critics' lists ( including our own), inspired countless imitators, and probably soundtracked more than a few makeout sessions amongst well-groomed and sullen indie rock fans.
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