Interpol

as it is to loathe, but Interpol actually make it comprehensible and appealing. Because, even more on their current album Antics than on their 2002 debut Turn on the Bright Lights, the NYC quartet view that time through their own artistic lens, focusing the best of the (largely non-American) music of that period into something more than a slavish reveling in the past.

The best, subjectively considered: the eternal loneliness of the Smiths, in which Morrissey held hands with himself; the crisply supine melodies of the Go-Betweens; the resolute affectation of New Order (plus the curiously romantic realism of New Order’s predecessor, Joy Division); and above all, the sense that emotion finds its fullest literate expression in obliquely impressionistic lyrics. On Antics, there is even a distinct insinuation of the recklessness that drove bands like the Replacements and Sonic Youth.

On a basic level, Interpol remain a rock band, with the syncopation of bassist Carlos D. and drummer Sam Fogarino, and the noisy riffs and angular solos of guitarist Daniel Kessler. Across the intense electricity these three generate in the dark liveliness of “Public Pervert” and the Pixies/Talking Heads snap of “Evil,” singer Paul Banks can be by turns regretful, introspective, furtive, shy and indirect. But he can never be entirely hopeless. Antics unfurls its diverse shades of blue moods against a bright light that never goes out.—Jon M. Gilbertson