Paul Banks

Indie Rock Julian Plenti Julian Plenti Is... Skyscraper Matador ESSENTIAL “No Chance Survival’’ There’s an awful lot of facade shrouding “Julian Plenti Is . . . Skyscraper,’’ starting with the artist’s name. Julian Plenti is actually Paul Banks, frontman for Interpol, the gloom-and-doom indie rockers whose last album (2007’s “Our Love to Admire’’) left too much to be desired. How refreshing, then, that Banks’s debut solo outing is a leap forward - and notably away - from his band’s rigid blueprint that hinges on cold calculation...

It’s hard to believe that a decade has passed since Interpol dropped its darkly dazzling debut album on an unsuspecting New York rock renaissance championing the Strokes as the new, if quickly dissipating, sound of a new century. But Interpol’s “Turn on the Bright Lights’’ — a post-punk carpet bomb of free-floating alienation and diffuse desire — loosed upon listeners not a restless twitch but a chilly sprawl, a not-so-imaginary subterranean city spiked with silver daggers and blinding, blinking neon to match its flashing sirens and damp sense of ennui.

It's been five years since Interpol became hipster darlings with "Turn on the Bright Lights," and in that time, the band has switched from high-profile indie label Matador to higher-profile major label Capitol and made the leap from clubs to larger venues. But Wednesday's show at a half-empty Agganis Arena showed a band that may be in danger of stalling out. Of course, half-empty also means half-full, and if Interpol isn't quite arena-size yet, it certainly seemed to be headed in the right direction.

Indie Rock Julian Plenti Julian Plenti Is... Skyscraper Matador ESSENTIAL “No Chance Survival’’ There’s an awful lot of facade shrouding “Julian Plenti Is . . . Skyscraper,’’ starting with the artist’s name. Julian Plenti is actually Paul Banks, frontman for Interpol, the gloom-and-doom indie rockers whose last album (2007’s “Our Love to Admire’’) left too much to be desired. How refreshing, then, that Banks’s debut solo outing is a leap forward - and notably away - from his band’s rigid blueprint that hinges on cold calculation...

Even with just two albums to their credit, the men in black of Interpol have honed a finely tuned live act. It goes something like this: They emerge dressed to the hilt in natty suits and/or ties, a flood of lights bathes the stage in sinister reds and cobalt blues as the band plays the first track from its new album, and inevitably someone brandishes a cigarette, takes impossibly long drags from it, and then blows feathered streams of smoke that...

"The Lighthouse," the last song on Interpol's new album, does something extraordinary. It breathes. It shimmers. It takes its time, lingering like the cobalt smoke rings bassist Carlos D. is fond of blowing onstage. That sounds pretty unexceptional, doesn't it? Perhaps, but we're talking about Interpol, a band that has acutely honed its taut guitar rock into an art form. With masterly precision and economy, Interpol has always been engaging more for what it keeps clinched in its palm rather than what seeps out. "Our Love to Admire," the New York...

It’s hard to believe that a decade has passed since Interpol dropped its darkly dazzling debut album on an unsuspecting New York rock renaissance championing the Strokes as the new, if quickly dissipating, sound of a new century. But Interpol’s “Turn on the Bright Lights’’ — a post-punk carpet bomb of free-floating alienation and diffuse desire — loosed upon listeners not a restless twitch but a chilly sprawl, a not-so-imaginary subterranean city spiked with silver daggers and blinding, blinking neon to match its flashing sirens and damp sense of ennui.

Dan Boeckner of Wolf Parade sings with a haughty, infinitesimally nasal throatiness yearning for closeness but holding back at arm’s reach. It’s a voice that so closely resembles Interpol’s Paul Banks that much of “Expo 86’’ is the sound of him dragging his band, intentionally or not, into soundalike territory. “Yulia,’’ “Little Golden Age,’’ the spiky “Cave-O-Sapien,’’ and especially “Two Men in New Tuxedos’’ are as Interpol-y as they come, with spacious guitars, propulsive drums, and a post-punk romanticism as impassioned as it is inscrutable.

It’s a tried-and-true tactic in music, the act of self-titling an album to announce this isn’t the same artist you remember. But in Interpol’s case, its eponymous fourth release is clearly meant to remind fans, particularly ones who have strayed in recent years, of the New York band’s beloved roots. “Interpol,’’ however, rarely brandishes the hallmarks — the majestic slow build, the keen sense of dynamics — that made the group’s 2002 debut, “Turn on the Bright Lights,’’ such a vital document of New York’s resurrected rock scene.

Reprinted from late editions of yesterday's Globe. On their debut CD, "Hot Fuss," most of the Killers' songs possess a maddening sameness. It's a pleasant sameness, but the songs can sound indistinct. That quality didn't necessarily change when the band played at Tuesday night's annual WFNX/Boston Phoenix Best Music Poll party. Yet buoyed by the goofy charm of lead singer Brandon Flowers and the especially eye-catching manic drummer Ronnie Vannucci, the band gave a charged performance that slowly made clear what all the hot fuss is about.

It's been five years since Interpol became hipster darlings with "Turn on the Bright Lights," and in that time, the band has switched from high-profile indie label Matador to higher-profile major label Capitol and made the leap from clubs to larger venues. But Wednesday's show at a half-empty Agganis Arena showed a band that may be in danger of stalling out. Of course, half-empty also means half-full, and if Interpol isn't quite arena-size yet, it certainly seemed to be headed in the right direction.

"The Lighthouse," the last song on Interpol's new album, does something extraordinary. It breathes. It shimmers. It takes its time, lingering like the cobalt smoke rings bassist Carlos D. is fond of blowing onstage. That sounds pretty unexceptional, doesn't it? Perhaps, but we're talking about Interpol, a band that has acutely honed its taut guitar rock into an art form. With masterly precision and economy, Interpol has always been engaging more for what it keeps clinched in its palm rather than what seeps out. "Our Love to Admire," the New York...

Even with just two albums to their credit, the men in black of Interpol have honed a finely tuned live act. It goes something like this: They emerge dressed to the hilt in natty suits and/or ties, a flood of lights bathes the stage in sinister reds and cobalt blues as the band plays the first track from its new album, and inevitably someone brandishes a cigarette, takes impossibly long drags from it, and then blows feathered streams of smoke that...

On their debut CD, "Hot Fuss," most of the Killers' songs possess a maddening sameness. It's a pleasant sameness, but the songs can be indistinct. That quality didn't necessarily change when the band played at last night's annual 101.7 WFNX/Boston Phoenix Best Music Poll. Yet buoyed by the goofy charm of lead singer Brandon Flowers, and especially eye-catching, manic drummer Ronnie Vannucci, the band gave a charged performance that slowly made clear what all the hot fuss is about.

The maniacal shouter at Wednesday's Interpol concert barked his praise relentlessly: "You guys are [expletive] priceless!" Not awesome, not totally righteous, but priceless, as if the happy fan were pumping his fist in praise of jewelry or a painting instead of a rock band. The refined holler made perfect sense. Interpol deals in museum-quality rock music. Its songs are sleek, methodical, and as finely tailored as the quartet's designer suits. On a second swing through Boston in support of its sophomore album, "Antics," Interpol performed one of the cleanest concerts in recent memory:...