Album Review: Paul Banks - Banks

It's been two years since Interpol released their last self-titled offering, and although most fans would prefer a fifth record from the sharply-dressed New Yorkers, a new album from frontman Paul Banks is enough to starve off the hunger. Well, you'd think so anyway.

With Banks, the singer is shedding the skin of his alter ego, Julian Plenti, and standing bare for the world to see. But when the layers are removed what's glaringly obvious is that Banks, the man, really needs his mates back. None of the guitar on the album cuts a shade to the emotive lines of Daniel Kessler, and you don't realise just what drummer Sam Fogarino has got 'til it's gone. The record's best tracks (The Base, Over My Shoulder, Young Again) are the ones that recall Banks' regular gig. When he starts throwing caution to the wind he misses the mark more often than not. Another Chance is a perfect example; the late inclusion solely unravelling the tail end of the album. As much an artistic misstep as the Metallica/Lou Reed abomination Lulu, the song combines strings, samples and this psychotic loop from the film Black Out about “losing control”, “fucking up” and having something wrong with your brain, which is pretty much how you feel after the track swirls in your head for over four minutes. What happens following is irrelevant – you don't have enough time to regroup.

Banks has its moments, but as a complete body of work it doesn't hold enough edge or depth to really shake the idea that you're just listening to some strange Interpol B-sides. That band wrote Evil. Consider this the Diet Coke of that.