When I hear "Stella," I don't think of beer
Don't be snotty, young punks: Some of us are excited that Interpol is coming toHouston
At the risk of being subjected to your ageism, I must cautiously confess to an insatiable, unwavering idolization of Interpol.
Ahem. The New York City-based indie band, not the European-based International Criminal Police Organization, that is. I suppose a love for the crime-fighting namesake would deem me timeless, but I'm not really into justice anyway.
In making this confession, I suppose it's also implied that I still believe 2004 was a magic year. That's when I was introduced to Antics, the quartet's second urgently-yearning, rhythmically-soaring compilation that I refuse to play at anything less than full volume.
As I upped my dependence on the band's smorgasbord of post-punk ear candy in the years to come, the grinding guitars and the litany of unanswered questions that characterized Interpol became anthemic of the twilight of my tumultuous twenties.
Even now, at the dawn of my third decade, you'll never catch me sans some digital slice of Interpol on my person.
So while the announcement of Interpol's U.S. fall tour may be an event at which the twentysomethings scoff disdainfully, the schedule has found a sentimental jury of one in me. Touring bands usually mean the promotion of a new album, and Interpol's self-titled selection should drop in September, a month before the group's slated to appear in Houston.
Bring it on, autumn.
If you see a munchkin-like creature with wild, curly hair hopping up and down frantically Oct. 29 at Verizon Wireless Theater, please excuse her. That will be me, thoroughly — shamelessly — imbibing every ounce of Interpol's lyrical antidote in Houston.
Are you coming with me?