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hat do you get when you cross an embryonic comic book incarnation, a celluloid junkie songwriter and a Theramin afficionado? The answer is Dev Hynes, aka Lightspeed Champion: the name comes from a comic book character that was started on his schoolday mathbooks and is rapidly becoming a member of a collabrative comic and a graphic novel that’s still very much in the works. Striking out from previous bands like Test Icicles, his debut album Falling Off The Lavender Bridge proves him to be a serious contender for the indie-darling throne, with songs ranging from the anthemic and insanely-worded “Galaxy of the Lost” (I believe I have referred to the ‘now we kiss and I’m sick in your mouth’ line before – that one pretty much never leaves you) to the breezily sardonic “Devil Tricks for a Bitch” and the sonic seascape of “Salty Water”. There is also a slightly restless roaming spirit to the album, which makes sense when you consider Hynes’ travels from his Houston, Texas birth through Edinburgh and Essex to London, where he still lives – although the album travelled still more, recording in Omaha, Nebraska with a cast of dabblers including producer Mike Mogis of Saddle Creek Records, Nate
INREVIEW
Interpol Venue: RDS Date: 2 December 2007 Words: Tim Smyth
CHILLING in the name of
Lightspeed Champion proves that there’s still hope for indie in his debut Falling Off The Lavender Bridge, and chats about TV addictions and the future of the theramin. Words: Carolyn Power Walcott, Clark Baechle, vocalist Emmy the Great and moonlighting sessions from members of Tilly and the Wall and Cursive. Given the seemingly effortless sonic witchery of his debut, you may well assume that Hynes himself would be something of an interesting character for a chat. And you would be very right indeed. Talking to him before his last Whelan’s gig, he was expansive and entertaining, despite being tour-weary and somewhat nervous (or freaking out, to paraphrase the man himself) at
playing his first Irish show. When reassured that Irish crowds have a reputation for being positively responsive, he was visibly relieved – due to the fact, he explained, that “I just get so nervous, and I say a lot of stupid shit on stage. I mean I don’t know if anyone’s even going to turn up!” Naturally turn up we did in droves, and also naturally, the gig was sweet. Music alone, however, is not Hynes’ only concern: television looms large in his list of vested interests. The OC, one of his favourites, even gets a namecheck
on “Let The Bitches Die” (calm down, he’s not a raging misogynist) and when asked what television show he’d most like to contribute some music to, he was delightfully verbose: ‘Oh, wow…All. I mean, if I could give a list…I’m a really big That 70’s Show fan, but I mean that doesn’t exist any more, so it wouldn’t happen unless there was some weird clip episode or something. The OC, The Hills, Laguna Beach…what else? Angel, but that’s over as well…Lost, but they don’t really have music…24…I don’t even own a TV, but I’m a huge TV fan. Well then, how about writing for TV itself? “Definitely. I mean, I just love writing – I love recording, but I love writing more. If I was asked to write a song for someone, I would do it right then and there…but nobody ever asks me!” You may also be wondering where the theramin comes in. Well, Hynes is a bit of a multi-instrumentalist, so I asked the usually hypothetical question concerning the weirdest instrument he would like to have on the next album – and the response, “Well, I play the theramin – I’d love to own one, actually – that has to go on the next one. Definitely”, pretty much sealed my opinion that this character is quite possibly 2008’s embodiment of wicked cool.
Teutonic stomp
I
’ll be honest: Interpol always struck me as an odd prospect. Not fun enough to be Franz Ferdinand, too clean to be The Strokes and too Krautrock to be New Yorkers, I could never really figure them out. Besides, Carlos Dengler looks like a vampire and Paul Banks' lyrics always seemed to have been written by an East German who has difficulties relating to other people. No, it all seemed a little too European for me. Of course, that was before I saw them live. So, while the word “revelatory” might seem a little too Biblical in this context, I'll go ahead and use it anyway. They kept us waiting, mind. I think we could all have done without the support act Friendly Fires, who don't seem to have realised that Klaxons were joking when they came up with this whole “nu-rave” thing – which died about three weeks ago. Granted some of their songs have the odd anthemic cadence in the chorus and their guitarist plays like a post-punk Nick Zinner, but when I saw the cowbell and police-car light, I'll admit I switched off. Then the temperature in the place dropped about four degrees, Interpol swept on-stage as only they can and slunk into the sinister, spectral “Pioneer To The Falls”. It's the most deliciously eerie song of 2007 and also the moment the quartet became the streamlined, minimalist auditorium act they always threatened to become. Against its soundscape of
chiming guitar, echoing piano and spongy bass, frontman Banks' hollow voice sounded even more spookily declamatory than ever. They don't have to resort to the flashy gimmicks of the nu-ravers to get the crowd going: all they need is their repertoire. The pogoing reached a frenzy during Antics's highlights ”C'mere” and “Evil”, and the Teutonic stomp of “Say Hello To Angels” was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. Granted, one or two songs – most notably “No I In Threesome” – failed to fly, and the decision to play stately dirge “Rest My Chemistry” and the beautiful, interminable “The Lighthouse” either side of “Slow Hands” was like stopping a rollercoaster before it gets to the fun bit. Even still, though, the odd slow number was welcome, with “Hands Away” (from their 2002 debut Turn On The Bright Lights) adding some much needed shade and depth. Given the strength of their set, it was hard to know what tricks they could pull out of the bag for the encore. “PDA”, however, did the job beautifully, with Kessler again acting as the hyperactive foil to Banks' stock-still delivery. And then, with drummer Sam Fogarino pausing a moment to tantalise the crowd with his hat and with a wiggly-fingered wave from not-so-vampiric-after-all Dengler, away they go, leaving this hack duly converted to their suited-and-booted delights.