No matter what Interpol do they're instantly identifiable. You could argue this makes them one note . . . but damn, it's a pretty good note.
On Marauder, the New York band's sixth album, there's not really any surprises. It's more bass heavy than usual - an odd choice given their basslines still haven't recovered from the departure of original bass man Carlos Dengler in 2010, and there's a smothering layer of distortion on the drums for some reason, but there's no risk of confusing them for anyone else.
This, I'll quickly point out, is no bad thing. Interpol are a vibe band, their ice-cold grooves, spindly and metronomic guitar work combined with vocalist Paul Banks' brooding baritone, have always worked together to conjure up an atmosphere of darkly glam foreboding and a fond regret for one's debauched wrong choices.
If you listen closely you'll detect nuance, change and hints of growth to the band's sound. Banks occasionally soars out of his comfort zone to hit a raspy higher register (Party's Over, NYSMAW) and as a group they're now not afraid to solemnly stomp all over happier sounding chord progressions (If You Really Love Nothing, Number 10).
Heck, on Surveillance they even get their funk on before Banks crashes the party by slowly drawling out the title in an exaggeratedly bored monotone, almost as if he's reminding the others what band they're in.
The absolutely fantastic, plaintive head-nodder, Flight of Fancy would be right at home on Antics, their brilliant 2004 album, as would the superb, over-too-quickly, Mountain Child. Early single The Rover is full of hip-shaking swagger and Complications revels in the sound of NYC sleaze.
Interpol aren't the type of band that will drastically reinvent themselves; there's no sudden adoption of fashion or reaction to trend. What there is, is a collection of great new songs by a band that frequently sidles up to the bright lights of greatness before retreating back to the enveloping dark.
Interpol mix things up but stay resolutely, perfectly, Interpol.