An album with nocturnal twists worth embracing
Post-[a]Interpol[/a], us Brits have churned out a succession of groups turning the dark ore of that band’s influences into a succession of inferior alloys; [a]Editors[/a]’ bendy spoon, [a]White Lies[/a]’ pound shop aluminium foil. New Yorkers Blacklist toil at a similar forge but retain a sense of arch grace. It might be best enjoyed with a fragile chemical mind in the company of a black-haired girl who could do with a few sausage rolls, but this tour around [b]Bunnymen[/b] and early [b]U2[/b] is executed with panache; [b]‘Flight Of The Demoiselles’[/b] and [b]‘Julie Speaks’[/b] teeter on The Edge-style histrionic guitar flourishes. There’s no new dawn in [b]‘Midnight…’[/b], but it’s a shade of the nocturnal worth embracing nonetheless.