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Interpol are officially cool. Not that the slickly dressed neo-post-punk New York band wasn’t already cool, but when Ric Ocasek comes to your show and stands all by his lonesome to take in the sounds, you know you’ve arrived. The lanky Cars singer, minus his lovely wife, Paulina Porizkova, hung out in the back of the mezzanine area at last Tuesday’s Roseland Ballroom show, clad in his typical black outfit, complete with the helmet of black hair and his creepers shoes (although he was wearing white socks, a total fashion no-no that Interpol’s Carlos D. would have clucked at). One semi-blind friend, upon getting a glimpse of the singer, exclaimed to her mates, “Oh my God, that guy is trying to look just like Ric Ocasek!” Whoops.
Later, we headed to Sin Sin for the Interpol after-party, where we spotted one Casey Spooner, sporting really long hair and an unfortunate headband, thereby completing his L.A. rocker look circa 1985. We squealed like schoolgirls and bum-rushed him and his Fischerspooner bandmate Lizzy Yoder. Mr. Spooner was fresh from his tour and deep in the midst of recording the second FS album, which will sound—if you believe Rolling Stone—a bit like Pink Floyd. Spooner said that was news to him: “Oh, it’s a concept album!” he cracked. “Will somebody please tell me what the concept is?”
He has plenty of time to mull it over, since he’s got till December to write like hell. In the meantime, he relayed the juicy details of Dashboard Confessional‘s Chris Carrabba coming to the band’s show in Detroit. Who woulda thought the emo poster boy would like the artsy trappings of FS? We assured Casey that he, too, was emo. “I sing from the heart!” he cried.
Another bizarre backstage encounter apparently happened the previous night at the DFA show at Bowery Ballroom. One Simon Le Bon, who is hungry like the wolf for the DFA boys to work their magic on the next Duran Duran album, paid a visit to the performers before and after the show. We hear that by the end of the gig, Mr. Le Bon was quite sauced—so sauced that when Liquid Liquid‘s Sal Principato reminded Le Bon that they did a cover of one of his songs, Le Bon couldn’t quite remember. (Gentle nudge: “White Lines,” based on Liquid Liquid’s “Cavern,” was included on Duran Duran’s 1995 cover album.)
Back at Sin Sin, the Interpol boys showed up to a hero’s welcome. Carlos D., resplendent as always, was wearing a Craig Robinson vest, custom-made for his badass goth self. I wondered out loud whether or not the snazzy dresser sits at home in three-piece suits. He admitted that he has “a few” T-shirts—no doubt immaculately cared for with nary a hole in sight—and that he never, ever lets anyone touch his laundry. Not even his socks. Ric Ocasek take note!
Soon thereafter, a different sort of sound could be heard—that of many women sighing as Diego Garcia of Elefant made his way through the crowd. The heartthrob immediately converged on Spooner and Carlos, making a lovely threesome. Warren Fischer, the puppet master of Fischerspooner (and the one with the hard-on for Pink Floyd) wasn’t there, but his wife, Karen, was. Warren was home watching their four-year-old daughter, who plans to be a pretty-in-pink princess for Halloween. Rory Phillips, of London’s Trash party, who had just played at Lizzy’s Monday-night party at Lit, leaned over and confessed that for Halloween he’s gonna be Carlos D. “He might kill me, though.” Just make sure you match your socks, Rory.
If there was one event that showed you can’t turn back time, even on the night that we actually do turn back time, it was the Armani Exchange party at Hudson Studios on Saturday. It was a paean to the glorious days of Studio 54—topless men lined the entrance (one woman took it upon herself to kiss each and every one of them as she made her way down the row), and there were club freaks galore (hello, Amanda Lepore and Kenny Kenny). But Grace Jones‘s flamboyant, brilliant, inspiring performance shed light on just how dull the city has become. (A walking piece of avant-garde art, she could show even Carlos D. a thing or two.) The high from Ms. Jones wore off quickly when the five-O paid a visit, the men in blue replacing the men in buff down the hallway. You really can’t go home again.