The yellow cabs tick downtown in the rain, sparked electrons in the bright-lit veins.
Asking comedians about their most memorable heckle is a sure-fire way to hear a funny anecdote. But for Tig Notaro the question dredges up an unpleasant memory of her first visit to Ireland, several years ago, at Kilkenny’s Cat Laughs Festival.
Interpol get a hard time for sounding a lot like Interpol. The charge is that, after several engaging albums, the New Yorkers are slouching towards creative dotage, regurgitating a grab-bag of tics and tropes: clanging guitars, brooding melodies, Ian Curtis-esque singing from frontman Paul Banks.