If you dress dapper, if you dare to be different, there is more of an onus to prove you cut the musical mustard. Interpol proved tonight they have the mustard blended, cut and deli-dried. Round One in the style over substance debate sees the two factions draw neck and neck. The suited and booted figurines of Dengler, Fogarino, Banks and Kessler are almost completely indistinguishable in the smoked obscurity of the Apollo stage, silhouetted by an ambiguous blue hued light show. Generally assuming stoic stances, Dengler and Kessler occasionally break off for a robotic tour around the stage, with Dengler practising his Sparks-style nonchalance. Banks doesn’t address the audience, save a quiet "thank you" or two, retaining an air of mystique that is free of pretention. Round Two and substance is triumphant. Musically, this band are impeccable. Minimalist and repetitive their songs may be, but this is their art, and they have its cultish simplicity honed to perfection. There is an almost spiritual beauty in their music, and tonight is shaped by eye-closing surges of communal introspection, reaching pinnacle during the haunting Not Even Jail. Such moments are balanced by the sweaty jump arounds inspired by Slow Hands, Evil and PDA. Round Three: the decider. The style over substance debate is a tired and often pointless one. The best artists marry the two, creating beauty and inspiring awe. Interpol won. | 
