The Royal Albert Hall in London will be his final stop. I stood alongside the rest of the sold-out arena, punching the dry ice, roaring along to Lights, as my younger brother, Daniel, slashed at his guitar, as Paul Banks led the crowd. We all sing, "That's why I hold you."
This story starts differently than that. In 1985 I told my mother that I wouldn't be joining her when she moved to Washington DC with my two brothers. I will be 17 years old. My parents are divorcing four years after we relocated from London. I tell my mother that I will become a professional musician when I return to London. In the 90s, I worked as a staff on the magazine.
My brothers and I used to sleep in bunk beds in a small apartment in London. The relationship was close but not perfect. I fought with Mark many times. Daniel was gentle and sweet. As he became aware of our parents splitting, he needed to get along with everyone.
The three of us had a lot in common. Pop music was one of the true religions. I was obsessed with music for as long as I can remember, and that devotion sunk down from my bunk. All three of us were affected by the youth culture of the early 1980s. We finally got our own rooms when we were in high school.
We only saw each other once a year after I left, but music kept us together. We would swap tapes at the record store. On one visit, I noticed that Daniel was playing the same riffs multiple times in my mother's apartment. I had never had the attention span to learn an instrument, but Daniel was always focused.
There was a package in New York that day. There was a stack of demo CDs in the envelope. According to my brother, he wanted me to hear them.
He had been in a band for the last few years, but I didn't think it would go across the ocean to me. I assumed that his career was focused on working for independent record labels, but this package changed that.
We continued to promote music into adulthood. He was an intern at labels before becoming a full-time role. He was a smart operator. He opened the US arm of Domino from his apartment and I was surprised by this demo. He was a young mogul, not a musician.
Shamefully, I wondered if I’d be judged by Daniel’s music
I realized I didn't know him. I was too focused on my work and life to ponder about him. He was my brother and he was a musician. I had no idea that he had a creative dream.
These CDs appeared to be an incursion on my turf. What would people think of my brother's band. I was hoping that it would be a success, but I was worried that it wouldn't be. It might go down badly with critics. What if people didn't like the organization? I wondered if anyone would judge me based on my brother's music.
He wondered if he would listen to the demo and give it to someone who might be interested. I filed the demos away for another day because I was too nervous to give it a full listen. In the summer of 2002 I found myself in the office of the magazine. The reviews editor walked across the room with a CD.
He declared to the gallery that he had the InterpolEP. As the room paused to listen, the office noise was stopped. This was the first official release by the latest hip name from New York, and people were expecting something.
The man pressed play. My brother has a guitar line. The first song Daniel sent me was a jagged cascade of melody that quickly unfurled into verse. It's just right for this room.
I had to rise from my desk as the volume increased. I pushed through the swing doors before the chorus started. I groaned with fear as I left. I was afraid. I was too scared to hear anyone in the magazine say they didn't like the band. I didn't want to see the kind of mockery that I'd heard so many times in Nme. I didn't know if my brother was in this band. I don't think anyone would like his music. I was too protective of both of my brothers. I was afraid that I would be seen as a bad person by people.
It was a big mistake.
They sold 1 million copies of their first two albums. Their third album was in the top five in the US. I joined the staff of Q magazine in 2003 and saw Interpol on the cover. I was not worried about how it would reflect on me. I was happy.
Something had changed in my relationship with Daniel. We spent more time together after shows because we were like-minds with each other rather than siblings separated by six years.
After a performance, Daniel and I sat on the floor of the dressing room and talked about our lives, our memories of each other, and feelings. Our relationship was changed. I realized I was 32 and he was 26. I liked his calmness, his deep emotional intelligence, and his ability to empathise. In that moment, we became friends and have never looked back. We're always in contact.
We became close friends and have never looked back
When I listen to his music, I hear a lot of romantic guitar music and poetic lyrics. I don't have to think about what this new music will mean for me anymore. After the first album was released in 2002, I grew out of that stage. My favourite band is now playing. I just had to get over myself.
I'm not a big fan of the band. My mom is that. She would pick me up from the airport and drive to her home in Maryland to listen to the album. She invited everyone to join her in the living room for drinks after a dinner with her friends. As we settled into the sofa, mum pressed play on the remote. After closing her eyes, she didn't open them again until the last note of the second album had rung out. She was oblivious to her elderly guests.
My brother and I were in the dressing room of the Royal Albert Hall laughing at a memory of my mother. It was particularly poignant as we had grown up nearby in Paddington and had played in Hyde Park many times before.
Daniel said he was thinking of her. During shows, your mind wanders a bit. I think of my family up there when I listen to certain songs. Even you, even?
We chink our glasses. That is why I hold you in my arms.
Ted Kessler wrote Paper Cuts: How I destroyed the British Music Press and other Misadventures. You can buy it at guardian bookshop.com.
All Rights Reserved © 2024
