Like “Superman” or “superfood,” the term “supergroup” conjures an image of energy and might: a many-tentacled mutant band, drawing power from its individually famous members. Muzz, though, is the kind of supergroup that feels more like a nourishing break from other, more demanding endeavors. Paul Banks, whose dour, authoritative baritone can’t help but draw attention to his day job as Interpol’s frontman, formed the new band with two old friends: Matt Barrick, a fellow Meet Me in the Bathroom-era veteran best known for drumming in the Walkmen, and Josh Kaufman, a longtime producer and multi-instrumentalist whose resume includes work with the National and Bob Weir, as well as his own folk group, Bonny Light Horseman.
The trio had the poor fortune of launching the new project in early March 2020—a fluke of timing that ensured their first-ever “live” performance was a socially distanced unplugged session—but this album had been gestating for years before that. (In fact, Banks and Kaufman have been friends since their high-school years, with pictures to prove it.) The earliest Muzz sessions occurred around 2015; later, the band convened at various studios and practice spaces, letting the project evolve at a leisurely pace. Now, at a moment when such in-person collaboration feels impossibly luxurious, the self-titled full-length finally arrives.
Muzz’s music sounds similarly unhurried, from the start-stop murmur of “Bad Feeling” to the foggy folk drift of “Patchouli,” an impressive mood piece colored by synth pads that unfurl like a slow-motion iTunes visualizer. While Banks and his Interpol colleagues have spent decades fending off Joy Division comparisons, Muzz swaps out the icy atmospherics for a warmer, earthier slate of influences, including Neil Young and Bob Dylan. Slide guitar, pedal steel, and horns fill in the margins; one of the better tracks, the somber, dramatic “Broken Tambourine,” boasts a piano overture ornamented with birdcalls, as though it were recorded in an open field many miles from Interpol’s natural habitat.
The result is perhaps the weariest-sounding supergroup album you’ll hear this year. Occasionally the band shifts up a gear, resulting in overcast mid-tempo rockers like “Red Western Sky” or “Knuckleduster,” which reprises the galloping shuffle Barrick used on Walkmen classics like “Juveniles.” Mostly, though, Muzz is an intricately crafted pastoral travelogue, piecing together the sighing psychedelic twang of “Evergreen,” the acoustic jangle of “Everything Like It Used to Be,” the gorgeous campfire reverie of “All Is Dead to Me,” and the folktronica death rattle of “Patchouli.” Though it often sounds lovely—thanks to impressively layered arrangements and Kaufman’s obvious instrumental mastery—it could have benefited from summoning more of the urgency associated with Banks’ and Barrick’s respective bands. Without it, listless songs like “Chubby Checker” and “Trinidad” float by without leaving much of an impression.
Given how distinctive Banks’ voice is, it’s impossible for this stuff not to sound at least a little like Interpol. Once he crooned about the subway being a porno; here his lyrics (written in collaboration with his bandmates) summon images of oceans and red western skies. Still, the singer retains a knack for beguiling, impressionistic imagery (“The bees in the frying pan/The shards in the carpet”). If there’s an inadvertent theme, it’s what Banks describes as “meditations on mental health and the quest for happiness.” That’s apparent on the group’s best song, “Evergreen,” with its velvety groove and cryptic references to an unnamed medication taking over one’s life.
Whether Muzz wind up being a lasting band or a one-off diversion, this is a promising debut from three old friends who have an instinctive grasp of each other’s talents. For Interpol loyalists, it’s a lot less patience-testing than a rap mixtape titled Everybody on My Dick Like They Supposed to Be. And for Banks, it’s got to be nice to have a band that doesn’t require you to wear a suit all the time.
