A Farewell to Armbands

Sometime in 2004, the British pop music tabloid New Musical Express set aside a whole page in its table of contents to display a black-and-white photo of me looking straight at the camera in my usual performance outfit. “Why is Carlos from Interpol Dressing Like a Nazi?,” read the headline, a not untypical, barely disguised attempt to arouse a scandal. Interpol, a band you might have heard of, were conducting a new world tour to promote their second album. I was cofounder, bassist, and keyboardist of the band, and, much to the perennial glee of magazine editors, a flamboyant dresser. But never mind that the interview never once asked me about my stylistic choices. Weeklies like these were bought and sold on visuals and I supplied many. They paid their bills covering enfants terribles, “rock ’n’roll bad boys” with spectacles to share—though usually not of the fascistic sort.