It is so tempting to make references to the ghost of Ian Curtis as having reincarnated himself via Interpol's singer, Paul Banks. Without a doubt, the pendulous, despondent drone of Banks’ voice instantly call Joy Division to mind. However, this buzz band from New York is doing so much more for a new generation of music lovers, most of whom were barely born when Curtis committed suicide in 1980. Interpol has coiled together music in which subtle synthesizers float through complex bass lines, edged by a wall of dark rhythm guitars, and drums that flirt with math-rock precision. Defined East-coast garage attitudes skim across the surface, as though Echo & The Bunnymen had made an appearance as mopey New Yorkers in sharp black suits, and maybe invited David Byrne over for shots of vodka.

The five-year old band, does not really need to surf in on any current “New York scene” waves, because their credibility and longevity gives them more than two legs to stand on. Songs like “Stella Was a Diver, and She Was Always Down” and “NYC” (the latter provides the album title) are painfully beautiful, kind of like the sharp awareness of a razor nick. Add to that the meth-tweaker vibe of ‘Roland” and the twitchy nervousness of “PDA” and you have a plateful of solid musical helpings.

This is memorable, but not radio-friendly fare. Bridging the gaps between the glamorous mod scenes of England, the post-punk angst of New York, and London, and tying in an admirable amount of new-wave finesse, Interpol makes an immediate dent in the eardrums of discerning listeners.