Back in high school, my art and drama classes were spent hanging out with the goth-rockers and burnouts who slouched over the corner table. As we gushed over bands like Bauhaus, Joy Division and Wire, we etched their names on our jeans with crappy, public-school calligraphy pens.

I bet the guys of New York's Interpol sat in similar circles back then, swapping tips on hair gel and Doc Martin polish. And I'm sure they scoffed at the idea of slacks and sport jackets, just as we did. But then, years later, many of us had to bite the bullet, wipe off the mascara and learn to tie a double-Windsor. So did Interpol, but they found a way to keep the suits without losing the sneer.

The band's press photos may look like advertisements for Hugo Boss, but their first full-length album, "Turn on the Bright Lights," has a glorious sense of despair and detachment. The dark theatrics of the music and the deep warble of vocalist Paul Banks make it all too easy to compare them to any number of groups from the dye-it-black counterculture of the early '80s, but there's no dungeonesque claustrophobia here: These songs escape Subterranea and ring out into the stratosphere. Moreover, most post-punk and goth-rock riffs were about as clean as a steak-knife cutting cardboard, whereas Interpol's transitions and production work are as shimmeringly refined as their silk ties.