New York City’s Interpol is pretty enough to make you cry and they deliver enough heartbreaking melancholic doom rock to make Ian Curtis want to hang himself again. I’m not apologizing for that sacrilegious comment to you goths out there, but seriously folks, while a couple of the tunes miss with too much weepiness, most of this record stands out with shining brilliance, namely the tracks “Untitled,” which washes the senses with bittersweetness, and the minor KROQ hit “PDA”. What’s with the bass player’s hairdo? It’s so retro-haute with its “surf’s up” side part – I long for seventh grade when skaters used to sport this do and tag up “Skateboarding Is Not a Crime,” Oh yeah, and fuck Avril Levigne, that silly little Hot Topic ho. I wonder what Jonathan Richman thinks of them. He, the purveyor of confessional, quirky love songs? Who fucking cares? Nobody touches Richman when it comes to this shit but Interpol sure does try. If you’re woman, get this album since you’ll think the guys are cute. It’ll give your boyfriend something to seethe about, or at least you can pretend he’s seething. If you’re a man, get this album to impress the chicks. They’ll think you have good taste, that you’re sensitive and cool.