How did an art-rock band from New York become so popular? By not caring whether people liked them or not. Interpol frontman Paul Banks tells Tony Clayton-Leaabout eradicating sensitivity and his quest for mental equilibrium

PAUL Banks, frontman and lyricist of New York band Interpol, removes his beanie hat 10 minutes into the interview; hair flops down over his eyes, making him look a lot younger than his 29 years. A face livid with the marks of acne also suggests someone in his late teens, but it soon becomes apparent that Banks is no slacker type.

The son of a British father whose passion for linguistics took him and his family all around the world, Banks doesn't look like the sort of guy who was born in Clacton-on-Sea. The Essex town was too small to hold the Banks family, and by the time he was five, they had emigrated to Michigan. From then on, Banks soaked up melody and music, heading to New York as a teenager, and paying the bills by working as a journalist at Interview magazine. And then came Interpol.

Two questions have plagued the band since their formation in 1998: do they dress like that at home? And why do they sound so much like Joy Division?

The Joy Division barb has softened as the albums have come and gone. Banks has equated influences with a readily identifiable sound, the result of which is a band that has quickly graduated to a level of popularity that shows little or no sign of stopping. Their new album, Our Love to Admire(on Capitol/EMI, to which Interpol signed after a spell with indie label Matador), will see the band step up to yet another level.

Banks's hair falls every which way as wind blows through an open door; he looks cool without even trying. There is activity left, right and centre, and almost without broaching the topic, he looks around him and starts talking about the rock'n'roll lifestyle that Interpol have enjoyed since the release of their 2000 debut, Turn on the Bright Lights.

"In general I'm fine with it, but there's a limited window of one's life that you're likely to be doing this - unless you're a band like The Rolling Stones, so I'm enjoying it while I have it. Being in a situation where I make a living out of playing music has been my dream since I was 15. All the things that come with it are like background noise, secondary elements to the fact that I'm living my dream."

His family's peripatetic background has made him used to touring, about which he says, "I fell into the pitfalls of touring life the first time around - just running yourself ragged. I haven't lost any friends through that, though, so it hasn't come at any expensive price. It's tolerable and it's also a great privilege to travel the world, and it's an even greater privilege to be playing music. So it's all fine."

According to Banks, Interpol's new album is so dusted and polished it might as well be taking pride of place on a mantlepiece. Nothing, he says assuredly, was more important than making the record.

"Once that was complete and I felt very proud of it, I was utterly indifferent - for the first time - to whatever happened in relation to its success or to its reception from the media."

Banks has a sensible attitude to success. You can be rubbish and make loads of money, he says, which is never a safe gauge. Neither, he claims, is fame. "I'm attuned to the more spiritual elements of life, so success for me is akin to a Zen-like state rather than money or anything like that.

Making a record that you're proud of is a success in the short term, although in my mind I'm always wondering what I can do next. I never feel success is so accomplished that I can stop. To me, the new album is a great success. On a day-to-day, more personal level? I just try not to be a dick to people, and to enjoy life more."

So would it be fair to say that his life ethic is no more or less than wanting to be a decent guy, and outside of that to fulfil himself as creatively as possible? "Exactly. For me, if Interpol suddenly lost all popularity for whatever reasons, that would not mean failure to me. Worrying about what other people think is a big waste of time, so I don't concern myself with perceptions of one kind or another. Am I sensitive? Yes, things occasionally wound me up in the short term, but I'm in the process of eradicating that entirely."

Banks detects a quizzical look. "I'm not taking any classes or anything; it's just a part of the spiritual quest." Performing, says Banks, is where it's at. He talks of it in terms of "transcendental moments", "bliss" and "losing yourself".

"When we first started touring this album a few months ago, I was a little rusty, a little bit self-aware - and being too self-aware prevents the arrival of that blissful moment. Once you get back your performing legs you can start to lose yourself, and once you start to lose yourself regularly that's when bliss can come. The last few shows I can safely say that I've reached that level - it's really something special, but it's never going through the motions. It's always invigorating. In fact, it's never less than invigorating."

Does the level of invigoration waver whether you're playing in front of 400 or 40,000 people? Each has its benefits, he reckons.

"I enjoy playing in front of massive amounts of people - I even enjoy playing in front of massive amounts of indifferent people. Why? Because I feel this enormous 'fuck-you' inside of me that really gets me going. The best scenario is playing to an audience that absolutely loves us, but if that doesn't happen - like playing festivals where everyone is waiting for Metallica - I still like the fact that we're slightly annoying them."

Our Love to Admire is on release through Capitol/EMI. Interpol are expected to return to Ireland before the end of the year for live shows