he music press is salivating like untrained dogs over Franz Ferdinand, otherwise known as the next big thing to hit the scene ? and for once I don't blame them for their behavior.

I, for one, could hardly contain a most baffling love-of-life euphoria that took me over when I heard the band lay down, in a matter of 30 seconds, a droning Interpol-esque chord progression, usher in some heavy Julian Casablancas-style vocals, and then as if that weren't enough, the song starts morphing into this monster infectious rock groove (the real part of the song, some might say) that screams Dance!!! and by now my head is reeling. But that's kinda how it is, friends.

This Scottish quartet, begun under an umbrella vow to make music that ?girls can dance to,? has awoken and is wasting no time in doing just that. Its self-titled debut literally is everything they're saying it is: eccentric, driving, retro, post-punk, garage, founded on quintessential indie rock guitar riffs, and it's 100 percent danceable without resorting to electroclash synth and cheesy preset beats.

To make it simple for myself, Franz Ferdinand are what would come of an off-kilter lovefest among Blur, the Strokes, Interpol, Pulp, the Talking Heads and The Rapture. On ?Tell Her Tonight,? a 2:17min nugget of a tune, the opening riff is striking first in how strange it is and then in just how incredibly unstoppably enjoyable it is. The deeper you get into the song, the more it has you convinced that Damon Albarn of Blur had his thumb in this pie.

On ?Auf Acshe,? a lonely synth melody gives way to a dark 80s Brit guitar riff and Alexander Kapranos' vocals evoke the likes of Pulp's Jarvis Cocker as he sings luridly, You see her, you can't touch her/You hear her, you can't hold her/You want her, you can't have her/You want to, but she wont let you . ?Cheating On You? makes for a distorted Beatles-esque retro pop tune, complete with rampant pop key changes in the chorus. On ?This Fire,? the dark sing-along chorus is reminiscent of a time past, and is tinged with punk and David Bowie vocals as Kapranos chants, This fire is out of control/I'm gonna burn this city.

As I sing my shameless praises, I have yet to decide if Franz Ferdinand is truly groundbreaking beyond 2004. But if their intentions are to get their spotlight in the world of indie garage Brit-rock, make way, for their time has come. I feel a little dirty, like an alien robot configured to spit out glowing Franz Ferdinand soundbytes, but what can I say, they got me. And the fact that their songs can take you to a netherworld of the sexiest and most exuberant hooks, guitar riffs, beats, synth and Britpop makes it all worth my troubles.