In one of the opening scenes of “Flight of the Conchords,” which makes its premiere Sunday on HBO, buddies Bret and Jemaine, played by New Zealanders Bret McKenzie and Jemaine Clement, approach their friend Dave (Arj Barker) at his party on the Lower East Side. “How’s it going?” Bret asks. “Good,” Dave answers, “But could you guys, like, move away? I’m trying to look lonely.”

“Lonely? What for?” Jemaine asks. “Chicks are attracted to lonely guys,” Dave answers. “It’s a psychological analogy.”

“What about Eugene?” Bret asks, motioning toward an oblivious, paunchy man pilfering from the snack tray by himself.

Dave nods his chin in Eugene’s direction. “He knows what he’s doing.”

So, evidently, do Messrs. McKenzie and Clement, who, with their lovable loser aesthetic, have managed to catapult the lo-fi ethos of hipster New York onto HBO’s national platform.

If the pair looks familiar, it might be because advertisements for their show have blanketed airwaves, Web sites, and subway cars for the last month. Or perhaps it’s because you’re an avid fan of indie comedy and have followed their ascent from cult New Zealand “folk comedy” band to breakout TV stars. But most likely, it’s because Messrs. McKenzie and Clement look like almost every young, aimless, artfully disheveled 20-something living in the Lower East Side, the East Village, or any Brooklyn neighborhood west of Bushwick. They’ve got the facial hair, the dark-framed glasses, the two-tone puffer vests imported straight from 1985. They drink beer out of a can, buy their snacks at bodegas, and eat empanadas in their shoddy one-bedroom apartment.

But it’s not exactly a show about nothing. Bret and Jemaine have moved to New York from New Zealand in an attempt to get their band, a guitar-driven conversational folk-rock duo called Flight of the Conchords, off the ground. The pair’s escapades about town, most of which involve unsuccessful attempts to attract women — sample pick-up lines include “You’re so beautiful, you could be a part-time model” — periodically morph into musical interludes with songs such as the reggae-inflected “She’s So Hot … Boom!”

The band has a manager, Murray (Rhys Darby), who is employed as the cultural attaché at the New Zealand Consulate, but spends the majority of his office hours on band-related matters, such as taking stock of the sale of Flight of the Conchords mouse pads. Murray, though arbitrarily obsessive about the band’s activities — he calls roll during their three-person meetings — cannot manage to secure them a gig, especially an elusive “night gig.”

Bret and Jemaine also have a fan, Mel (Kristen Schaal, displaying impeccable comedic timing), who is maniacally obsessed with the duo; Mel’s wardrobe consists entirely of Flight of the Conchords Tshirts, and she forces her husband to sit in their car while she waits for Bret and Jemaine outside their apartment.

And they have each other, for the show is nothing if not a sweethearted buddy comedy. Though there’s no narrative between episodes, the series does have a number of running jokes, one of which involves Jemaine’s inability to understand why Bret, who is slightly more successful at attracting women, does not want Jemaine to accompany him on dates. (Another running joke concerns the second-class status of New Zealand. Promotional posters in Murray’s office boast tag lines such as “New Zealand. Don’t expect too much — you will love it.”)

Ultimately, Bret and Jemaine don’t want fame or fortune; they just want to be loved, mostly by each other. In one episode, after Jemaine dismisses Bret from the band because he misses an opportunity to play at a tourism conference, forcing Jemaine to use a tape recording as accompaniment, Jemaine and Murray make a pro and con list called “Bret vs. tape.” Under Bret’s name, along with “alive” and “‘stage presence,'” Jemaine lists “miss him.”

There’s one other recurring character in “Flight of the Conchords,” one that reinforces the show’s limited demographic appeal: New York. The city has frequently played an uncredited starring role in many of HBO’s most popular series: In “Sex and the City,” it was a playground. In “The Sopranos,” it was the dark neighbor across the river. In “Entourage,” it is, most frequently represented as the root of humility and artistic integrity.

In “Flight of the Conchords,” though, New York, just like Bret and Jemaine, plays itself — no makeup artist or acting coach needed. When Bret and Jemaine go to a museum, they don’t hop in a town car and spend the day sipping Champagne at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. They take the bus to the Queens Museum of Art, and bound down the stairs of the JMZ subway line at Marcy Avenue. While “Flight of the Conchords” may not appeal to anyone with a pension plan, its sweet simplicity and self-deprecating humor should attract a loyal following, at least among those who value earnestness over earnings.