The Faint - 'Danse Macabre' (City Slang)
4/5
By: Toby L
Omaha-freaks The Faint may sound as self-righteous as their chilly disco-rock grinds and thrusts, but at least - for once in keys 'n' roll - this quintet has plenty of reason to be.
Those truly wishing to break through in alt-music at the moment haven't totally got a naggingly challenging mission at their fingertips; as long as the look, energy and ferocity is firm-in-place, then all you need are the songs: a-ha, and this is where most trip up, and instead slam in another riff rather than a pile-driving chorus just when it counts. The Faint, however, like their ancestors The Cure or Earth Wind & Fire, all too well know their market-place, and arrive with this second-album proper on to the scene like a fire-engine rushing to dampen the party at the blazing House of Garage-Rock.
Still, Howlin' Pelle and J. Casablancas needn't worry too greatly; The Faint are so out there that there's little genre-rub to cause a substantial rivalry. More likely, such electronically-inclined acts as our present subjects are helping to spawn a musical spin-off, inclusive of interest to even beyond the aging axe-enthusiasts and floppy-haired gig-goers.
Intriguingly, you can take this matter on two levels; as the classical-cum-punk synth-arrangement of 'Agenda Suicide' opens the work - soon engulfing into the club-trashing bounce of 'Glass Danse' - either you're thrashingly flailing your limbs in a fashion relative to an E-d up sailor, or hiding under the bed-sheets for fear of the uncompromisingly eerie bass-lines and early-80s keyboards and static drum-machines arriving at your door to claim your soul. It especially proves a menacing affair amidst the otherwise compelling hook-feast of 'The Conductor', whereas - confessedly - should 'Posed To Death' really infringe upon your taste-settings, then - frankly - lighten up.
The rest of the criminally-short excursion (just nine tracks, thank you) tweaks mildly with the formula, but never does it prove generic. So intent on crossing over in as un-crass a Fischerspooner fashion as possible, proceedings growl more hauntingly within 'Violent' whilst bowing out grandly in the orchestral-based, Bjork-esque arrival of 'Ballad Of A Paralysed Citizen', conclusively revealing a talent that rewardingly extends beyond a photo in the style-mags and a couple of frilly shirts (even though these are both part of the package, inevitably).
Although the most bafflingly mysterious and aloof of their contemporaries at present, it's to their credible credit that The Faint are concocting a formulaic potion far more enriching and theatrical than their current company-in-crime; and, give it a little more time to fester in the market, and this stuff will grow and spread like all those scenes before them.
Artists in this article: The Faint
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