The Faint - 'Danse Macabre Remixes' (City Slang)
4/5
By: Toby L
The 'remix' album. As tenuous a full-length release often gets.
But, if there's one thing Nebraska's The Faint have taught us - it's to not expect the obvious, nor conservative. So, whilst you peel the CD from its jewel-case and shudder at the ensuing aural-prospects, take heed in the advance-warning that - actually - 'Danse Macabre Remixes' isn't as far off the out there genius as the original work upon which it's based.
And it's partly down to the arty discernment over those whose knob-twiddling has been enlisted, let alone the open reigns of the initial blueprint of the material concerned.
Thus, as Oakie freaks out the electro-bounce of 'Glass Danse', Jacques Lu Cont sexes up 'The Conductor' or Jagz Kooner growls their trademark 'Agenda Suicide' to a deathly, synth-driven dirge, the overriding suggestion of haunt-punk that you can shake a leg to proves an ever more likely candidate for a thrilling, if irrevocably chilling, night out.. Even if it is fragmented from embers of a not-too-distant, familiar past.
Not that you'd know initially - for 'Remixes' sounds as cohesive, collected and focussed as its inspiration, not even marred by two reworked inclusions of the quintet's rousing 'Posed To Death' (by Lu Cont and Mojolators, respectively). Most compelling of the lot proves 'Ballad of a Paralysed Citizen' - where the original, lowly-bowed strings are lost under a wave of tinny drum-loops, an eerie chorus of female-vox, and scattery, Aphex Twin-esque electronica, or a rampant 'Violent' (courtesy of Junior Sanchez), who, if anything, intensifies even further the drudgery of its anti-repressive nuances.
Dark, enticingly mysterious and repeatedly enthralling, though The Faint may have not returned with a new work-of-innovation, their invitation to inspired amigos across the board to provide such calculated interpretations of already-honed sound-assignments has produced an unlikely success. One that challenges, intrigues, and - most shrewd of all - never seems its own truth: a shameless rehash of yesteryear. Cunning, indeed.
Artists in this article: The Faint
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