Pitchfork

Okay, so I ripped that off some goth chick's "webcave," but short of a tragico-absurdist interpretive dance, it's the best way to sum up the feelings I have for The Faint's new album, Danse Macabre. Indie rock (with the exception of the obscure supergroup The Hattifatteners) has never expressed much of an interest in a "ring of corpses holding hands," but if the kids really want to fight the culture industry through song, they should embrace this, as death does not care for social standing or wealth. Nor does dance!

But let's start from the beginning: long before The Faint released Danse Macabre last Tuesday, the Bubonic plague wiped out approximately one-third of Europe's population. Fear of falling victim to the plague's wrath became a part of everyday life for the people of the time, inspiring a lot of art, poetry, music, and most importantly, woodcuts, about death. The Danse Macabre usually referred to representations of skeletons dancing or playing musical instruments. Danse Macabre is also a symphony by Camille Saint-Saens, a progressive-metal band from Birmingham, and an 18+ night on Thursdays.

From what I gathered in my days studying woodcuts, the music of the Danse Macabre would cast a diabolical spell over people, drawing them towards the dance into death. And The Faint's Danse Macabre is no exception. These songs may ride on new-wave synth swells but they've got a New Order-like urgency and art-punk edge that throws off comparisons to Depeche Mode and The Human League. The album is primarily driven by keyboards, though Joel Petersen's live bass, Todd Baechle's occasional acoustic drums, and Saddle Creek cellist Gretta Cohn help the album avoid a sterile sound.

Right from the start, Danse Macabre casts a gothic light on the ordinary (as opposed, of course, to the extraordinary). A song title like "Agenda Suicide" suggests something more in the order of Heaven's Gate than career paralegaling, but instead, the song details the wasted days of mindless work in the name of an empty American dream: "Our work makes pretty little homes/ Agenda suicide, the drones work hard before they die/ And give up on pretty little homes." Meanwhile, "Let the Poison Spill from your Throat" is gossip from the crypt. Social climbing and bitter words motivated by insecurity are made physical and grotesque: "If there's dirt you've got on someone/ You let it loose without a thought/ You let the poison spill/ Spurt from your throat/ Hiss like steam."

Though The Faint's last album, Blank-Wave Arcade, was lyrically obsessed with sex, Danse Macabre seems to keep coming back to gothic paradoxes; the living die by agenda suicide, and mannequins are brought to life. Paralysis and involuntary movement or actions are common themes-- although paralysis is more likely to mean being trapped in daily routines than in coffins, and involuntary movements are caused by social pressure rather than Satanic possession. Still, these subjects seem well suited for synth-heavy anthems that lack subtlety in their thumping draw towards the dancefloor.

So, sure, it's dancy, and unquestionably new-wave, but the Danse Macabre is anything but retro. The Faint might be using Duran Duran's keyboards, but rather than mimicking the past, they play with new-wave, goth, punk rock, and some old woodcuts to make a record entirely fresh and oddly optimistic in the way that only an album which commands you to "Danse!/ Danse the Danse Macabre!" can.