By Bob Ruggiero
By Hilary Hughes
By Peter Gerstenzang
By David R. Adler
By Devon Maloney
By Brian McManus
By Jessica Hopper
By Harley Oliver Brown
From menacing electronic violins to German countdowns to broken washers and dryers to a raccoon penis bone soloing through a muffler to an entire song devoted to the male erection to multiple hidden "orfice" gems, the Faint's new Wet From Birth suggests they own time travel: blinking through London in the early '80s, skipping the decades between, and venturing whammy-pedal-first into future postmodern fame.
But why should their first album in three years be viewed as anything more than just one more swirl of synth-induced dance tunes from yet another "The" band? Easy: The Faint were here before the trend and their tracks are consistently both catchy and punky enough to make your lip sneer. Wet From Birth still features their signature electronic combustion and erratic machinery, yet this time it's organized, the sonic chaos structured through audible guitar crunch and jazz-oriented basslines.
To record it, they locked themselves in a warehouse for a year in their Omaha, Nebraska, hometown. The 10 songs are short, giving everything and nothing away at the same time. They are sex without complications, a dirty drug. And if all else fails, you can put on a tight pair of pants with a blazer and dance.
The Faint play Webster Hall October 15 and 16.