the faint

Went with my friend Dena to Denton last night to see The Faint, which — I’ll go out on a limb and say it — I believe to be the finest band in all of Omaha. (Actually, considering I’m seeing Built to Spill on Sunday, that means I’ll be taking in Boise and Omaha’s finest in one week’s time. That’s coordination, my friend.)
Anyway, they were amazing. In a way, they sound like a cool K-Tel 80s compilation: the singer sounds like a cross between Dave Gahan and the guy from Gene Loves Jezebel, the bass player has that modified Flock of Seagulls haircut, and they play one song that sounds exactly like Soft Cell circa 1982. But they’ve got a nicely menacing edge, and their drummer is a mad man, so they get a little punk/industrial energy to go with all the New Waviness. (The only problem was the intense heat, which was remarkable considering it was actually quite cool outside. At one point, the band complained their keyboards had been pushed out of tune from “this fucking heat,” prompting a 10-minute delay.)
They played at Rubber Gloves, which gets a lot of interesting indie acts, but whose crowd is generally pretty dance-phobic in the standard indie kid way — lots of staring meaningfully at the floor, perhaps with an occasional head bob. But The Faint had even the most supercool kids shakin’ some ass on the dance floor. Before their final song, the lead singer reasoned “I know you’re all sweating out there, so you might as well dance.” I think that’s my new life slogan.