Omaha. Home of emo-sobber Connor Oberst’s Bright Eyes and Saddle Creek Records, an oasis amid the dust, slaughterhouses and flatlands of mid-America. Hardly the place to host the rebirth of synth-pop a la early Duran Duran and The Human League, Depeche Mode, Heaven 17, OMD and more. But The Faint, after their last sexually charged disc, Blank-Wave Arcade, have released a throbbing, post-rock synth album that’s so retro it sounds cutting edge. Go figure. Boasting a live show mind-blowing in its ’80s authenticity, bravado and style–red stage lights, un-invasive fog and strobe effects–The Faint gamely dance away as if it were 1982. (Their recent Cat’s Cradle show led one locally based booking agent who’d never seen the band to comment, “Now I get it.”)

But Danse Macabre, the band’s third full-length, is more than a mere paean to early dance club synth bands (especially of the British-variety): The songs are hooky, the bassist is a groove-maniac, and the band is so tightly, whitely unfunky that Kraftwerk would be proud. Post post-moderne? Neu New Wave?

Whatever you want to call them, The Faint’s lean, sexual ’80s club music rocks harder than most guitar outfits, all pulsing beats, bottom-heavy rumbling synth lines and choruses that stick in your head like an alien implant (the ’80s chip). Give a listen to Todd Baechle’s clipped, vocodor-laden screams on “Your Retro Career Melted” or his liberal use of Simon Le Bon-isms (done with a punk aesthetic), and you’ll be smitten with Faint lust. The band’s muscular approach to the genre proves that dance music doesn’t have to be fey: Give a listen to “The Conductor” or “Glass Danse” if you need convincing. Track nine (“Ballad of a Paralyzed Citizen”) recalls Midge Ure and Ultravox with its slower tempo, orchestral strings and minor-keyed chorus. On Danse Macabre, The Faint move beyond revivalism to claim the ’80s synth-rock territory as their own. And if that puts the black in your wardrobe, then this disc is for you.