Music from the ’80s is awesome.

It’s almost impossible to hear the sounds of New Order, Flock of Seagulls, or Soft Cell and be in a bad mood. There’s just something about a bunch of keyboards and synthesizers and dorky guys dancing around in funny clothes that makes people happy, even if it’s in a “these songs are so stupid but I still kind of like them even though I would never admit to it in a crowded room” kind of way.

But sadly, it’s 2004. It’s twenty years later, a whole new century; in all honesty, we should have flying cars by now. New-wave is long since dead, and is mostly only thought of by a handful of girls who sing it at the top of their lungs when they’re driving by themselves at night.

But alas, over the horizon marches a new savior of new-wave, an army that is unafraid of Casios and skinny ties. These brave souls are the leaders of the second new-wave revolution. They are called The Faint and their latest weapon is “Wet From Birth.”

Straight out of Omaha, NE, The Faint have been kicking out their version of synth-fused indie rock for roughly ten years, and their latest offering seems to be the happy medium between rock and roll and the house music at a trendy dance club.

The album begins with the classical styled violins of “Desperate Guys,” a so-so opener with cheesy lyrics about a guy and girl he has a crush on. Note: these guys graduated from middle school long ago, so it’s pretty hard to pull off a song like that.

Luckily, the record gets better. There’s a wide range of songs, from the straightforward rock song “Drop Kick The Punks” to the phat beats of “Paranoiattack,” a politically based song about 9-11 and the never-ending threat of terrorism.

Listeners be warned: at times this album is not suitable to play in the car on a road trip with the entire family. Case in point: there’s a song entitled “Erection.” Since this is a family publication, it’s impossible to go into detail about what this song is about, but here’s a hint: it starts with B, ends with R and rhymes with loner. “Birth” is also a fairly disgusting song about, what else, the miracle of birth. Judging from movies in high school, this is a fairly repulsive process, and doesn’t really warrant a song, but there it is nonetheless.

This album is a lot easier to take than “Danse Macabre,” especially if the listener likes his or her dance music in smaller doses. There’s excellent production, tunes that make you move and filthy lyrics that are funny to think about when the song is stuck in one’s head for the duration of the day. So go out, buy a skinny tie and rock out with some Faint. Just don’t let Grandma hear it…