Back when genres meant something, punk murdered disco and pogoed in the glittering remains. Disco sucked. But now such historic misdemeanours mean little and the Rapture are here to prove it. Snarling on the dance floor, slashing at old prejudices with a smirk, they dance like devils and spit with sincerity.
Spawned by the New York underground, embraced by pink-cheeked club kids and ruddy-faced rockers alike, the Rapture - newly anointed leaders of the burgeoning punk-funk movement - know that you can be filthy and furious and still flirt outrageously with fun. Each song on their debut album, Echoes, sounds like the perfect party mix, a taut and tasty concoction of club classics and nervy, CBGB's rock, held together by the strangled vocals of singer Luke Jenner. Distil the sharpness of PiL and the drama of Sister Sledge and you've got the Rapture's edge on the competition. Flying in the face of punk, they don't attempt to hide their desire for a warm and snug place in our affections, or their pleasure at arriving there.
It's a team effort. Jenner and bass player Matt Safer stand face-to-face, thrusting their bodies wildly to Out of the Races, Jenner's ghostly guitar chords suffocating Vito Roccoforte's nagging drums. Safer's low, harsh voice anchors Jenner's shaky yelp, forming the ying and yang of decadent depravity. Though Jenner is all pained charisma and Scott Walker-like intensity, it is Safer who lives and breathes each stuttering beat. He stabs at the heart of Modern Romance, despite Jenner sinking to his knees for some spotlight stealing, ear-shattering guitar playing while Gabriel Andruzzi blows haunting saxophone notes.
The Rapture can be sensitive, too. Open Your Heart is a gothic lullaby that turns psychotic under a crashing wave of echo, languid longing twisting into dizzying insanity. But it's a good groove that really gets the Rapture going. A Duran Duran bass line smooches with scratchy Stooges-honed guitar during I Need Your Love, sending Jenner strutting into the crowd, a swarm of bodies pressing against him as he vocally assaults the Chicago house sound. The anthemic House of Jealous Lovers prompts a stage invasion, the punchy beats and pulsating rhythm whipping up a storm of dangerous dancing. The Rapture play on regardless, ship-shape and with utter disregard for fashion.
