Cold-steel analog synths, plodding electro-snare sounds, Miami Sound Machine/Expose-recalling spazz-beats -- these are the nouns and verbs of Stainless Style’s speech, and Gruff and Boom Bip make fantastic sentences with them. What’s particularly fascinating is their relationship to what is being said: They’re not quite ironic here, and they steer quite clear of camp. Actually, listen closely, and what initially comes across as a wild ride on a cocaine wave reveals itself to carry more than a whiff or two of melancholia, perhaps in a nod of acknowledgment to that whole style-over-substance zeitgeist-thing so inexorably linked with the era.

Then again, much of the latent-sadness could be chalked up to the sweet sighing qualities of Rhys’ voice. As playful and prankish as his Super Furries and solo work has often been, the man is also very capable of hinting at life’s disappointments when he goes for the weary-bones delivery--- check his main gig’s country-soul weeper “Let The Wolves Howl At The Moon” from the recent Hey Venus! (Rough Trade) for proof. Stainless Style offers glimmers of sadness now and again amidst the flash and crash of all of its electro-bombast -- whether they are hindsight-reflections of the decade’s doomed dreams is up for the listener to decide, I suppose, since Neon Neon seem to dig into the time-capsule without commentary or declaration of emotional distance from the subject matter. But hey, why over-analyze? The dancefloor calls…
Neon Neon, “Belfast”

There’s a little intrigue before reaching the club, however -- Stainless Style starts off with the deliciously John Carpenter-esque instrumental “Neon Theme,” a nervy chase scene played out in stalker-evoking analogue synth churns, sputtering guitar, and circa-1979 early-industrial percussion. It’s a curious opener, considering it seems to bear little relation to the rest of the album -- easily the darkest segment, it shares more than a few similarities with the after-hours post-disco of artists such as Chromatics and Glass Candy, re-visiting the Reagan years through the soundtracks to its slasher and stalker films. Much like those artists, “Neon Theme” stirs up memories of what passed for “sounds of the future” in the late 70s/early 80s; at the time, such uses of synth and processed percussion sounded rather revolutionary. Sure, now they come across as dated, but at least in a charming way…

In this sense, “Neon Theme” also serves as an entry point into the 80s; everything afterwards sounds considerably more modern than the opener. Track two, for example, “Dream Cars,” features the quintessential 80s motif of synths-as-horn-blasts as well as an Art Of Noise-inspired robo-beatbox rhythm. The downright weird “I Told Her On Alderaan”--- weird in the sense that the Star Wars subject matter sounds so perfectly hummably normal--- feels like an unholy union between Men At Work and Go West/Cutting Crew/Mr. Mister/insert-late-in-the-game-New Wave-artist-here, thanks in part to Rhys’ vaguely Colin Hay-esque delivery and an unashamed indulgence in nearly every cliché served up by synth-bands trying to “rock out.” Earnest metronomic beat by self-deluded, hair gel-mulleted drummer? Check. Chugging, lip-bitten rhythm guitar? Check. Occasional faux-handclaps thwacked out on a Fairlight or a Roland by a similarly hair gel-mulleted keyboardist dancing in place with far more exuberance than necessary? Check. If this sounds god-awful -- and it should! -- I have some good news: it isn’t. At all. Truth be told, it’s one of the catchiest songs on the album. It’s strangely brilliant. How it relates to John DeLorean? No idea. I don’t know -- maybe the guy had a thing for Princess Leia...

Neon Neon, “Dream Cars” live at the Viper Room

DeLorean did have a thing for Raquel Welch, however, and “Raquel” is a percolating-synth tribute to their short-lived love affair, recalling 1985-era Erasure or perhaps even -- please don’t tell me I’m the only one who remembers these guys! -- Kon Kan. (Come on, folks, “I Beg Your Pardon”? Tell me you remember!) “Oh Raquel, you’ve really got the power over me,” Rhys croons away before declaring, “I saw you as a movie star -- and now you’re riding in my car!” It’s oh so charmingly, dorkily sweet -- and the popping-rhythm breakdown in the middle is unbelievable!

“Trick For Treat” -- with its decidedly-now production and Spank Rock rap -- manages to still fit thematically with its neighbors despite its obvious musical differences. Here, Har Mar Superstar turns in a glorious white-boy funk falsetto over nagging synth shrieks and a low-riding booty beat. “Sweat Shop” -- boasting a nasty-with-a-capital-N vocal by Yo! Majesty--- also transports the listener out of the Eighties and into the twenty-first century. Switch the vocals and this could be a Missy Elliott or M.I.A. track. Its follow-up, “Belfast” -- the title a reference to DeLorean’s doomed Northern Ireland manufacturing plant -- is a downheartedly-delivered rumination by the designer-turned-exec over what went wrong. “Belfast, you were my Vietnam,” Rhys sighs over stuttering synth-pop in the vein of “If You Leave”-era O.M.D.

It’s in moments such as these -- wherein he and Boom Bip inject the cold-chill of such otherwise-detached music with moments of understanding and compassion--- which offer the album’s biggest surprises. “Oh how many are my foes, how many rise against me,” Rhys laments on the broken-and-beaten closing title track, and -- dare I say it? -- by the song’s final sigh, I think I might have even felt a bit sad about DeLorean’s humbled demise.