Femme Fatality

Question 1 for Femme Fatality, St. Louis’ theatrical indie-electro bounce-pop crew: Are you guys shitting us? The outfits, the lust for pills and outdated drum machines, the danceable depression and gayed-out ’80s fabulousness, the jittery synths and occasional beyond-the-moon theremin effects, the vocals that seem part Pet Shop Boys, part Nick Cave, part honky hip-hop and part karaoke. These guys must be a joke, a dare or some grand inspiration. The group’s disc, Never Had a Daddy, sounds both like the songs you dug but can’t quite recall through the buzz and jag of those way-back rave days and like a goof on the excesses of said songs. Once the dancing starts, though, it doesn’t matter. Which brings us to Question 2: Can even retro-techno madness like this jostle the Replay crowd from its indie aloofness?