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Just when you hoped the whole New York-postpunk-revival thing was finally over, along comes Out Hud, which seems insistent on playing New Order to Interpol’s Joy Division. The Brooklyn-by-way-of-Sacramento quintet has been hotly hyped for its dedication to early-’80s-style art-funk, but its long-playing debut, S.T.R.E.E.T. D.A.D., is actually more beholden to a slicker kind of ass-shakin’: For all intents and purposes, this thing is disco. Factory-centric disco, sure, but disco nonetheless. “Dad, There’s a Little Phrase Called Too Much Information,” for example, mixes busy hi-hats, syncopated digi-congas, and simple synth riffs. And like any good disco track, “Dad”—along with everything else on this hermetically sealed debut—is produced within an inch of its shiny little life. The liner notes claim that there’s a cello on there somewhere, but you can pelt this writer with a Volkswagen-load of used Fischerspooner CDs if you can find it. What you will be able to locate, though, is a bunch of reverb-soaked instrumentals pining for the golden age of danceable New Wave. But as the Minutemen said, do you want New Wave or do you want the truth? Methinks you want the truth. And truth is, most of S.T.R.E.E.T. moseys along too slow and pastorallike to achieve the urgent backside motion that the band so desires. “Story of the Whole Thing” is an inauspicious, slo-mo opener, with single notes stretching across significant expanses. And “This Bum’s Paid” barely ups the beats-per-minute count as its languid funk guitar blurs into echofied drone. All is not wallpaper, though: “Hair Dude, You’re Stepping on My Mystique” speeds up the tempo and unzips the noise, releasing angry distortion and random chromaticism. But on the straight-and-narrow S.T.R.E.E.T., this is just a detour. Faster than you can say “electro-clash,” all that lusty revisionism is replaced by pure ’80s nostalgia. Meet the new boss, kiddies: Same as the old boss. —Brent Burton