With flippant, bold exclamations about his own bald fantasies, Darren Keen’s trying to do to dance music what Eddie Argos did to indie-punk. It’s an abrasive, roughly cut mash-up of drum machine ‘n synth disco trash with the occasional trip io tinny bar room rock gone electro. “I’ll be in the biggest band with all of the baddest fans/like my parents said you can/I want to be bigger than Jesus man…” he proclaims with a slight snarl, inhibited only by that lisping noise that must be his tongue stuck in his cheek. –Jeremy Krinsley