Anthony Roman, singer/bassist for New York's post-punk politicos Radio 4, is hanging out behind the counter at Somethin' Else, a Brooklyn record store he helps run, and is musing on the connections among his group's rhythm-rock abrasions, the Big Apple's nerve-racked sociopolitical climate, and the Gotham rock community's recent desire to shake its collective ass.

"When dancing comes back into fashion and becomes popular again, it seems like a political statement in a way--at least on an underground level. I think if you're punk rock by nature, you react; and the ways in which people react are [by saying] 'I wanna have fun.' In the mid-'90s, indie rock was working itself into a corner, New York was changing into a place that many could no longer recognize, and people needed to have an outlet, to have a good time."

He's implying that Radio 4, a quintet of Long Island-raised men in black (also starring singer/guitarist Tommy Williams, drummer Greg Collins, keyboardist Gerard Garone, and percussionist P. J. O'Connor), provides such an outlet. The three-year-old band is among the crop of recently raised New York-based white funkateers trying to revive and entertain the masses grown tired of depressing sounds, mopey attitudes, and staring into their own navels.

"I think what's good about our music is that it functions on two levels: you could go to a Radio 4 show and just dance, drink beer, and have a good time. I also think you could sit down and listen and hear what's being said."

That last bit generally separates Radio 4 from the platoon of its contemporaries. While brothers in arms the Rapture and !!! also mine the rich history of late '70s/early '80s agitprop disco, Radio 4 backs it with call-to-action manifestos. Amid the 21st-century anthem-mania of its recent sophomore full-length, Gotham (Gern Blandsten), are evocations of the continuing but oft-ignored AIDS epidemic ("Start a Fire"), the sad state of civil service ("Save Our City"), and the general discontent of the New York artist community at being squashed by nouveau economics. The latter issue, commandeered when former NYC Mayor Rudy Giuliani struggled to close a Brooklyn museum exhibit he deemed obscene, seems just as prescient nationally in light of the ongoing struggles of the NEA and various Internet broadcasters.

"In the Mouth a Desert" this is not--more like "Revolution Rock." But Roman, who co-wrote most of the lyrics with Williams, isn't conscious of criticism that his words reflect "the politics of an eighth grader with anarchy patches on his jacket."

"I don't feel like in 2002 there is any need for subtlety," he says without exhibiting one ounce of pomo remorse, damningly aware that history's on his side. "Those statements should be made, and if people say, 'Oh, that's so obvious'--well, good! How obvious is it if no one's saying it? There have been some really great songs written throughout the years that could be construed as corny, but I'm not gonna shy away from something like that. I got to this thought mainly from old reggae records--I was listening to the Heptones and stuff like that, about people being oppressed, who made me understand what was going on in Jamaica at the time. And they just say it--they don't try to be metaphorical or clever about it, and I wanted to do it like that, very direct. If you mean it, it'll come across."

What helps the political agitation go down easy are Gotham's insidious electronic rhythms, as though a rock band used to recording in the red was remixed by technophiles comfortable at turning such an overloaded throb into a dance pulse. Which is, in essence, what happened. Produced by James Murphy and Tim Goldsworthy--the DFA production team that's added a shimmy gleam to numerous recent New York rock releases--the album marries the grime of an urban fantasia with ambient and dub sonics and pure kick. Rather than overseeing the basic tracks with the band, DFA took Radio 4's original tapes for a cutting-and-mixing ride, using Logic audio software. "We'd play something, and they'd take it and loop it," says Roman, invoking the mythology behind David Byrne and Brian Eno's method on the Talking Heads' Remain in Light. "They didn't change any structures, melodies, or verse-chorus relationships, but when something has a groove to it, they know how to make it stronger."

Such elements of groove and dance are flowering throughout the New York community at the moment, and especially in Radio 4's psyche. Trevor Jackson of Playgroup is remixing their last year's "Dance to the Underground" single, to be released as a 12" on Germany's great City Slang label, with other remixing possibilities on the horizon. Gigs are lined up not only with other rhythm-minded gents (they've finished up a mini-tour with Clinic), but with DJs dabbling in everything from house music to Afro-beat. It is, above all media-generated hype, what makes New York's new burgeoning musical environment seem so fruitful. "We don't have any fear of incorporating house, [or] getting into a heavy-repetition, loop-oriented, beat vibe," says Roman of Radio 4's future. "We're embracing it."