“Daft Punk is playing at my house” is about as self-explanatory a song title as one is going to find. Bathing in a kinetic 808 beat and automated handclaps, LCD Soundsystem’s lone member, James Murphy, goes into detail about how he arranged such a blowout and in doing so, states rather definitively that he has not lost his edge. Jesus, imagine getting Daft Punk to play your house party. Then again, cool is something that the LCD Soundsystem hasn’t had a problem maintaining.
As one-half of the heralded DFA production team, Murphy has overseen the rise of not only some great bands like Radio 4 and the Rapture, but also an aesthetic that is closely intertwined with NY chic that has made the Big Apple the epicenter of music in the ought decade. Harking back to the classic rap labels of the late 80’s/early 90’s, the DFA are a seal of approval that ensures quality. Spotting the lighting bolt logo on any single/e.p. /l.p. is as close as one is going to get to a guaranteed purchase these days.
Perhaps it’s the self-awareness he has demonstrated on various 12 inches (including his classic “losing my edge/beat connection” one-two punch), but Murphy has successfully avoided the backlash and cries of ego-stroking that projects like the LCD Soundsystem inevitably encounter. Long awaited (and aborted, after rumors of a completed album being scrapped in favor of this), LCD Soundsystem’s debut percolates with all of the inventiveness and punch that fans expect while also introducing new elements that will surprise many.
For starters, there is the paradox of addition by subtraction. The fever reducing qualities of the cowbell appear on only the first two tracks on the album. By withholding the most definitive audible stamp that is associated with the DFA “sound” (which has been aligned with Electroclash, dance-punk, post-punk, and 80’s retro-revivalism) the implication is to continue to progress (as is evidenced by the magnificent DFA #2 comp) and move beyond pre-conceived notions. Sure, the dancing is still evident (“on repeat,” “disco infiltrator”), but this album is more than background music for sardonic elitist socials. Besides, people don’t dance at those anyway.
Murphy has stated that although in the studio LCD is a one-man affair, his goal was to create a band sound that would translate well to the stage. The best example of this is “movement.” Over a bouncy organ line, Murphy talks of “a culture/without the effort/of another culture” in his unmistakable slur. The song gives way to the kind of rock dissection that is only capable by a group of musicians, and shows Murphy’s foresight. “Tribulations,” which sounds like Human League covering Ladytron, also suggests a band effort played by one man than a one-man band.
“Never as tired as when I’m waking up” is what Brian Eno would sound like if he suffered from the bends. A slow, lacidasical Murphy murmurs as a guitar line dipped in cough syrup drops in on occasion (the song has the words “tired” and “waking up” in its title, duh).
The turning part of any serious party is when the DJ raises the house lights, bathing the dancers in an artificial sun. “The Great Release” captures this moment of synthetic salvation and extends it with the effect of a documentary filmmaker. Balanced throughout by a piano sound that would make Moby jealous, Murphy lets the pressure build to a breaking point, and then slowly lets the air escape.
