LCD Soundsystem

"New York, I Love You" was, and, it seems, forever shall be, the last song LCD Soundsystem ever play in a live setting. Tonight, after a three-hour farewell show in New York City's Madison Square Garden, James Murphy's band of miscreants hung it up for good. And I don't blame them.

I came to LCD Soundsystem slowly, after reading a number of glowing reviews for 2007's Sound of Silver. I picked it up at a Newberry Comics in Connecticut, and I can still remember listening to "Get Innocuous!" for the first time, driving in my car at night with my best friend from high school sitting next to me. Music that doesn't just ride a groove, but relies on it, was new to me. Despite being the simplest form rock can take (and I mean that not in reference to its execution, but to its form), I took ages to warm to it. But it worked its way in, and "Get Innocuous!", "Time to Get Away," and "North American Scum," the opening salvo of Silver, slowly bore deeper and deeper into my mind.

A year later, I picked up the debut album, LCD Soundsystem, in New York City, while on a day off from my job as a camp counselor. It also took me some time to warm to, and, in fact, I would say I'm still working on it. But there is a reason for this. When LCD Soundsystem started, James Murphy was already clever. His songs could make you move, and his words could make you laugh. But there wasn't any heart. As cliché as that sounds, it's the truth. Much of what he says throughout LCD Soundsystem is genuine, but there isn't a moment of honesty to be found within its 100 minutes. That's what Sound of Silver changed, and that was what made me love this band. "Someone Great" and "All My Friends," the central pillars of Silver, remain two of the most touching, moving, honest, and thrilling songs I know. They are without question two of the songs I hold most dear.

After three years, in 2010, LCD Soundsystem released This Is Happening, with the proviso that it would be the final LCD Soundsystem album. From almost any other band, it would have felt like an expression of frustration in being out of ideas, an excuse to duck out before hitting bottom, or a desperate grab for the "No, no, please don't go"s. But there was something about the way Murphy delivered the news that made me okay with it. The band were getting bigger than he wanted them to be; not that he didn't want LCD to be popular, but James Murphy seems to be one of the rare sorts who are truly about the music, and he expressed repeatedly a desire to be free to do other things. So it was with knowledge of what was to come that LCD released their third and final album, and launched an extensive tour. And it was very, very good.

As I said above, what set LCD apart, starting with Sound of Silver, was Murphy's honesty, his willingness to put it all out there in between the songs meant only to make you sweat. This Is Happening epitomizes what made them so special. Movers like album opener "Dance Yrself Clean" were better than any of the other dance music being put out there; if you saw it live, you know nothing demolishes a concert venue like "Dance Yrself Clean." Meanwhile, "All I Want" and "I Can Change" were two staggering pieces of honesty in a scene that tends to pride itself on being one step removed from the situation.

It is an irony that has not been ignored that LCD Soundsystem became a flagship band for the hipster scene. The first single, "Losing My Edge," was an ironic play on the hipster mentality, an out-of-step hipster from way back talking about all the new kids and how the internet has leveled the playing field. Murphy never seemed to want the status of a Hipster hero, and, while he never turned out a song as blatantly hipster-bashing as Arcade Fire's recent "Rococo," he kept his distance. He just wanted to make great music. He never tried to deny his influences, and he never tried to hide them. Most bands would feel like naughty children if you pointed out the similarity of the guitars on "All I Want" to David Bowie's "'Heroes'". Murphy nodded and said, "Yep, that's where I got that from." And kudos to him. In an age with as much music as there has been, there's no point in pretending your influences don't exist. Embracing them gives you more freedom to do what you want, and to come up with something interesting.

I had the good fortune this summer of seeing LCD Soundsystem three times. The first time was at the Pitchfork festival in Chicago last summer. It was transcendent. The eight minutes of "All My Friends" are frozen in my mind, a series of perfect moments. But it was during the final song of the night, "New York, I Love You," that I saw a flash of what we'd all truly be losing when LCD threw in the towel; three-quarters of the way through the song, the music gave way to an acapella rendition of Alicia Key's "New York". And it was stunning. I discovered in that moment that a band which always seemed to rely on repetition to hammer the point home didn't need it at all. They just liked it better that way.

There was no acapella rendition of "New York" in tonight's finale. LCD Soundsystem are no more. Their Wikipedia entry even says so. And while this is the first time I've had to say goodbye to an extant band which means something to me, at least they never rode it out, and at least they never seemed to take it for granted. James Murphy has left behind something flawless, on his own terms, and now he's free to do whatever he wants. Wouldn't you want it that way if you had a choice?

R.I.P., LCD Soundsystem

When I heard that LCD Soundsystem are breaking up after they finish the tour in support of recent release This is Happening, I wasn't sure how to react. I was disappointed, a little confused, sure, but I was alright with it. Leader of the pack James Murphy decided the band were bigger than he wanted, and he's pulling the plug while he can still ride airplanes unmolested. Fair enough. Sound of Silver is a great record, one of my favourites, and the more recent This is Happening is, while not quite an equal, certainly a great release. So there was at least that feeling you get when we lose a band we admire. But there wasn't any sadness, really.

I hear stories about the reactions people had when The Beatles dissolved, and I long for that. Why haven't I become so attached to a band that I have to become a shut-in for a week to deal with the emotions? From an academic standpoint, I'm understanding; The Beatles were a band, sure, but their timing was such that they were important as a part of the culture of the moment. That's why there will never be another Beatles; their frustratingly perfect sense of craft is of course a part of it, but no band will ever matter like they did because no other band will ever be so entirely of the moment. It's impossible. Whether I understood it academically or not, I felt gypped.

Thinking about it, I told myself most of the bands I come to have already had their time. Some are encroaching on borrowed time; I'm upset Blur are considering a full reunion, with an album and all that. The oft-mentioned Spoon and Yeah Yeah Yeahs, as well as Radiohead and, depending on where they head next, Coldplay, are the only bands going where I have any emotional stake. If any of those bands announced they were breaking up, I'd probably be upset for a while. But here I was, confronted with the demise of LCD Soundsystem. Despite the fact that they have fashioned an album I value above just about any offered by the aforementioned groups, I felt nothing substantial. I didn't feel connected to the group, really.

I saw LCD Soundsystem play last Saturday at the Pitchfork Music Festival in Chicago. They were the headliners for the day, and they tore the place apart. There was a great balance of material between the new and the old. The band was on-point, and James Murphy is unquestionably a fantastic vocalist. Not always a great singer, but an A-List presence on the mic. The seven minutes of "All My Friends" was the best single concert experience of my life. I was right up front, against the barricade. There were security guards showering the audience with water, and from the moment those piano chords began resounding across Union Park, time genuinely seemed to freeze.

They ended the show with "New York, I Love You but You're Bringing Me Down," which, really, is the perfect way for LCD Soundsystem to end every show. It feels like stumbling home from a drunk night, like every good concert should. At the end of the song, the band went mute, and a stunningly quiet, stunningly perfect three-part harmony of "Empire State of Mind," the Alicia Keys/Jay-Z collaboration, wrapped up the show. Ostensibly a party band, LCD Soundsystem revealed themselves in less than twenty seconds of music to be twice the musicians, twice the unit, twice the band, that many held them to be. Myself included.

In that moment, I realised that LCD Soundsystem are walking out at exactly the right moment. They own their part of the world right now. The only ups from here would lead to dysfunction, would lead to resentment, would lead to an ending this magnificent band don't deserve. We won't be made to watch their slow demise, to listen to the lackluster releases. LCD Soundsystem have given their fans the best gift possible; they are preserved, for ever, in amber, as a perfect band, as something to aspire to. And I love them for it.

This Is Happening

This is Happening
(2010)
LCD Soundsystem

LCD Soundsystem were founded on the premise of self-awareness. James Murphy, the singer and songwriter, has spent all three albums embodying the persona of a man aware of himself to the point of paralysis. How much of this is actually a persona remains unclear, which is part of the appeal. Their early singles, such as "Losing My Edge," were ironic slams against the knowingly hip. So it seems appropriate that such a knowing band would make their final album knowing it going in. This is, I'm sad to say, supposed to be the final LCD Soundsystem album. And it's written all over its face. Or grooves.

The lyrics, which Murphy tends to extemporize in the last possible moments, reference going home everywhere. Out of nine tracks, at least four of them explicitly say a variation on "take me home." Murphy is tired, and doesn't want to play anymore. At least, not as LCD.

So it's fitting that This is Happening isn't a big leap forward for the band. It is, in fact, a summation of their previous accomplishments. Each song here can be traced to a previous LCD song.As far as being a survey of their style, it could almost be a Best Of, but for one track ("You Wanted a Hit" never quite works). Murphy has always fascinated with his ability to take major landmarks of pop and tack them to other bits, making something new. David Bowie has always been a favourite, but here it rises to new levels. If David Bowie was working in 2010 instead of 1980, I think it's very possible that this is the music he'd be making. "All I Want" uses the guitar from 'Heroes,' and "Drunk Girls" uses an ever-so-Bowie two-note hook.

Oh, it's also hilarious. "Drunk girls know that love is an astronaut: It comes back, but it's never the same." Brilliant.

Sound of Silver was great because it took the knowing sense of humour from the first LCD Soundsystem album and tacked it onto a real emotional core. I don't care for the first LCD album, because it's too removed. "All My Friends" and "Someone Great" were songs from Silver that drew you in and slowly devastated you with their perfect observations, and they helped make Sound of Silver a great, great album. I'm not so sure This is Happening is on the same level, but it's damn close. And that's better than most bands could manage. Let alone a band that tries as hard as LCD Soundsystem.

Sound of Silver, Talk to Me

The new LCD Soundsystem album has sort of been announced, in the sense that we now know the names of the songs to appear on the album, and we know it will be out on 17 May. We don't know a title. Oh, and we also know it's 65 minutes long. This is going to be a big year for doubles, isn't it?

While I'm just as excited as the next girl for the release of their follow up to the masterful Sounds of Silver, I do have one note of disappointment. One of the many song titles thrown around for a period of time in association with the album was "Why Do You Hate Music?" The title does not appear on the finalised list of album tracks. With his gift for irony and acerbic anger, I would love to hear a James Murphy song called "Why Do You Hate Music?," and so would you. Whether you know it or not.