3 out of 5

Label: DFA

Produced by: James Murphy

The mid to late oughts were a strange time for music, when everything felt like a response to everything else. The goalposts kept moving – not necessarily further away, just around the field; it was an approximate era defined by a lack of genre, excepting some momentary hotspots. A burgeoning downloading scene and portable music via iPods; more accessible home production… As I came of music-listening age in what I don’t think I’m alone in considering one of the last great “true” eras of music – the 90s – the upcycled grunge that became nu-metal, and the mirror image version of that found in boy bands and Britney Spears pop that dominated soon after grunge was waited on (by us 90s fans) as just another trend to fade away, but in some sense, it never did: that glossiness evolved into the many-genred beast of the 00s and beyond.

And of course, all of this stuff has its place, and its relative greats, but it was hard to not have “ain’t like it used to be” feelings when you were in the weeds, watching it happen. The late oughts did seem to embrace the spirit of the 90s – you surely had many fans of that era, making their own versions of it – but it was combined with that followup gloss. It was all very performative (that’s the responsive bit, I suppose) in a way that’s continued to impact music trends.

Anyway, this meant I filed a lot of stuff in an “ignore” column at the time, LCD Soundsystem included. The electro-pop scene of which they were part (and very much influenced) especially irked me, as it combined the spiky edges of stuff I dug with a very, very accessible club-friendly beat. The scene’s popularity came and went with the same speed as a lot of 00s trends, but it was similar to the throwback rock acts like The Strokes: I see what you’re doing, and it just feels kind of empty.

I’ve revisited plenty of this stuff with less (I believe) bias, and, honestly, I still don’t think a lot of it stands / stood the test of time. It’s still kind of empty.

And so is LCD Soundsystem! But it’s almost very purposefully part of their DNA, and once I gave them a legit chance, I couldn’t get over how well that worked, especially synced with James Murphy’s one-man-band approach and rootsy production: you get the head-bobbing beats of electro pop, but a loose and rambling and often weird sense of melody atop, reminiscent of, yeah, 90s or 80s indie stuff – some Pavement jangle; some Talking Heads strut. It’s a bafflingly brilliant combo, because it’s incredibly processed but also incredibly organic sounding, tied together by a kind of awareness of the boppy nature of the tunes, told through Murphy’s somewhat unpointed lyrics, and an understanding that these songs aren’t changing the world – not every one needs a massive chorus or riff – but that they can have power by just making you feel a certain way: happy; a bit wistful; etc.

A chunk of years and a retirement have passed, and now we have American Dream. All of the above gains poignancy: this is no longer a response to the music of the time, but a response to a decade+ of music’s fluidity, and even rapider advancements in the accessibility of music making, and music availability for the masses. LCD Soundsystem is still mostly a one-man act, and Murphy is still churning out these instantly catchy beats, dotted with perfect splashes of guitar and funking bass, but it seems noteworthy that the album leans less towards electro, and more towards pop – the aforementioned Talking Heads feels like a big reference – and the general narrative teeters on the edge of being that old man, shaking his fist at the youth, but peeled back before it becomes eye-rolly.

Still, the core “essence” of emptiness remains, which feels at odds with the poignancy, and suggests that maybe Murphy just never had the mind for bringing his wordy patter to strong conclusions: a lot of songs flirt with really clever lines, but don’t make much of them. And the more electro-geared tracks – Tonite, closer Black Screen – kind of stick out, relics of a different time. (Though I feel compelled to note / admit that the latter is intended to be a Bowie tribute; still, it’s kind of an underwhelming closer.)

Regardless, though: Murphy and his team still have it – the “it” that I didn’t discover at the time of their initial splash, but is just so obviously there: an innate understanding / feeling for what makes a track a timeless one. American Dream is packed with instantly compelling hooks, and an earnest (as always) vocal delivery from James, ironically delivering thoughts that are kind of lamenting the state of things. I might feel like there’s a niggling bit of vacancy that prevents the album from blasting past the finish line, but it also seems right that it remain rather imperfect.