LCD Soundsystem’s American Dream Album Review
“To tell the truth, this could be the last time.”
Since the release of their self-titled first album in 2005, LCD Soundsystem have become more than a bunch of washed-up 50 year olds with keyboards trying to relive the 80s. Regardless of how you feel about overdriven synth basses and cowbell solos, there’s no one else that does what they do. They played with our hearts in 2012 by feigning retirement, but at the end of the day, it’s more LCD. How could we complain?
For those of you who are not familiar–some preface:
James Murphy, New Jersey native and LCD frontman, began life as a musician rather inauspiciously. 
Murphy featured in New York indie punk bands Pony, Falling Man, and Speedking from the 80s to the end of the 21st century. He dropped out of NYU and turned down a job writing for then unknown TV series “Seinfeld.” Overall, not the makings of the musical savant that sips red wine before serenading sold out stadiums we adore today. It was not until 2001 that Murphy assembled the group of sonic wizards, Nancy Whang, Pat Mahoney, Gavin Russom, Tyler Pope, and Al Doyle, to synthesize the sex, cynicism and sounds of everything relevant in the last 40 years of Western culture.
After the release of their first single, “Losing My Edge,” in 2002 and their eponymous album in 2005, the band received great critical acclaim, and ascended to god status through their transcendent live shows and follow-up album “Sound of Silver” in 2007. They toured and toured, building their reputation as one of the most unique yet relatable voices of the 21st century. Rumors emerged in 2008 about the potential splitting of the band, heart-wrenching news that was soon quelled two years later. They released their third album “This is Happening,” supposedly their last album according to Murphy, and the electronic music scene was never the same. Considered by the group to be their strongest work, the album was meant to conclude the trilogy of sound exploration that the band had embarked on. They announced a gig in 2011 at Madison Square Garden on April 2, confirming that it would be their last show ever. The performance lasted four hours, featuring artists like Arcade Fire and Reggie Watts. And then, they were over. Murphy continued to collaborate with artists through the following years such as “Reflektor” by aforementioned group Arcade Fire, and even played a role in David Bowie’s final album, “Blackstar.” They went quiet for four years until 2015 when they released a Christmas song, “Christmas Will Break Your Heart.” And just as abruptly as they had vanished, they were headlining Coachella and working on their next album, “American Dream,” which they released this year.
Now that we are all caught up:
The most frequent criticism of “American Dream” has coincidentally been the basis for the most frequent excitement surrounding the album–more of the same. After a four year hiatus, the expectations for the album were incredibly lofty, yet to most fans it did not really matter what was released, just that something was put out with LCD Soundsystem’s name on it.
Critics of the project have belittled it as a recycling of past sounds and concepts–a mere playlist of the B-sides from past works. And this theory would certainly make sense, as the group really had no definitive expectations from fans except to make something. However, an analysis of the lyricism and the sonic arsenal explored in the album reveals a weary, yet determined, catharsis for Murphy and for the band.
The three singles put out: “Tonite,” “Call the Police” and “American Dream” embody the evolution of the band’s sound in just three tracks. “Tonite” rolls as a satirical anthem directed at the modern clubbing fanatics who desire nothing less than to experience every possible movie cliché immediately, or “tonite.” The squirty, jumping bass line that opens the song directly pulls the listener back to the nightclub banger hits of their first record. Along with a minimalistic dance beat and vintage synth chords, the rhythm section provides nothing more than a looped foundation for Murphy to essentially slam poetry his way through his social commentary of dance hits only talking about “tonight, tonight, tonight,” and “an outsider” looking inwards at this process of cyclical commercializing–a reference to Murphy himself–as the “hobbled veteran of the disk shop inquisition set to parry the cocksure of men’s sick filth with my own late era middle-aged ramblings.” Murphy essentially summarizes what hehas been doing for the past twenty years through his own bombastic prose that only a true witness to this transformation of society could describe.
“Call the Police” follows suit as the chronological step from pure dance music to electronic rock. This was more or less prompted by the fact that they began to use guitars as the centerpiece to their triumphant songs. Famous tracks such as “All My Friends” and “All I Want” focused heavily on lead guitar riffs to structure the song, which gave the band a more accessible aesthetic, as they began to push off from their foundation of pure electronic. If it was by anyone else, “Call the Police” would be a rock song. Save an airy synth providing a backup chord progression, the song’s instrumentation revolves around the core instrumentation of a rock group. The resilience of the humming bassline and laboring drum line keep the track in motion while a soaring lead guitar provides support Murphy’s pleading vocals culminate in a call to action. Throughout the song Murphy lists the absurdities of listener’s life, “The old guys are frightened and frightening to behold…your head is on fire, you’re hands are getting weak.” He’s engaging us to basically renounce our ideals and abandon logic, just embrace the chaos and “call the police.”
The title track, “American Dream,” does not immediately fit into the album. It is poignant and touching, as much of their work is, yet the instrumentation is embedded with such a synthesized pulse that the track bears a closer resemblance to a Mozart crescendo than an LCD Soundsystem record. 
From the first knocks of the reverbed snare that resembles a water droplet falling onto a smooth marble that mimic a heartbeat and the buzzing bassline that crawls through the progression, the track holds the sonical profundity to bring you to tears within seconds. The dazzling synth lead that sparkles downwards into the verse represents a sound uncharted by the band up until now. Then, Murphy begins to sing and to yearn, and the pathos of your life regrets flood into your mind, and you are left at the whim of a true lyrical genius who captures the ineffability of life and the human condition in his dissertation on the well known notion of the “American Dream.” The first lines perfectly capture the coming to terms with his age and desire to regain his youth that Murphy must endure:
“Wake up with somebody near you
And at someone else’s place
You took acid and looked in the mirror
Watched the beard crawl around on your face
Oh, the revolution was here
That would set you free from those bourgeoisie
In the morning everything’s clearer
When the sunlight exposes your age.”
Perhaps “American Dream” marks the moment when he has “lost his edge” and is now accepting the fact that he was a victim of this “American Dream” fever. It drove him “insane,” sacrificing “self-preservation” for interesting relationships and choosing to feel free over lasting relationships. It’s a condition we all share, as he elegantly phrases, “because the body wants what it’s terrible at keeping, oh.” We all pursue this idealized version of what our life could be. The only difference is that Murphy has been there, and now he is living the regrets and scars of that pursuit.
While other tracks may not stand out for their lyricism or philosophical value, the rest of the album holds its own. The lead track, “Oh Baby,” is a vintage diner love song. The uncouthness of the overdriven, romping bass combined with the almost foolish simplicity of the drum part excellently complements the role Murphy assumes of the lost lover, pleading his spouse to recognize and accept his love.
Certain songs slip through the cracks that don’t hold enough power to match the aforementioned tracks. “I Used To” and “Change Yr Mind,” while both discussing the difficult topics of nostalgia and appeasing an ever growing fan base, respectively, fail to stick out sonically, as the airy surrealness of “I Used To” and the haphazard, brash guitar licks of “Change Yr Mind” don’t add as meaningful contributions to the universe of sound that the album has forged in the other tracks.
“Other Voices” and “Emotional Haircut” are the obligatory club anthems that still manage to differentiate themselves from previous albums, as the theme of age and life taking its toll really push through with some powerful lyrics. In “Other Voices,” Nancy Huang reprises her mid-song speeches through an intercom-esque vocal modifier from the track “Get Innocuous!” to deliver some verses that refer to the paranoia that stems from the changes in modern times that Murphy and company can’t keep up with:
“This is what’s happening and it’s freaking you out
I’ve heard it, heard it
And it sounds like the nineties
Who can you trust
And who are your friends
Who is impossible
And who is the enemy.”
On “Emotional Haircut,” drummer Pat Mahoney delivers one of the most inspired percussion parts ever put on an LCD Soundsystem project. His drumming sounds like a wheezing steampunk apparatus that barrels through the song, matching the desperation exhibited in Murphy’s lyrics about a washed up artist, attempting to remain relevant through a new weave.
Lastly, the two tracks “How Do You Sleep?” and “Black Screen” are both songs about other people, but in opposite ways. “How Do You Sleep?” is essentially a dis-track to former LCD Soundsystem producer Tim Goldsworthy, who basically abandoned the group in 2001, breaching contract, and attempted to steal their money. The track is unnerving. Fans would never really characterize Murphy as angry, but as he “stands on the shore facing east” (a reference to Goldsworthy’s absconsion to the UK from New York), the listener can almost feel the same abuse meant for Goldsworthy in the blaring synth bass that bounces in, breaking the tension of Murphy’s strained, contemptuous vocals.
However, the final track, “Black Screen,” is not a song meant for the fans. Murphy has attributed David Bowie as one of his, if not the most, important influence on his music career. Murphy collaborated with Bowie on “Blackstar,” and the two shared a friendship that only two bona fide geniuses of music and life could truly harbor. In the song, a somber exhaling lead synth plays out a melancholy melody that leads into Murphy’s letter to a friend. He explains his remorse for not doing more to maintain their relationship and pays tribute to all that Bowie did for him. He reminisces through a drowning vocal modifier that perfectly emotes the pathos and tragedy of the homage being performed.
For those of you that didn’t understand the opening line, it is the hook of the verse pulled from their track “All My Friends.” Obviously, that line bears a particular controversy, and perhaps the release of “American Dream” has even reduced the effect of its power. Yet, this album has, in total, cemented the legacy of LCD Soundsystem as facilitators of catharsis and revelation. In the album, they cut straight for the heart, using their own insecurities and issues to help the listener understand, and they do so with a sound that continues to evolve and does more than just rehash their former glories. They use the criticism of their age as their weapon of choice. They embrace it and derive the touching reality of “American Dream” from it. To Murphy and LCD, the human condition is far from perfect, but as Murphy wails in the title track as a comfort and a reminder: “that’s okay.”
