(t5!) Heroes Of The Zeroes Albums: #08: LCD Soundsystem – Sound Of Silver (2007)

James Murphy became an improbable underground hero of the zeroes—a crotchety, chubby thirty-something who is also the brainchild behind DFA Records, one of the most important record labels for both rock and dance in the zeroes. As a frontman for one of its signature acts, LCD Soundsystem, is where it didn’t make much sense. He looked and acted like a critic—same fashion choices, same asshole-ic habits, and also the same insecurities. Unfortunately as history shows it, there are very few precedents for critics as competent music creators, even fewer precedents for critics as artists that would unmitigatedly connect with a target audience that they would become anthemic for the people of their era. In the zeroes, the number of wannabe critics (like myself!) was exponentially expanding throughout the decade, largely due to people’s worship of Pitchfork and other web-based music criticism sites, as well as blogs and discussion boards and every other symposium for public opinion that the internet provided. And Murphy and his LCD Soundsystem acted like the zeroes’ KISS for a world wide web Detroit Rock City, giving his minions of socially inept curmudgeons that fortifying sensation of strength in numbers that makes any deviance publicly acceptable.

As consequential as his self-titled debut has made LCD Soundsystem, a paragon of self-effacing humor and sexy disco romps, it lacked a little something, a certain richness, perhaps. The second album, Sound of Silver, came out just like its unrich predecessor. To start the record: “Get Innocuous” is a chilling dance-floor-for-robots warmer; “Time To Get Away” is a minimally funky electro-pop number; “North American Scum” is a stomping force of nature. Every single one of these is a commendable notch on Murphy’s belt, but it doesn’t show much growth. But how exactly does one attain the eighth spot on the Heroes for Zeroes list of albums with a collection of rehashes?

Fortunately, once you get to the core of Sound Of Silver, you’d discover that Murphy is capable of growth and rich songwriting. Because back-to-back at the center of the album are the two best songs he’s ever been involved in: the meditative, remorse-laden synth strokes of “Someone Great” and the accelerant exuberance of “All My Friends”. The former, a detail-oriented electro groove about an anonymous personal loss, surprisingly conveys a profound sorrow; the latter, a kilderkin for mercurial pianos and a ceaseless beat, imparts a pragmatic reminiscence as a aging hipster looks back on his youth and decides against regret. The world hasn’t seen anyone working with this sonic terrain that has this emotional depth. And to do it in two songs in one album? Right next to each other? It’s the best one-two punch since Shaq and Kobe donned the same yellow Lakers jersey.

Then it winds down with more praiseworthy offerings and indelible moments: the vocal chant in “Us v. Them”, the "We're all high high-high high high on WIGGLIN’ HIPS" line in “Watch The Tapes”, the awesomely cheesy title-track, and the sonorous piano keys of “New York, I Love You But You’re Bringing Me Down”. It doesn’t match the center’s excellence but it does a formidable job in finalizing Sound Of Silver’s emotional arc, and consequently, it cements James Murphy, not only as an effigy for hipsters and wannabe Lester Bangses of the world, not only as a hero of the zero, but also an essential figure in rock music history.