As head honcho of DFA Records, James Murphy’s Midas touch reputation has earned him comparisons as a sort of punk funk Pharrell Williams. It’s the sort of backhanded compliment he’d probably be uneasy with, but, though plumping for the classic eponymous/minimalist option, LCD Soundsystem’s debut might easily have been subtitled “The Anorak’s Fear of Success”.
For, while Pharrell operates within the fairly limitless boundaries of hip-hop where $$$ equals power and just about anything’s “all good” (even working with Britney Spears), in Murphy’s chosen genre (what we might crudely term “indie dance” perceived through a Rankin’s-eye worldview) the major currency is hipper-than-thou credibility.
That’s something of a Catch-22 situation for a 34-year-old reluctant superstar, and, to be fair, something Murphy himself sent-up mercilessly in 2002’s hipster-baiting masterpiece “Losing My Edge”. How can one make achingly hip underground records that are self-aware to the point of self-deprecation but can also go overground without alienating their elemental Dazed & Confusedness?
It’s not probably a conundrum Lil’ Jon faces when dispatching his latest crunk banger, but it becomes a serious drawback for an album that never quite feels comfortable in its own skin. Left to his own devices, Murphy seems far more comfortable imitating his favourite artists (and turning-on the uninitiated) than forging anything truly original himself.
Consequently, the results are often far from innovative. There’s plenty of vocal inspiration from Mark E Smith (“Movement”, “On Repeat”), a whole lot of Can, Suicide, early Rough Trade and New Order, even Brian Eno (“Great Release”), but too little of Murphy himself. The man’s sure got classic, classy influences, but this was supposed to be a groundbreaking debut, not an “All Back To Mine” compilation.
Only occasionally does he transcend his heroes. The magnificently-titled opener “Daft Punk Are Playing At My House” is probably the quintessential punk funk track even if it is essentially “Losing My Edge Pt II” with a hefty does of The Fall’s “Cab It Up!”. The Beatles’ pastiche “Never As Tired As When I’m Waking Up” is a welcome surprise too – a genuinely beautiful ballad that shamelessly magpies the riff from “Dear Prudence”. “Tribulations” manages to be catchy like Soft Cell and moody like The Cure, while “Disco Infiltrator” dances the same 80s beat as Beck’s “Midnite Vultures”.
Elsewhere, the musical formula dulls. Built on a repetitious platform of bass, drums and guitar, what starts off as a genuinely thrilling journey tends to conclude in a cul-de-sac. A jam to nowhere. Meanwhile, the rant-a-thon impressions of Manchester’s most wayward son oddly recall uber-nerd Jonathan Richman, not the demented ramblings of Murphy’s hero.
It all ends on a graceful note – the “Here Comes The Warm Jets” shimmer of “Great Release” – but, when we expected wild abandon, the overall impression is one of self-consciousness. As a risk-averse strategy that makes for a good and solid whole, but one that is only intermittently great.
Murphy’s edge isn’t so much lost as blunted.
