LCD Soundsystem
Sound of Silver
DFA/Capital
Rating: B
Sound of Silver begins with what seems to
be a remix of a previous LCD tune, “Losing My Edge.” Instead of
copying that song’s amusing ramblings, this quickly veers off into
pretentious ersatz Bowie territory. James Murphy’s voice sounds soulless
and didactic as he instructs the listener to “Get Innocuous.” The
dance groove is slightly addictive, but in the end you are led nowhere and
are no better off from where you started.
Half of this album follows this
trend—where layers of synthesizers and treated beats build and coalesce
to create something quirky or peculiarly fun, but nothing more. In Sound
of Silver Murphy invokes Kraftwerk, though I’ll still take The Man
Machine over this. “Us v. Them” makes for mediocre gym treadmill
music, ditto for “Watch the Tapes.”
However, these sound exercises do serve as
the perfect springboard for Murphy’s perky rants, just as they did on
2005’s eponymous album. One of the big differences in his performance
now is fewer hipster rants and raves and more disciplined songwriting:
Murphy reportedly dropped the spontaneous lyrics in the studio for a more
traditional approach. It’s apparent in the finished product. There is
less stuffy-nosed punk and more heart and soul as evidenced with tracks
like “Someone Great,” “All My Friends” and “New York, I Love You
But You’re Bringing Me Down.”
His lyrics can still be just as biting and
fun (“North American Scum”) or as stupid (“Sound of Silver”) as
anything from 2005. Though, the best songs here are those with a sense of
purpose, which, incidentally all share the theme of loss. “Someone
Great” with its somber tone, sensitive lyrics and delicate glockenspiel
strongly convey that indeed, “someone great has gone.”
“All My Friends,” (which I suggest be a
mid-life crisis anthem) is dedicated to the idea that after the passing of
time, work, travel, self-exploration, and children, you’re left pining
for the cronies of young adulthood. The best part is that the singer is
left with no regrets. All of this plays out in seven and a half minutes
over one quickly executed staccato piano chord, with no changes, just
intensifying cymbals, drums and guitar that rise with the singer’s
emotion. It is the most endearing song he has yet to record. “New York I
Love You…” serves as a closing eulogy to the grimier, more dangerous
city of yesteryear and offers a satisfactory conclusion to a mildly
fulfilling album.
Spoon
Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga
Merge
Rating: B+
This Texas quartet’s sixth record is a
tad more exciting than their last, 2005’s Gimme Fiction. I immediately
tagged Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga as a near classic; I almost bought the hype. I was
dazzled by its five brightest tracks and forgave the other five for not
catching my ear. There are some noteworthy touches to the lesser tracks:
“My Little Japanese Cigarette Case” has a koto solo, which is nice,
but not essential; “Finer Feelings” has a vague 90’s indie—retro
appeal (is there really such a thing—or more importantly, should there
ever be such a thing?) and that’s about it.
The scintillating tracks lure the listener
in purely by their sound alone. “Don’t Make Me A Target” is a sharp
sounding attack complete with a virulent static guitar solo. It sounds
very much like Jon Brion, who doesn’t appear on the track, but
ironically produces and plays on “The Underdog” which sounds partially
like the Everly Brothers on steroids. “The Ghost of You Lingers” is
pure art rock dominated by haunting vocals and tense, repetitive
keyboards. One can’t deny the Motown shake of “You Got Yr. Cherry
Bomb” or the infectious groove of “Don’t You Evah.”
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