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**LCD Soundsystem - LCD Soundsystem**
★★★★☆

In the early 2000s, when rock was busy fellating itself with nu-metal posturing and indie was still figuring out how to use a synthesizer without sounding like a Casio demo, James Murphy was holed up in his makeshift studio, plotting something magnificently unhinged. The former frontman of short-lived noise-rock outfit Pony had already made waves with his DFA Records imprint, producing dance-punk anthems for the Rapture and Yeah Yeah Yeahs. But Murphy had bigger fish to fry – or rather, bigger beats to program and more neuroses to channel through a vocoder.

LCD Soundsystem's 2005 self-titled debut arrived like a sweaty, brilliant manifesto from rock's future, equal parts dancehall sermon and therapy session. This wasn't just another album; it was Murphy's doctoral thesis on how to make people move their asses while simultaneously having an existential crisis. The record compiled tracks from Murphy's early 12-inch singles – those legendary DFA releases that had already conquered discerning dancefloors from Brooklyn to Berlin – alongside new material that proved this wasn't just a one-trick pony with good timing.

The genius of LCD Soundsystem lies in Murphy's ability to synthesize decades of musical obsession into something that feels both nostalgic and futuristic. This is dance music for people who've read Lester Bangs, punk rock for people who own every Kraftwerk album, and indie rock for people who aren't afraid to get sweaty. Murphy's influences wear their hearts on their sleeves – Talking Heads' herky-jerky rhythms, Can's hypnotic motorik beats, New Order's melancholic euphoria – but the result never feels like pastiche. Instead, it's like having the coolest record collection in the world fed through a blender operated by a caffeinated disco obsessive.

The album's crown jewel remains "Daft Punk Is Playing at My House," a seven-minute odyssey that manages to be both a love letter to French house music and a sardonic commentary on hipster culture. Murphy's deadpan delivery of lines like "But they're playing it faster and louder and better" over a relentless four-four thump creates an irresistible tension between sincerity and irony. It's the sound of someone who genuinely loves dance music but can't help poking fun at its pretensions – including his own.

"Tribulations" showcases Murphy's punk credentials, building from a minimal drum machine pattern into a full-blown freakout that sounds like Television jamming with Suicide in a particularly seedy CBGB's bathroom. Meanwhile, "Movement" strips things down to their essential elements: a hypnotic bassline, crisp hi-hats, and Murphy's stream-of-consciousness vocals creating a meditation on rhythm that's both cerebral and visceral.

The epic "Losing My Edge" – originally released as Murphy's debut single – remains one of the decade's defining statements. Over nine minutes of mounting paranoia, Murphy catalogs his musical knowledge like a man afraid his record collection might be repossessed. "I was there at the first Can show in Cologne," he insists, before rattling off band names with the desperation of someone trying to prove their cultural worth. It's simultaneously hilarious and heartbreaking, the sound of aging hipsterdom facing its own mortality.

What makes this album endure isn't just Murphy's encyclopedic musical knowledge or his ability to craft killer hooks – though both are considerable. It's his willingness to be vulnerable while making you dance, to admit his insecurities while creating music that sounds utterly confident. The production, handled by Murphy himself, strikes the perfect balance between lo-fi grit and hi-fi clarity, making drum machines sound organic and live instruments sound robotic.

Two decades later, LCD Soundsystem's influence is everywhere, from the dance-punk revival to the current crop of indie artists who aren't afraid to program a beat. Murphy proved that electronic music could have guitar solos, that dance music could be introspective, and that you could be both ironic and sincere without your head exploding. The album remains a masterclass in how to honor your influences while creating something genuinely new – a sweaty, beautiful mess that changed the conversation about what American music could sound like in the 21st century.