James Murphy is well-known as half of the New York-based production duo DFA (who have lent their distinctive touch to songs from artists as diverse as Gorillaz, the Rapture, and N.E.R.D.). Aside from creating the modern template for indie dance music since the early 2000's, Murphy has been busy writing music under his solo moniker, LCD Soundsystem. His sophomore effort, SOUND OF SILVER, picks up where the debut left of, expanding an already diverse set of influences and honing the songwriting craft into a thematically cohesive whole.

As wryly noted on LCD Soundsystem's debut 2002 single, "Losing My Edge," in the underground music arms race, aging hipsters are losing ground against young upstarts who are (perhaps) unaware of their own influences. And if influences are the stuff with which post-millennial musicians are made, Murphy has trumped us all. Touching on reference points ranging from disco, krautrock, Bowie, house, and post-punk, to singer-songwriter types, SOUND OF SILVER is a veritable catalog of left-field cool. Leading off with the slow-boil, hypnotic opener, "Get Innocuous"--which sounds a bit like a reprise of "Losing My Edge" crossed with Kraftwerk's "The Robots"--the album moves from dance-floor stormers to plaintive piano numbers without batting an eye. On "North American Scum," Murphy lampoons the often mistaken idea that LCD Soundsystem is a U.K. act; his nasal vocal echoing Jonathan Richman as he declares "for those of you who think we're from England--we're not." As humorously self-effacing as he is, SOUND OF SILVER also shows Murphy's growth as a songwriter. On the album's closer "New York, I Love You But You're Bringing Me Down," he laments the passing of the old New York, "To the cops who are bored once they've run out of crime/New York you're perfect don't change a thing." It's a fitting tribute that holds up against the countless other great songs written about the Big Apple.

Compared to the first LCD Soundsystem album, Sound of Silver is less silly, funnier, less messy, sleeker, less rowdy, more fun, less distanced, more touching. It is just as linked to James Murphy's record collection, with traces of post-punk, disco, Krautrock, and singer/songwriter schlubs, but the references are evidently harder to pin down; the number of names dropped in the reviews published before its release must triple the amount mentioned throughout "Losing My Edge." There's even some confusion as to which version of David Bowie is lurking around. One clearly evident aspect of the album is that Murphy has streamlined his sound. All the jagged frays have been removed, replaced by a slightly tidier approach that is more direct and packs more punch. Murphy comes across as a fully naturalized producer of dance music -- especially on "Get Innocuous!" -- as opposed to a product of '90s indie rock who has made a convincing switch-up. And yet, the album's best song is sad, should not be played in any club, and it at least matches the work of any active songwriter who has been praised. "Someone Great," a bittersweet pop song built on swelling synthesizers and a dual vocal-and-glockenspiel melody, could definitely be about a devastating breakup ("To tell the truth I saw it coming/The way you were breathing"), at least until "You're smaller than my wife imagined/Surprised you were human," which could mean the song either took a turn for the absurd or is about the death (and funeral) of a loved one. Either way, it is the most moving song Murphy has made, and it only helps further the notion that he should be considered a great songwriter, not simply a skilled musician with a few studio tricks and the occasional clever quip. The closer, "New York, I Love You But You're Bringing Me Down," seals it: "New York, you're perfect, oh please don't change a thing/Your mild billionaire mayor's now convinced he's a king/And so the boring collect -- I mean all disrespect/In the neighborhood bars I'd once dreamt I would drink." If he keeps it up, he'll be writing songs for Pixar by 2020. ~ Andy Kellman