Look at Me!: The Underlying Power in LCD Soundsystem

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VerÌ_nica Del Valle

Few things are unequivocally true in the world of music, but at least two are heralded as unspoken rules as.

One: music is a game of power.

Two: power is not meant for the marginalized.

The intersections of power and voice allow for non-men and LGBT+ individuals to be written out of the narratives heard most often in popular music.

While problematic assumptions allow critics to single out rap and hip-hop as “toxic environments‰Û, indie rock is insidious in terms of content and representation.

It is a beacon of cis, male voices, where women are often portrayed as things to be desired and people of color are simply not seen.

New York City in the 2000s was the Mecca of indie rock. Following the commercialization of alternative genres in the 90s, primarily thanks to Nirvana, bands like The Strokes, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and later Vampire Weekend were allotted the space to explode. These were “New York Bands‰” that used the city‰’s reputation as a place for misfits and artists to create names for themselves. But, of these bands, none reigned like LCD Soundsystem.

In a way, their name has become synonymous with maleness and whiteness in the same way that their name became synonymous with New York. This is highly vested in James Murphy, the band‰’s infamous frontman, and his identity as a musician.

In his earliest days, Murphy was just a boy from New Jersey who witnessed the evolution of New York in the 80s. He reveled in the grit of Manhattan during the final days of the Koch era. But, this front seat to musical explosion was allowed to him because of his white, middle class, male leverage. The culture he was exposed to often translates into arrogance in LCD Soundsystem‰’s music.

The white, male nature of LCD Soundsystem does not end at the band itself. Indie rock is often stereotyped as an overwhelmingly white genre, but generalizations stem from truth. Concert videos of shows are littered with white faces.

While I stood at one of the band‰’s shows during its Brooklyn Steel run in late December, I was overwhelmed by the amount of white men crowded into one venue. As a woman of color, the experience was alienated and took be back to another time.

Though now I can admit that there is something fundamentally interesting about LCD Soundsystem’s brand of pensive dance music, I used to discredit James Murphy‰’s brainchild frequently. In large part, this was due to LCD‰’s fanbase. To people who are often excluded from musical discussions, including myself, fanbases that are strongly tied to power in music can be threatening.

Yet, especially in the last several years, elements of inclusion have become more and more evident in LCD Soundsystem’s microcosm. While the band is inextricably connected to its creator, it is also more than one person. Because of that, the group has been able to provide a massive platform to two of its other members.

Nancy Whang and Gavin Rayna Russom are the antithesis of LCD‰’s fans. As an Asian-American and trans woman respectively, they both stand apart from the rest of the cis, male band.

While this does not change anything about LCD Soundsystem‰’s primary public face, the band‰’s mainstream success created a massive platform for these two individuals. Women, particularly trans women and women of color, are painfully underrepresented in the highest ranks of indie. Yet, Russom and Whang stand as parts of a dance-punk giant.

Both women have musical projects outside of LCD Soundsystem, but their presence in LCD Soundsystem is fundamental.

Because of its 80s influences, which Murphy has discussed countless times, Gavin Russom‰’s synth playing is a core part of the band‰’s sound.

Contrastingly, Nancy Whang is a legendary DJ. Her voice is also featured on iconic LCD songs like Sound of Silver‰’s “Get Innocuous!” Especially during the band‰’s earliest days, it was rare to see a woman of color on the stage. For many years, she was the project‰’s only member who identified as a woman, as Russom publicly announced her transition in 2017.

Along with Karen O (Yeah Yeah Yeahs), Whang is a powerful Asian-American woman in a male-dominated genre. There is something inspiring about that.

Nancy Whang and Gavin Russom do not change what LCD Soundsystem is. They do not change the demographic of its fanbase. They do not shift the white, male bravado that is often associated with LCD, DFA Records, and even dance-punk as a genre, but they are a start.

If powerful musicians like these two women can be a part of one of the most famous indie bands of the last 20 years. Their presence creates a space for other gender-based minorities and people of color to create names for themselves in spheres of musical power.

Maybe, just maybe, that makes LCD Soundsystem less terrible than I once believed.