It’s better to burn out than to fade away. Or I guess in James Murphy’s case, it’s better to have a huge knees-up with your pals and thousands of fans and quit, than it is to burn out or fade away. But then the scraggly bearded frontman and his band/alter-ego LCD Soundsystem have never really been the sorts for playing by the rules. Stepping into the game far later than most, bounding besuited round the stage in front of the hipsters chewing down on his home-brewed pick ‘n’ mix of carnival dance music and seventies inspired sweeping, singer songwriter dramatics.
His decision last year to retire the Soundsystem moniker was met with a mixture of frowns and question marks from the fans, but left documentary makers Dylan Southern and Will Lovelace with a perfect opportunity to capture a moment of transition. Like their previous work on the Blur documentary ‘No Distance Left To Run’ the duo turn out a work that says as much about the transition into middle-age as it does about the music. Sure you get giddy close-camera, ear-ringing blasts of Murphy and co on stage, but much more fascinating are the heavily stylised, tragi-comedy glimpses of the artist in real-life, struggling to wake up, feeding his dog, scratching his stubble and returning back to that old cliche of trying to work out what on earth is it all about?
The emphasis of the film is build-up and come-down to a farewell concert organised in New York’s Madison Square Gardens, where Murphy rallies his band into one final trawl through the LCD catalogue. We’re treated to gloriously shot stage footage (including some by Spike Jonze who loved the band so much he volunteered to be involved) and cameo appearances from some familiar faces. Arcade Fire’s Win Butler beaming away backstage as he squeals to Murphy “we’re just standing around like 20 year olds losing our minds”. The event is intercut with a conversation between Murphy and the journalist Chuck Klosterman. This leads to some slightly plodding amateur psycho-babble of the kind that threatens to grate, but luckily Murphy’s stand-offish demeanour means he doesn’t quite turn into a podgier Bono.
In fact it’s Murphy himself that turns this entertaining documentary into a piece that non-fans can still enjoy. You could argue about how contrived some scenes are, how it strives for pathos and drama, when in fact all thats happening is a fairly successful man simply closing one chapter of his life. But like Ringo Starr in A Hard Days Night, all Murphy has to do is bumble down a street and you’re there, egging him on and smiling when he smiles on stage because you feel happy that if a bloke his age, whose so gloriously regular looking can get on stage and rock a crowd then hey, maybe you could too. The film, like Murphy himself, isn’t seeking to change the world. In one scene Klosterman asks him what his ambition was. “I dunno” mumbles Murphy, “to leave a mark. To leave a stain.”
7/10
Ain't No Cure 