It starts with a glockenspiel. Or something that sounds like one. A digital, crystalline pulse that just... loops. It doesn’t scream for your attention. It’s patient. But if you’ve ever been in a crowded room or a lonely kitchen when those first few notes of Someone Great LCD Soundsystem drift through the speakers, you know exactly what happens next. Your chest tightens. The air gets a little thinner.
James Murphy isn't exactly known for being a "sensitive singer-songwriter" in the traditional sense. He's the guy who gave us "Losing My Edge," a sarcastic, biting takedown of hipster posturing. He’s the disco-punk architect of DFA Records. Yet, in 2007, tucked into the middle of Sound of Silver, he dropped a track so emotionally devastating that it basically redefined what electronic music could do. It’s not just a dance track. Honestly, calling it a dance track feels like calling a hurricane a "bit of wind."
The weirdest thing about it? It’s nearly seven minutes long, and for a huge chunk of that, almost nothing happens. Then everything happens.
The Secret Architecture of Loss
Most break-up or grief songs try to do too much. They wail. They use sweeping violins. They demand you feel the artist's pain. Murphy took the opposite approach with Someone Great LCD Soundsystem. He used a repetitive, almost robotic beat to mirror the sheer numbness of real-world mourning.
Grief isn't a movie montage. It’s the incredibly boring, repetitive reality of waking up and realizing someone isn't there. The song captures that "business as usual" feeling that persists even when your world has ended. You still have to make coffee. You still have to check the weather. The coffee tastes like ash, and the weather doesn't matter, but the loops keep spinning.
Musically, the track is a masterclass in tension. It uses a 4/4 kick drum that acts like a heartbeat—or a ticking clock. It’s relentless. Around the three-minute mark, these fuzzy, warm synthesizers start to bleed into the mix. It feels like a hug from a ghost. This isn't accidental. Murphy has often talked about his obsession with the "silver" sound—that cold, metallic production that somehow feels deeply human.
👉 See also: Charlie Charlie Are You Here: Why the Viral Demon Myth Still Creeps Us Out
Who is the "Someone Great"?
People have spent years arguing about who the song is actually about. For a long time, the prevailing theory was that it was about the death of a parent or a devastating breakup. However, it’s widely understood now—and Murphy has alluded to this in various interviews, including conversations with Rolling Stone—that the song was heavily influenced by the death of his friend and therapist, George Kamen.
Kamen wasn't just a doctor; he was a pioneer in group therapy and a massive influence on Murphy’s life. When he passed away during the recording of Sound of Silver, the loss cracked something open in the music.
- It wasn't a romantic tragedy.
- It was the loss of a guide.
- It was the loss of the person who helped him make sense of the world.
That's why the lyrics are so specific yet universal. When he says, "The coffee cup, the phone, the dinner plans," he’s talking about the mundane tether points of a relationship. It’s the "small stuff" that actually breaks you. You can handle the funeral. You can’t handle seeing their favorite brand of cereal in the grocery store three weeks later.
Why the Production Matters More Than You Think
If you listen to the song on cheap earbuds, it’s good. If you listen to it on a high-end system or a pair of studio monitors, it’s a religious experience. The low-end frequencies are massive. James Murphy is a self-confessed gear nerd. He built his own soundsystem—the legendary Despacio—and he treats sound like a physical object.
In Someone Great LCD Soundsystem, the synthesizers are layered in a way that creates "phase" issues if not handled correctly, but here they create a shimmering wall of sound. It’s reminiscent of David Bowie’s "Low" era or the minimalist pulse of Kraftwerk. It’s "art-rock" disguised as "dance-punk."
✨ Don't miss: Cast of Troubled Youth Television Show: Where They Are in 2026
There’s a specific sound that enters during the chorus—a soaring, distorted synth lead. It sounds like a teakettle whistling or a human screaming in the distance. It provides the "release" that the lyrics refuse to give you. Murphy’s delivery is famously deadpan. He isn’t sobbing into the mic. He’s reciting facts. "To tell the truth, I'm not the same." It’s the lack of histrionics that makes it so heavy.
The Cultural Ripple Effect
Back in 2007, indie rock and electronic music were still somewhat segregated. You were either a "guitar person" or a "synth person." LCD Soundsystem was the bridge. This song, specifically, proved to the "serious" rock critics at Pitchfork and The Guardian that you could use a TB-303 or a Moog to convey the same weight as an acoustic guitar.
It paved the way for artists like Robyn, whose "Dancing on My Own" carries the same "crying on the dancefloor" DNA. It showed that the club could be a space for exorcising demons, not just forgetting them.
The track has appeared in countless films and TV shows, usually during those moments where a character is forced to face a vacuum in their life. But it never feels cheap. It’s too well-constructed for that. It’s a song that commands the room. You can't just have it on in the background while you're talking about your taxes. Well, you can, but eventually, someone is going to stop mid-sentence and ask, "Wait, what is this?"
Misconceptions and Nuance
A common mistake people make is thinking the song is "depressing."
🔗 Read more: Cast of Buddy 2024: What Most People Get Wrong
Honestly? I think it’s the opposite.
There is something incredibly validating about hearing your own numbness reflected back at you with such precision. It’s a "you are not alone" signal sent out from a studio in Long Island City. It’s also important to note that the song is paired on the album with "All My Friends," another epic about the passage of time. Together, they form the emotional backbone of what many consider the best album of the 2000s.
If "All My Friends" is about the joy and exhaustion of living, "Someone Great" is about the silence that follows.
How to Truly Experience the Track
To get the most out of Someone Great LCD Soundsystem, you have to stop treating it like a three-minute pop song. It requires a different kind of listening.
- Find the right environment. This isn't a "shuffled playlist while driving" song. Put on a pair of decent over-ear headphones. Sit in a chair. Do nothing else.
- Listen for the "Handclaps." Notice how they are slightly off-kilter. They feel human, not programmed. This is a hallmark of Murphy’s production style—keeping the "humanity" inside the machine.
- Read the lyrics separately. Before your next listen, read the words as a poem. Notice the lack of metaphors. It is a literal description of a day following a loss. The power is in the plainness.
- Watch the 2011 "Shut Up and Play the Hits" version. Seeing the band perform this at Madison Square Garden during their "final" show (before the 2016 reunion) adds a layer of meta-grief. The band was mourning itself while playing a song about mourning. It’s heavy stuff.
The song doesn't offer a "solution" to grief. It doesn't tell you that things will get better or that "time heals all wounds." It just sits there with you in the dark. And sometimes, that’s exactly what being a human being requires. It remains a towering achievement in modern music because it refuses to lie to you. It's honest, it's loud, and it's perfectly, heartbreakingly repetitive.