We’re all North American Scum, but James Murphy’s pigeonholed himself up in his tight DJ booth of a New York City, comfortably avoiding people who suck- namely you, you little hipster. Still, he can’t avoid himself, (never that little, at 6’2″ and upwards of 200lbs.), and he indulges in the meaning of his fading lifestyle and the vestiges of the city that harbored it. With its white-washed Brooklyn college towns and Liquid Liquid passe a second time coming, what’s left but to make the tightest disco-house-pop-rock-party of an album since his last? Actually, this one is tighter than the original, with 11 reigned-in tracks as alarmingly infectious as they are subtly dense, with small murmurs of careful programming and feathery layers of aux percussion and synth packed in beneath driving bass, drums and sardonic truths. –Jeremy Krinsley