It’s kind of amazing: in its near-decade of existence, the DFA record label has never been wack. Ever. It’s kind of statistically impossible how high the level of quality the New York-based, globally-impacting imprint has been. Dance music has a shelf life only slightly longer than that of a fly, but DFA’s groove have proven damn near immortal. How about a slightly pointless recap? Okay, good: this is the record company that gave us not only stone classics like “House of Jealous Lovers” by the Rapture, but also the godhead of Hot Chip, The Juan Maclean, and of course two absolutely essential LCD Soundsystem albums that er, you know, changed the face of music as we know it? Throw in remixes – like Carl Craig’s astonishing re-rub of “Relevee” by Delia Gonzalez and Gavin Russom, Harvey’s irreverently discodelic twist on LCD Soundsystem’s “All My Friends”, and LCD’s own awe-inspiring, acid-housed “Pretentious” version of “Yeah” – and it’s hard to take. Even their most experimental releases – Black Dice, par exemple – proved, at worst, fascinating and, at best, fascinating.

In 2009 alone, DFA continues to hit new highs. The label’s new jacks like Woolfy and Holy Ghost! Have put out incredible material (check out Holy Ghost!’s infectiously squelching electro anthem “I Will Come Back” as proof). The CD release and remixes collections of LCD Soundsystems 45:33 project were as eye-opening as ever. As well, the teasers dribbled out of new LCD Soundsystem recordings suggest the group’s upcoming new album might even surpass LCD’s 2007 masterpiece, Sound of Silver. LCD frontman and DFA co-founder James Murphy has proven one of pop culture’s most profound, provocative and idiosyncratic personalities – he certainly rocks the jock vs. freak divide with aplomb with his ultimate-fighting obsession, and he’s brought an emphasis on artful lyrics that’s completely new to dance music. He also has a great record collection: Murphy demonstrates his enduring great taste on LCD’s latest single, “Bye Bye Bayou”, released to celebrate “Vinyl Saturday” on November 7.

“Bye Bye Bayou” is a cover: the original, per Murphy’s great taste, is by Alan Vega, lead singer for the great post-punk/electronic duo Suicide. The spare, reverbed-out twang of Vega’s original is ingeniously replaced here with totally insane disco-funk – phased drums, thumping basslines, and echoey, trippy sound effects galore. It’s as hypnotic as Vega’s original, but in a whole new way – as a late night, dubby, dancefloor beast with a brain, gradually introducing content into the addled clubber’s brain. As per Murphy’s Alan Vega redux, part of the fun of the DFA posse’s output is that, as forward looking as it is, it tweaks the past with the confidence of a true crate digger. In this universe, the old is celebrated as much as the new – Murphy and cohorts are wise enough to know that something ahead of its time from the past is going to sound just about right circa now; part of the fun of combing through the label’s discography is catching all the trainspotter references.

Occasionally DFA indulges Murphy’s historical-curator instincts, like in the label’s reissues of epochal NYC punk-funkers Liquid Liquid, and the results have typically proven revelatory. This tendency continues, in DFA’s new, expanded, re-mastered re-release of Pylon’s Chomp. A college-rock classic from ancient times (circa 1983), Chomp blended the splayed post-punk harmonics of the U.K. (Gang of Four) and Chicago (Big Black) schools with the Americana jangle (R.E.M.) and off-kilter, homegrown quirk (early B-52s) of their Athens, Georgia hometown. Ten years after its release, Chomp sounded like an out-of-date curio from the previous decade; in 2009, however, the album seems gloriously prescient.

While the chiming guitar line in Chomp’s hypnotic semi-hit “Crazy” definitely has a parallel in early R.E.M. (who covered the song as the b-side on their “Driver 8” single), the album follows more a dancey, post-punk edge – all jaggedly ironic James Brown chicken-scratch guitars, effects-laden feedback atmosphere, and thumping disco beats filtered through a live indie-rock drummer (the indomitable, innovative Curtis Crowe). In “Four Minutes,” you hear the kind of abstract rock-electronic deconstruction that would lay the foundation for groundbreaking landmarks like Radiohead’s Kid A; I would be shocked as well to discover Karen O never heard singer Vanessa Briscoe Hay’s vocals on “Yo-Yo.” Most impressively, throughout Chomp this guitar-bass-drums-driven quartet creates a thrilling dynamic interplay – the lurches between loud and soft, artful syncopation and driving thump, are what give the songs their distinctive swing. All this comes through much better than ever before thanks to sensitive, thorough remastering. These sonics are, not surprisingly, utterly in line with the DFA as we know it today – in particular, the relentlessly rhythmic intensity of the proceedings. May DFA continue to shake its rhythm stick at grooves both young and aged: Murphy and co.’s b.s. detector hasn’t failed us yet, and pop, dance music, whatever – it’s all the better for it.