The band was better than the car
Luna is breaking up in the year 2005. Their upcoming October release, Rendezvous, will be the group’s last, although they’ll be touring in support of the record throughout the fall and winter.
I interviewed Dean Wareham a couple years ago at the time of Luna’s last release, Romantica. I really thought that Romantica was a solid record, definitely one of Luna’s better efforts. In my interview with Wareham, he agreed, saying: “I am very happy with Romantica... which is not always how I feel after making a record. ... I think Romantica has the best songs of any Luna record.” Wareham didn’t stop there, either, praising his lyrical efforts on Romantica as superior to his earlier days. By earlier days, he meant his time with Galaxie 500, the band in which Wareham staked his reputation on in the late ‘80s.
Now, with the news of Luna’s upcoming departure, I got to thinking about Romantica, and the fact that I haven’t listened to it in quite some time. I don’t miss it. Even though it was a pleasant record to listen to, Romantica lacked any staying power. And that’s been a criticism that I’ve heard—but don’t agree with—in reference to all of Wareham’s albums dating back to Galaxie 500.
Galaxie 500 formed in Boston in 1986 when drummer Damon Krukowski and Wareham recruited their old high school friend Naomi Yang to play bass with them. Yang, whose unique, melodic approach to the bass would become one of the band’s signatures, had no previous musical experience. All three were attending Harvard at the time.
Galaxie 500
The group was shortlived—releasing three albums and a handful of singles over the course of just four years—but nevertheless incredibly influential to both the slowcore movement (Bedhead, Low, Codeine and the like) and to a lesser degree the shoegazer movement. Despite their influence, Galaxie 500 went largely overlooked even though they were recording for the venerable Rough Trade label. Shortly after the release of Galaxie 500’s third ablum, This Is Our Music, in 1990, Rough Trade went bankrupt, hence killing the band’s momentum, signaling the end of the band (Wareham bowed out shortly thereafter) and ruining any chance for the band to earn any royalties off their releases. Then, as Wareham’s subsequent band, Luna, became a critical darling, interest in Galaxie 500’s difficult-to-find releases grew and culminated in Rykodisc re-releasing the albums as a box set in 1996.
To describe Galaxie 500 is both an easy and complex task. The easy way out is to say that they—like about one-hundred thousand other bands—were greatly influenced by The Velvet Underground. But unlike so many of those other bands whom reviewers love to compare to VU, the comparison actually holds up when it comes to Galaxie 500. Where a rock band like The Strokes takes after Lou Reed’s swagger (lets face it, he put the “cock” in VU), Galaxie 500 looked to the delicacy of John Cale, Moe Tucker, and Nico for inspiration. Considering each of their contributions to VU—or more importantly what Nico and Cale did immediately after leaving VU—it’s easy to see that they supplied the fragility, restraint, and beauty to balance out Reed’s macho charisma.
But Galaxie 500 were a band that brought a good amount to the table with or without the VU inspiration. For starters, Yang was an accomplished bassist whose lack of formal training was probably her best asset. She spent a great deal of time exploring the bass’ upper register, a good two or three octaves above where her contemporaries preferred to toil. But it’s not just the octave that makes the difference; Yang also looked at the bass as an instrument that could provide significant melody for the trio. While Wareham spent most of his time chug-chug-chugging along, Yang offered a wandering melodic counterpart for the listener. Her warm, glowing bass lines were truly authentic.
Galaxie 500 also benefited from Krukowski’s sparse drumming, which slowcore drummers copied to a T. Krukowski rarely rocked out behind the kit. Instead, his drumming aided in shaping the band’s sound palette more so than most drummers can claim. Fond of the floor tom (like Moe Tucker) and able to make a ride cymbal flutter like the wings of a butterfly, Krukowski’s piece of the Galaxie 500 puzzle is an equal one-third.
Then, we’ve got Wareham himself, whose awkward voice and strange slice-of-life lyrics were the centerpiece of the band’s sound. Wareham has never been a shabby songwriter—I’ve enjoyed a good deal of the Luna catalog—but his work with Galaxie 500 has always seemed more vibrant than anything he accomplished thereafter. And, while some detest his voice (he’s hardly a choirboy), it was his rough edges and eerie falsetto that lent Galaxie 500 that slightly uneasy feeling. Call it nervousness. Call it a queer feeling in the gut. But Wareham kept the listener on edge with the best of ‘em.
Perhaps the biggest reason that Luna has never had the staying power for me and Galaxie 500 has endured my test of time is also the most obvious one: Luna has always been Dean Wareham’s band, whereas Galaxie 500 has always been a group whose individual parts created a greater whole.
While the news of Luna’s demise gave me the kick in the rear, it was actually a reader of The Blank Generation who asked me to write about Galaxie 500. I’m not certain if he was looking for a recommendation or not, but I’ll provide one without giving an in-depth critique of each of their three albums. I’ve always preferred the group’s first two albums, Today (1988) and On Fire (1989), to the later one, This Is Our Music (1990). And, if I had to take one of those two to the desert island with me, I’d choose Today because it features my two favorite Galaxie 500 songs (“Parking Lot” and “Oblivious”) and a great cover of The Modern Lovers’ “Don’t Let Our Youth Go to Waste.” But, there’s really no wrong choice; I think all three are great albums. I’d recommend any of them over Rykodisc’s 1998 compilation Portable Galaxie 500, which suspiciously doesn’t include some of the group’s best work (like my two faves, for example).
Galaxie 500 were an odd bird. (How many other bands covered not one, but two Yoko Ono songs? Not to mention Young Marble Giants and Joy Division? And covers never grew old for Wareham; since starting Luna he has covered Guns n’ Roses, Serge Gainsbourg, Beat Happening, Kraftwerk, The Rolling Stones and, yes, VU.) Galaxie 500 inspired a good share of covers as well, not to mention an entire school of thought in ‘90s indie rock.
So, in retrospect, I’d beg to differ with Mr. Wareham. He might have been onto something with Luna’s Romantica, but he really hit his stride a decade prior. And there’s no shame in that, whether he wants to own up to it or not.
I interviewed Dean Wareham a couple years ago at the time of Luna’s last release, Romantica. I really thought that Romantica was a solid record, definitely one of Luna’s better efforts. In my interview with Wareham, he agreed, saying: “I am very happy with Romantica... which is not always how I feel after making a record. ... I think Romantica has the best songs of any Luna record.” Wareham didn’t stop there, either, praising his lyrical efforts on Romantica as superior to his earlier days. By earlier days, he meant his time with Galaxie 500, the band in which Wareham staked his reputation on in the late ‘80s.
Now, with the news of Luna’s upcoming departure, I got to thinking about Romantica, and the fact that I haven’t listened to it in quite some time. I don’t miss it. Even though it was a pleasant record to listen to, Romantica lacked any staying power. And that’s been a criticism that I’ve heard—but don’t agree with—in reference to all of Wareham’s albums dating back to Galaxie 500.
Galaxie 500 formed in Boston in 1986 when drummer Damon Krukowski and Wareham recruited their old high school friend Naomi Yang to play bass with them. Yang, whose unique, melodic approach to the bass would become one of the band’s signatures, had no previous musical experience. All three were attending Harvard at the time.
Galaxie 500
The group was shortlived—releasing three albums and a handful of singles over the course of just four years—but nevertheless incredibly influential to both the slowcore movement (Bedhead, Low, Codeine and the like) and to a lesser degree the shoegazer movement. Despite their influence, Galaxie 500 went largely overlooked even though they were recording for the venerable Rough Trade label. Shortly after the release of Galaxie 500’s third ablum, This Is Our Music, in 1990, Rough Trade went bankrupt, hence killing the band’s momentum, signaling the end of the band (Wareham bowed out shortly thereafter) and ruining any chance for the band to earn any royalties off their releases. Then, as Wareham’s subsequent band, Luna, became a critical darling, interest in Galaxie 500’s difficult-to-find releases grew and culminated in Rykodisc re-releasing the albums as a box set in 1996.
To describe Galaxie 500 is both an easy and complex task. The easy way out is to say that they—like about one-hundred thousand other bands—were greatly influenced by The Velvet Underground. But unlike so many of those other bands whom reviewers love to compare to VU, the comparison actually holds up when it comes to Galaxie 500. Where a rock band like The Strokes takes after Lou Reed’s swagger (lets face it, he put the “cock” in VU), Galaxie 500 looked to the delicacy of John Cale, Moe Tucker, and Nico for inspiration. Considering each of their contributions to VU—or more importantly what Nico and Cale did immediately after leaving VU—it’s easy to see that they supplied the fragility, restraint, and beauty to balance out Reed’s macho charisma.
But Galaxie 500 were a band that brought a good amount to the table with or without the VU inspiration. For starters, Yang was an accomplished bassist whose lack of formal training was probably her best asset. She spent a great deal of time exploring the bass’ upper register, a good two or three octaves above where her contemporaries preferred to toil. But it’s not just the octave that makes the difference; Yang also looked at the bass as an instrument that could provide significant melody for the trio. While Wareham spent most of his time chug-chug-chugging along, Yang offered a wandering melodic counterpart for the listener. Her warm, glowing bass lines were truly authentic.
Galaxie 500 also benefited from Krukowski’s sparse drumming, which slowcore drummers copied to a T. Krukowski rarely rocked out behind the kit. Instead, his drumming aided in shaping the band’s sound palette more so than most drummers can claim. Fond of the floor tom (like Moe Tucker) and able to make a ride cymbal flutter like the wings of a butterfly, Krukowski’s piece of the Galaxie 500 puzzle is an equal one-third.
Then, we’ve got Wareham himself, whose awkward voice and strange slice-of-life lyrics were the centerpiece of the band’s sound. Wareham has never been a shabby songwriter—I’ve enjoyed a good deal of the Luna catalog—but his work with Galaxie 500 has always seemed more vibrant than anything he accomplished thereafter. And, while some detest his voice (he’s hardly a choirboy), it was his rough edges and eerie falsetto that lent Galaxie 500 that slightly uneasy feeling. Call it nervousness. Call it a queer feeling in the gut. But Wareham kept the listener on edge with the best of ‘em.
Perhaps the biggest reason that Luna has never had the staying power for me and Galaxie 500 has endured my test of time is also the most obvious one: Luna has always been Dean Wareham’s band, whereas Galaxie 500 has always been a group whose individual parts created a greater whole.
While the news of Luna’s demise gave me the kick in the rear, it was actually a reader of The Blank Generation who asked me to write about Galaxie 500. I’m not certain if he was looking for a recommendation or not, but I’ll provide one without giving an in-depth critique of each of their three albums. I’ve always preferred the group’s first two albums, Today (1988) and On Fire (1989), to the later one, This Is Our Music (1990). And, if I had to take one of those two to the desert island with me, I’d choose Today because it features my two favorite Galaxie 500 songs (“Parking Lot” and “Oblivious”) and a great cover of The Modern Lovers’ “Don’t Let Our Youth Go to Waste.” But, there’s really no wrong choice; I think all three are great albums. I’d recommend any of them over Rykodisc’s 1998 compilation Portable Galaxie 500, which suspiciously doesn’t include some of the group’s best work (like my two faves, for example).
Galaxie 500 were an odd bird. (How many other bands covered not one, but two Yoko Ono songs? Not to mention Young Marble Giants and Joy Division? And covers never grew old for Wareham; since starting Luna he has covered Guns n’ Roses, Serge Gainsbourg, Beat Happening, Kraftwerk, The Rolling Stones and, yes, VU.) Galaxie 500 inspired a good share of covers as well, not to mention an entire school of thought in ‘90s indie rock.
So, in retrospect, I’d beg to differ with Mr. Wareham. He might have been onto something with Luna’s Romantica, but he really hit his stride a decade prior. And there’s no shame in that, whether he wants to own up to it or not.