Luna
Romantica
[Jetset; 2002]
Rating: 7.8
Great, cohesive albums often have messages or statements embedded in
the lyrics and musical attitude. As a highly respected and highly
paid music critic, it's my job to sniff out these themes and present
them to you, the reader. After spending some quality time listening
to Luna's sixth album, taking extensive notes, and applying the most
complex theories of musicology, I think I have unlocked
Romantica's secret: Dean Wareham be getting laid!
Of course, I have absolutely no concrete facts to back this up--
it's a conclusion based on equal parts hunch and dirty mind.
Nevertheless, I haven't heard a collection of songs this infused
with post-coital glow since Björk's heavy-breathing exercise
Vespertine. But while Ms. Gudmundsdottir's love songs are set
in the wintery climate of her home country, Wareham pens tunes
appropriate to the album's springtime shimmer, images of lovestruck
springs and summer picnics in the park.
I mean, come on, the album's called Romantica, the cover art
is a Caribbean souvenir cigarette lighter, and the leadoff track's
name is "Lovedust," for crying out loud. While a song called
"Lovedust" that talks about seeing "a million, billion, trillion
stars" could just as easily be about the demon cocaine, the Jimmy
Buffett-style guitar effects and the "air is creamy/ You look
so dreamy" lyrics suggest otherwise. Throw in the sultry backing
vocals of super-hott new bass player Britta Phillips, and you've
got the indie rock world's answer to that steamy Robbie Williams/Nicole
Kidman duet.
Not that the majority of Romantica is much of a sonic
departure from Luna's back catalog, a series of albums that don't
feature much in the way of experimentation. Wareham's songwriting
formula has varied little since his hyper-influential days in Galaxie
500: hazy minor chord vamps behind his thinly wistful singing voice.
Since the peak of this approach on the band's classic
Penthouse, Luna have made a number of small attempts to
stretch out their sound, but Wareham's easily recognizable voice kept
the songs from deviating too much from the mean.
The same appraisal goes for Romantica, despite the presence of
esteemed producer Dave Fridmann; nobody's going to be fooled into
thinking this isn't a Luna album. Fridmann's influence is remarkably
subtle, wisely keeping his characteristic thick drum sound to a
minimum to preserve the band's slight aesthetic. Only the grandiose
"Black Champagne," with it's orchestra-in-a-can strings swelling
Soft Bulletin-style around Wareham's plea to "train the
disco lights on me" overtly reveals his presence behind the boards.
What separates the album from previous Luna product is not so much
instrumental alterations as the newly unabashed sentimentality of
Wareham's lyrics. The twelve songs find Wareham largely rhapsodizing
about food, love, or both, with stanzas like "Salt and pepper
squid/ And Singapore noodles/ I could look at your face/ For
oodles and oodles," from "Renee Is Crying." Okay, yeah, when
written out, lines like that probably have you puking on your
computer monitor. But if anything can pull it off without
triggering the gag reflex, it's Wareham's doe-eyed voice, which
practically has cartoon hearts bouncing around it.
The band, meanwhile, further brightens the mood with "ba ba ba"
backing vocals and arrangements more peppy and muscular than on
previous efforts. Phillips' vocals contribute the most obvious new
elements, tradingoff singing with Wareham on "Mermaid Eyes," the
band's sexiest song since Penthouse's cover of Serge
Gainsbourg's "Bonnie and Clyde" with Laetitia Sadier.
Instrumentally, the quartet have never sounded so confidently loose,
with nearly every song spiraling off into guitar soloing sessions
that would perk up the ears of jamband followers, were they not faded
out after a minute or two.
Unfortunately, the album takes a dive after the first seven tracks
into less memorable territory, without a big ending like "Bonnie
and Clyde" or The Days of Our Nights' clever "Sweet
Child O' Mine" cover. Chances are you'll hardly notice,
however, as by this time the album has lured you into its fuzzy
trap. With Romantica, Luna shows that they know their
sound and their place: nothing too fancy, just solid, cheerful
music for barbecue romance and driving with the windows down.
-Rob Mitchum, April 23rd, 2002