Twenty-Five Albums For Twenty-Five Years: #22

22. Bewitched - Luna

The latest installment in my ongoing list of Twenty-Five Albums for Twenty-Five Years. To view previous posts, click here: Twenty-Five Albums for Twenty-Five Years.

Bookends

A couple years ago, Luna decided to call it quits. While I was sad, it seemed right. The band, all well into middle age now, had been putting out consistent albums for more than ten years with little or no commercial success. Last fall, I had the fortune to be gifted a DVD copy of Tell Me Do You Miss Me, the documentary of Luna's last hoorah of a tour. The film was poignant, if a bit, well, sad: Hard working musicians, touring one last time before calling it quits after never quite making it above the radar. After watching the documentary, I had the thought that I would love to show the film to any young punk looking to make it big as a rock star. This is what happens to the good ones who get lost in the American Idol shuffle, I'd say. Go to college instead.

Anyway, I got tickets to see Luna on their "farewell" tour. I took my wife, who was not my wife at the time, and my brother. It was an excellent show. I had some reservations going in; my good friend Michael McDonald had seen Luna many years prior and had been underwhelmed. Fortunately for me, this last show at the Cat's Cradle was everything I could have hoped for-- a solid stroll through the band's entire catalog with a somewhat tearful final bow.

But here's the symmetry (or the bookend): The last time I'd seen Luna had been eleven years prior-- on their first tour (supporting their first album, Lunapark, and opening for The Sundays) at the Cat's Cradle. Sure, I was there to see The Sundays. And the Cat's Cradle was in a different location. But looking up at Dean Wareham and rocking out to old (and new) favorites, I couldn't help feeling like I was seeing a chapter of my life coming to a close.

That chapter started during the spring semester of my freshman year in college. My good friend, Michael McDonald, bought me a copy of The Sundays's first album (Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic) for Christmas. I got hooked (maybe another entry here…) and responded with a "hell yeah" when asked if I wanted to go see them live. I piled into a car with Michael and the infamous Art Jackson, and drove to Chapel Hill.

Didn't know who the opening band was. Didn't care. Art Jackson mentioned something about Galaxie 500, but Art was a music snob in training, so I didn't really pay him much attention. Many moons later, I would travel down the Galaxie 500 road, but that's another story for another time.

Here's what I remember about Luna from that show:

1. Dean Wareham had extremely veiny arms.
2. Dean Wareham's effects pedals spanned almost the entire front of the small stage.
3. Stanley Demeski's simple but expert drumming was entrancing.
4. They weren't that bad.

Funny how we remember things, eh?

The real fireworks that night, though, came from Harriet Wheeler. (I also distinctly remember a large young man holding a bouquet of red roses for Harriet and crying through most of the show…).

It wasn't until about a year later that I discovered Bewitched at CD Superstore (no longer in existence) in Greensboro. I listened. I thought, "This isn't bad." I bought it.

Here of late, I've been really enjoying The National's new album, Boxer. Pitchfork uses the term "grower" about The National's album(s). I've found this to be the case.

I guess you could say that Bewitched was a grower for me.

I liked it well enough to keep listening, but there was something about it that still felt a bit foreign to me. The album was not familiar territory. I was clueless about The Velvet Underground (the most oft-noted "influence"), and the dreamy effects and Vox tone of the album were counter to where I was from (crunchy-guitar-land). Sure, the walls of musical prejudice were crumbling around me-- thanks in no small part to Tom Waits-- but Bewitched was new to me. And it took some time to really get into the album.

But once I was there? Oh boy.

Fondest-- Though Potentially Embarrassing-- Memory of Bewitched

The time frame that I'm referring to is my sophomore year in college. I was living in a two bedroom apartment with a kind-of-old-friend from my swimming days. We really didn't know each other that well, but we both wanted to be out of the dorm. And we both had fathers willing to pay the extra money to get us in an apartment. Brian was a year ahead of me but two years older than me. There's a lot I could write here, but I'll try to stick to the basics.

We didn't spend much time hanging out together. The age difference was less of an issue than just a general mal-alignment of personalities. The short of it is this: I moved out of the dorm after one year and unwittingly imposed upon myself a kind of social isolation. Brian was an introvert, had a girlfriend, wasn't particularly good at school (read: had to study a lot), and lived for the short period of time at the end of the week when he could drink his twelve pack of Miller High Life. It is, after all, the champagne of beers.

This left me to sulk alone in my room-- a lot. I spent much of my middle college years in that room. I didn't have many friends-- and the ones I did have were at other colleges. Sure, I made road trips down to see them-- and vice versa-- but I really did spend most of my sophomore year sequestered in my room, listening to music on my headphones.

It was in that room that I grew to love Bewitched.

The memory is this: I had my brother's old JVC CD player on the nightstand by my bed. I had a pair of big, over the ear headphones that I eventually stepped on, broke, and then duct-taped back together (pulled a few hairs out every time I took them off…). The mini-blinds were usually closed. I would lie in bed, headphones on, and listen to Bewitched-- over and over again. This ritual typically involved a nap. I would make it through the first few tracks, fall asleep, and then wake up for the closing drone of "Sleeping Pill."

I also wrote a lot during those years. Anything-- of course-- was better than studying. I wrote a lot of bad poetry and fiction to avoid actually doing school work…

Friend of a Friend of a Friend

There are a few albums in my collection that I've purchased multiple times. The two that I've purchased more than twice are Tom Waits's Closing Time and Bewitched. In the case of Closing Time, I ignorantly let some stranger borrow my first copy (which was given to me by a friend-- mentioned in my Small Change entry) and never saw it again. I got another copy that I let another friend borrow. That copy disappeared as well. I'm now on my third copy of it.

Bewitched is another story. I've given this disc away to friends because I'm so enamored of it. My first copy (which had the original receipt and the circular sticker from the wrapping cut out, both kept in the booklet) was leant out with no intention of it being returned. I let it go. I think it was a good cause. I later wound up giving my second copy away to another friend. Here again, I consider it a goodwill gift. Like Closing Time, I think I'll keep the third copy and leave it at that.

Desert Island Top Five

I always used to joke about the fact that I could never narrow a list of desert island albums down to just five. Twenty would be too few. But Bewitched will always be a desert island pick.

Why?

I’m not sure why I love this album so much. In some respects, I could argue that Bewitched is not even the best Luna album. I know others would be quick to give top honors to Penthouse. I have been equally enraptured by Pup Tent-- and it could easily make the cut for this list. But… without Bewitched, I might never have followed Luna for eleven years.

I guess it's fair to say that the album was my friend. That's pretty much the conclusion I've drawn above. But I think it could be more than that.

Does it stand the test of time? Yes. I'm listening to it right now, and I don't love it any less. True, I'm not as moved by it as I used to be. I've grown up. But I still listen to this album. When I got my first mass storage mp3 player (sorry, darling), Bewitched was one of the first albums I loaded onto it. Even now, it's on my ipod.

I'll say this about the album as well: It's an album. I've given (up) in to the digital music revolution, but I still remember what it takes to create a cohesive album. Bewitched is just that. Lunapark, Luna's first album, isn't. It's good-- and has some great songs-- but it's a starting point. Bewitched is a carefully crafted experience. There is obvious consistency from track to track. The songs are alike enough in their production to make for a solid, complete listening experience. But there is also enough variation from track to track to save the album from the fate of "It all sounds the same."

Anchoring the whole lot of Bewitched are two unique Luna qualities: Dean Wareham's voice and exceptional guitar work. I remember, a few years back, sitting at a bar in Greensboro with my good friends Michael McDonald and Brian Candler. We were playing the "top five" game. Zeppelin came on the jukebox and I said, "Top five guitar albums." Michael, who has never cared for such games, mentioned Luna. I don't remember what album he referred to, but I do remember being shocked by his answer. Well, I was shocked at first. Later, I went home and dug out some Luna and started listening-- listening specifically for the guitar.

I shouldn't have been shocked.

Then there's Dean's voice. I guess that's the make or break point for the initiate. Dean Wareham's voice isn't exactly fabulous. He's not Josh Groban or Andre Bocelli. Hell, he's not even an adequate member of a high school chorus. Most of his vocals qualify as not much more than slightly melodic, slightly falsetto musings-- or as breathy, whispered travelogues and warnings.

I imagine Dean, slightly intoxicated, telling drug-laced stories at some hipster Soho den.

There's a charm in his delivery.

There's personality in his intonations.

This is something I might have trouble trying to explain to a middle America fattened on the passionless parade of piss-pop. A singer has to have personality. A singer has to be unique. It isn't enough to be good. There are lots of good singers out there. Some of them even go on to make mediocre music.

But a truly unique voice, backed by an expert band and snappy tunes, well, that's pure gold.

And that's where I'll file Dean Wareham. His voice is part of a great good goddamn whole.

I'm drawn to it-- and champion it.

And finally: The lyrics. Yeah, I'll confess, I didn't really get them initially. When I was younger, I would memorize damn near all the lyrics (close approximations ala "Hold me close young Tony Danza") to all the music I was in to, but I rarely gave much thought to what they meant. Take that Tipper Gore!

Anyway, what I did get from the lyrics of Bewitched was fragmentary and image-based at best. Later in life, I started to pay more attention. That might be a key to Luna's continued relevance in my life: When I was younger, the coloring of the music was what I needed. As an adult, I better identify with the sagely, friendly advice of Dean Wareham. Love, drugs, loss and longing. All the usuals. The fragments are fresh, fun, and insightful. Don't get me wrong, I do recognize that a fair amount of Wareham's lyrics are just kind of wonky, but there's a certain charm and fun in their inanity!

Notes on a Few Tracks

"California (All the Way)" is, quite possibly my all time favorite "first track." Much like I'd show Tell Me Do You Miss Me to young punk upstarts, I would tell those same young punks that this is how you open an album. In fact, I think this might be one of Luna's legacies: Best Opening Tracks. Penthouse has "Chinatown." Pup Tent has "Ihop." Romantica has "Lovedust."

As far as "California (All the Way)" goes, you can't beat that opening riff. It sets the tone for the entire album. And the lyrics to this one are spot on. As I mentioned above, I didn't pay much attention to what all the lyrics meant. But I have always loved the lines "And if you're gonna read your poetry aloud to me / I'll have to show you to the door." Those lines-- matched with my first Creative Writing class… Man! What a great song.

"This Time Around" is another favorite. I recently bought an acoustic guitar and started to learn this song… As such, I can tell you it's that dip into the minor A chord that gives this song its edge.

"Into the Fold" and "Sleeping Pill" are also great tunes. For a while I had my bass guitar in my lonely apartment bedroom. I taught myself how to play the line from "Sleeping Pill" and would play along…

Yeah, so take Wareham's voice, the solid, unencumbered drumming of Stanley Demeski, the accompanying, underscoring bass lines, and intricate guitar work, and voila!

And so, Bewitched makes the list. It is part of me. And I will pass it on to all that care to have a good listen.