Great, cohesive albums often have messages or statements embedded ir 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, trillior 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, wher 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 or 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.
