Review Summary: If you let yourself go, you might be different by the time you come across to the other side.
I first heard the shimmery winter chills of Galaxie 500 when I was barely 16, lost in a young haze of psychedelics and stoned midwest summers. At the time I was drastically changing my taste in music. The previous year in high school I went through a massive "grunge" phase, going to extents of writing fully-cited research papers about the scene as well as headbanging to thrash metal in my brother's sh*tty Beretta every morning on the way to school. The more cannabis I smoked, the more Pink Floyd albums I discovered. After a period of experimentation, I began to discover and research new genres. Thank God for the interwebs. I dipped my trippy little ears into some of dat post-rock. (because rock is sooo over, man!) One night I downloaded some random druggie bands I read about on Wikipedia.
"What is dis dream pop?"
Galaxie 500, to this day, will always hold some special little nostalgic place in the corner of my heart. There's something in the simple reverbed out G, C, D chord progressions that they always friggin' pulled off that were virtually alike, yet constructed so differently through distinct melodies and unique, swishing, off-kilter drumming. Dean Wareham's haunting yelps and internal cries for help. The dreamy backing vocals of Naomi ringing through your earbuds from a misty forest of feels. These guys only made three albums, you know. Each one contains a set of similar moods and textures, with increasing talent and production value through the short four years of their career. I devoured all three of these little gems. I can never decide which one I like the best.
From a technical perspective, This Is Our Music is arguably their best record. Flutes, synthesizer, and higher production values are spaced throughout, hinting at what the band might have become if they stuck around. The opener, Fourth of July is crystal smooth dream pop gold. We are greeted with a dull and unapologetic spoken vocal line, "I wrote a poem on a dog biscuit, and your dog refused to look at it." It's his flawed and earthy tones in his voice that make this band what it really is. Oh, and do not forget the vague songwriting. There are plenty of psychedelic whoa-I-thought-this-when-I-was-tripping lines in the album. Here's a cute little line from Way Up High:
Open your eyes
Come see my quilt
Big as the bed
Look what I built
I see your quilt, Dean. It's covered in heartache and long walks around town and stuff. Sometimes you are melting into your bed with him, other times you lift off the ground into clouds of bubbly wah-wah's and lost romantic woes. "Are you sorry that you love me?" He yearns, in the song Sorry, "Am I sorry I love you too?" Also in this third record you have the second track sung with Naomi on lead vocals: an almost eight minute sprawling cover of Yoko Ono's Listen, The Snow Is Falling. Her voice is soft and soothing, and combined with the band and the contrast of Dean's vocals, you have a perfectly moody atmosphere of icy guitar pluckings and wandering soft basslines.
It all tends to vibrate very easily with the soul. No, this band will never be known for its musical talent. This record pushed the trio to the best of their abilities, and I think it's almost a good thing they didn't make any more. It would ruin all the simple magic if they got too complex, or produced it too polished. There's something immediately intimate about this little band here. Close your eyes and let yourself go... and if you let yourself go, you might be different by the time you come across to the other side.
