“That’s The Price Of Loving Me” (Carpark Records)
By Eleni P. Austin
Although Dean Wareham is best known as the sonic architect of two beloved Post-Punk outfits, Galaxie 500 and Luna, his solo music has been equally inventive and compelling.
Born in Wellington, New Zealand, his family spent time in Sydney, Australia before relocating to New York City when Dean was just 14 back in 1977. Although the city was mired in crime, decadence and decay, the music scene was thriving, thanks to the advent of Punk Rock.
While he was attending Harvard, he formed Galaxie 500 with bassist Naomi Yang and drummer Damon Krukowski. The band’s moniker paid homage to a pal’s vintage Ford. The nascent three-piece made their bones gigging around Boston and New York City. Demos were recorded and they signed with Aurora Records. Their debut, Today, was released in 1988.
Heavily influenced by bands like The Velvet Underground, Modern Lovers and Spaceman 3, they carved out a sound that could best be categorized as lo-fi Psychedelia. After they inked a deal with the British Punk label Rough Trade (Home to The Smiths, Aztec Camera, Opal, Butthole Surfers), they issued two more gems, 1989’s On Fire and 1990’s This Is Our Music. Their music was beginning to gain traction, via MTV and college radio. Ironically, they were on the verge of signing with a major label, Columbia Records, when they broke up.
By 1992, Dean had formed Luna. An indie super group of sorts, it included former Chills bassist Justin Harwood and ex-Feelies drummer Stanley Demenski. Signing with Elektra Records, and their debut, Lunapark appeared that same year.
Luna’s music continued to take a page from The Velvets’ playbook, but they also took inspiration from the lean economy of Punk progenitors like Television, adding new colors and textures to their aural palette.
By 1994’s Bewitched, the trio expanded to a quartet, with the addition of guitarist Sean Eden. Their third effort, Penthouse landed a year later. A landmark record, it featured a knowing take on Serge Gainsbourg’s “Bonnie & Clyde,” It was around this time that Rolling Stone proclaimed Luna “The Best Band You’ve Never Heard.”
They cut a swath through the remainder of the 20th century with albums like Pup Tent and Days Of Our Nights. Jason left the band in 2000, and Britta Phillips began anchoring the low end. Luna Live, as well as two more studio efforts, Romantica and Rendezvous were released before Luna called it quits in 2005.
Dean and Britta had already gotten married by that time and had released a couple of well-received albums as a duo. Both L’ Avventura and Back Numbers were produced by Tony Visconti the visionary behind watershed albums from David Bowie, T. Rex and Thin Lizzy. Otherwise, Dean had kept a pretty low profile following Luna’s demise, touring sporadically, and along with Britta, scoring Noah Baumbach’s breakthrough film, The Squid & The Whale. He also penned Black Postcards, a memoir that was published in 2008.
He finally embarked on a solo career in 2014, releasing an eponymous debut that was produced by My Morning Jacket frontman, Jim James. Surprisingly, in 2015, Luna reconvened, went on tour and recorded an LP, A Sentimental Vacation, and a follow-up EP called A Place For Greater Safety. A 2018 collaboration with singer-songwriter Cheva Sombre yielded a collection of Western-themed songs entitled Dean Wareham Vs. Cheva Sombre.
Along with most of the world, Dean and Britta sheltered in place during the Covid pandemic, but they continued to make music, releasing a collection called The Quarantine Tapes. 2021 saw the release of his second solo effort, I Have Nothing To Say To The Mayor Of L.A. Now he is back with his third long-player, That’s The Price Of Loving Me. The record reunites him with Kramer, the producer/musician responsible for all three Galaxie 500 albums (as well as landmark recordings from Half Japanese, Will Oldham, GWAR, Daniel Johnston, Bongwater and White Zombie, just to name a few).
The record kicks into gear with the deceptively pliant “You Were The Ones I Had To Betray.” Swirly strings partner with meandering guitar, drowsy keys, fluid bass lines and a chugging beat. Lyrics like “Together we rode into the haze, and everything there was coming in waves, you were the ones I had to betray/Together we slowed, together we slayed. and nothing was owed, and nothing was paid, you were the ones I had to betray,” obliquely address Dean and Britta’s move to sunny Los Angeles, and their fans’ adverse reaction. His laconic vocals are juxtaposed by skyrocketing guitars, shivery strings and sibilant synths on the break, before the instrumentation and arrangement build to a defiant crescendo.
Three songs dart between whimsical and pragmatic, showcasing the many moods of Dean. The languid “Mystery Guest” is powered by brittle bass, sulky keys, a kinetic pulse and guitars that alternately strum, flicker and shimmer. Playful lyrics, which eventually spell out the song’s title, are equal parts frisky and cryptic. The final verse is particularly inscrutable: “The mystery guest is coming alone, the mystery guest will not bend, the mystery guest is out of control, the mystery guest was my friend.”
“We’re Not Finished Yet” is a gauzy ode to his guitar. Weedy riffs unspool across a Psychedelic soundscape in 3/4 time. Britta adds dreamy backing vocals as Dean details the loving care lavished on his work-wife: “I hauled you from Hollywood back to the show, I waxed you, I rubbed you, I gave you a glow, so play for me darling and do not forget, we’re not finished now, we’re not finished yet/I sanded your saddle, I polished your frets, I renamed you, I cleaned you, I have no regrets, play for me darling and do not forget, we’re not finished now, we’re not finished yet.”
Sandwiched between the two, “New World Julie” speaks to bigger priorities. Guitars shapeshift from tensile to sleek, accented by bloopy keys, flinty bass and a kick-drum beat. Dean’s foreboding demeanor is leavened by Britta’s feather-light backing vocals, but lyrics tackle the bellicosity and aggression that currently power the planet: “All their ammunitions, all their money logs, all their bold evasions, all their running dogs, there’s a new world coming Julie, a new world coming now, we’re spinning straw, we’re breaking the law, there’s a new world coming now.”
The best tracks stack back-to-back, at the start of side two. On “Bourgeois Manque,” sidewinder guitars uncoil across a phased and dusted arrangement of gossamer strings, liquid keys, twitchy bass lines and a chunky beat. Here, Dean effortlessly slips into the skin of an avaricious poseur ineptly parsing the power imbalance between Israel and Gaza, noting how young activists are paying the price: “Well, it’s twenty twenty-four, forty thousand dead, but the students are unruly, so they’re suspending kids instead, I’m only an imposter, bourgeois manque, on the high road roster, and I do it every day.” By turns courtly and cosmic, a spidery guitar solo spins its web, mirrored by high lonesome lap steel on the extended instrumental outro.
“Yesterday’s Heroes” take another swipe at global politics as iridescent guitars ebb and flow across fluttery keys and slinky bass in Waltz time. Lyrics briskly take aim as “Bombs and bullshit fill the air…all your sermons sound the same, all your parlays no domain, all your leaders have no hair, all our marches got nowhere.” Feelings of frustration and malaise are swathed in sunshiny guitars that sparkle and shine, splitting the difference between ethereal and earthy.
Finally, the title track is anchored by coltish congas, a sonar thump, lush guitars, elastic bass lines and pinging keys. The melody and arrangement share some musical DNA with the late-great Roberta Flack’s epochal take on “Feel Like Makin’ Love.” Laissez faire lyrics are delivered with a shrug, an artist is only accountable to himself, and “That’s the price of loving me.”
On each solo album, Dean has made it a practice to cover songs by artists he admires, starting with “Heartless People” from his eponymous debut and continuing on I Have Nothing To Say To The Mayor Of L.A., with a deft version of “Duchess,” a deep cut from the late Scott Walker. On this record, he ups the ante with two covers, “Dear Betty Baby” and “Rauche der Traume.”
The former originated with on the only solo effort from Red Crayola frontman, Mayo Thompson. A wayfaring sea-shanty, it’s all shang-a-lang guitars loping bass and a thwocking beat. As lyrics limn the particular angst of a sailor being trapped on a ship at sea: “What can the sailors do when the captain feels mean? A ship is on the ocean, so to speak, and what if the ship should spring a leak, what do they expect of me?” Glassy guitar notes ripple on the break, nearly assuaging the dread.
The latter was a rare Nico track that popped up on a posthumous release from the Velvet Underground chanteuse. Sung completely in German, the song is cloaked in twinkly keys, downcast guitars, and a barely-there beat. Loosely translated, the lyrics yearn for bittersweet release: “Wrap me up in your wings, float me away quickly, into the wide world of balmy nights, let me triumph, let me die, let me love, let me fly, let me win, let me die, let me love, let me die.” Shards of guitar blur on the fractured instrumental coda.
The album closes with the whispery pleasure of “The Cloud Is Coming.” Cumulus guitars drift between sawing cello, sinewy bass, blithe keys and a hopscotch beat. Dean and Britta’s vocals dovetail, latticing esoteric lyrics before issuing a crystal clear warning: “There is no difference between the blue and the red, the cloud is coming for us all.” For more nearly 40 years, Dean Wareham has been creating densely detailed, richly nuanced, mind-blowing music. That’s The Price You Pay For Loving Me, continues that tradition.
(((folkYEAH!))) Presents Dean Wareham at Pappy & Harriet’s
Saturday, May 10th 2025. Doors open at 8:30pm, Show starts at 9:30pm
