“They Got Nothing Else to Think Of”

I work on the seventh floor of an office building in Brooklyn, and was lucky enough to have a pretty good view of yesterday’s snow. My co-worker Tim, of the still-criminally underappreciated Babe the Blue Ox, is the unofficial office DJ — so I asked him what I invariably ask when it starts snowing: “hey, would you mind playing On Fire by Galaxie 500?”

On Fire is the perfect snowstorm record, and not just for the obvious reason. Even in New York City, snow can be the most isolating weather. People are cold, huddled up, hurrying to where they need to go. Or, they just stay home. On Fire is solitary, destination-less traveling music — for quiet drives, for sitting still, for walking around by yourself. It’s the sound of emotion exceding physicality. It is fragile, permeable — somehow, like snow itself, it is both messy and pristine.

So, I’m sitting in the office, watching the big, soft snowflakes fall onto Fort Greene, thinking that the weather is romantic, oscillating between general and specific daydreams, when Tim — whose indie rock musings are often the highlight of my workday — walks over and starts reminiscing about Galaxie 500 shows at New York’s Knitting Factory. For once, I’m not inclined to focus too much on the conversation, but I pay attention for long enough to hear that Dean Wareham would sometimes apologize to the small audience for his modest guitar-playing skills. Huh, kinda interesting. Back to staring out the window.

Last night, walking home from the subway, I played On Fire again, and it occurred to me that Galaxie 500 is a relevant and interesting point of reference in the debate over bands like Vivian Girls. Galaxie 500 is a band that, like many of today’s hip indie rock aesthetes, drew from the Velvet Underground and the Modern Lovers. A band that played on borrowed equipment and was known in part for their lack of musical virtuosity. I’m listening to On Fire almost twenty years (!!) after its original release, and it could not be more immediate, moving and relevant. Frankly, I can’t imagine Vivian Girls, or No Age, or Art Brut reaching people in the same way, even five years down the line. The reason for this is, I think, the same reason that Dean Wareham would apologize for his own weakness as a musician, rather than hiding behind it.

Amateurism is not compelling without the will to exceed or transcend it.

It’s funny, Galaxie 500 is one of the bands that surprised me most when I actually *heard* their music. I always imagined them being “atmospheric” and “reverb-drenched” (I may very well have cited them as music critic shorthand for this before I ever actually heard one of their records!) But really, it’s the directness and frailty of Dean Wareham’s voice that makes Galaxie 500 different from Any Other Band Ever. What makes On Fire so moving isn’t that Wareham can’t really sing — but rather that he sings anyhow, without shame or detachment. He sings like nobody else is around — like we all sing when we aren’t concerned with who’s listening.

Understanding your own limitations and pushing past them regardless is admirable and productive. It is, I think, the only way that good artists can make great art. Clinging to your limitations under the mistaken belief that they somehow define you artistically…. I’m hard pressed to think of a better road to long-term irrelevance.

After a long day, I walked around aimlessly for about fifteen minutes so I could keep listening to On Fire before going home. It is an album worth going out of your way for.

- Matt LeMay