Luna
The Days of Our Nights
Beggars Banquet (U.K.)

Dean Wareham, Luna's vocalist and frontman, obviously wasn't too enthused about recording The Days of Our Nights — a fact which makes it difficult to get too excited about writing a review.

Though 1997's Pup Tent wasn't the best thing the brainchild of the former Galaxie 500 vocalist had released to date, at least the band sounded fired up, like the bunch of thirtysomething rockers still liked coming to work.

The Days of Our Nights, however, is so bad Luna's American label, Elektra, decided not to release it. Maybe it's time for the band to take the hint and throw in the towel. Or at least allow Wareham to quit and concentrate more on side project Cagney and Lacee, in which he and wife Claudia Silver lend a dreamy, swoony quality to some classic rock and pop tunes. Perhaps he could even alter his job description to film score composer, as his band's music written for "Thursday," was that movie's only saving grace.

Just so long as there's no more of this ... this ... drek.

Listening to The Days of Our Nights is like listening to an album of songs recorded especially for you by someone who's just dumped you. The whole 54 minutes sounds as if the entire band would rather be somewhere else doing something entirely different. If you've ever wondered what The Velvet Underground would sound like if you replaced Lou Reed with Steven Wright; John Cale with George Bush; Mo Tucker with Margaret Thatcher and Sterling Morrison with Stephen Hawking, only then should you even remotely consider buying this record.

It's enough to make you long for the days of Saturday Night Live's "Tarzan, Tonto and Frankenstein wish you a Merry Christmas" skits.

Even the cover of Guns 'n' Roses' debut single, "Sweet Child o' Mine" lacks energy, which I didn't think was possible. At first Wareham and Co. trick us into thinking they're going to put a fresh spin on the rawk gem by slowing down the tempo. This works until about a-minute-and-a-half in, when it becomes apparent that Wareham isn't going to display any emotion in this song, either. Despite all the pomp and swagger of the original, Luna's "Sweet Child" is a bratty teenager, refusing to go anywhere, going limp and dragging on for a good four-and-a-half minutes before finally, at last rounding out one of the most disappointing albums of the year.

Bleagh.

— Eric Wittmershaus (ericw at flakmag dot com)