Galaxie 500 have long presented an ideal blueprint for a college radio rock band: stylish, though relatable, in presentation; confident in musical tone but bearing elements of vulnerability; attentive to past influences, whether the Modern Lovers, Joy Division, or Yoko Ono; and, above all, songs that in their finished form still felt gorgeously unrefined, like the start of something new. Named after a classic Ford sedan, Galaxie 500, true to their name, always seemed both celestial and earthbound at once.
College radio isn’t what it used to be, and listening to Uncollected Noise New York’ 88-’90 will be an uncanny experience for some listeners. It offers a new compilation of material but also recalls a distant era. Galaxie 500 emerged at a time when fanzines and word of mouth popularized underground acts with mythologies quickly accruing. Reputations hinged on small details. Dean Wareham, Naomi Yang, and Damon Krukowski maintained an enigmatic aura during their band’s brief lifespan through a shared Harvard pedigree and ambient, reverb-heavy songs that seemed possessed with a Blakeian vision of innocence and experience.
Uncollected Noise New York both restores and dismantles the myth of Galaxie 500. It consists of 24 tracks lasting almost 90 minutes. The term “uncollected” promotes a slight myth since a number of these recordings have appeared elsewhere, including the closely named Uncollected Galaxie 500, which was part of a Rykodisc box set released in 1996. Only eight songs here have never seen the light of day. Even so, there are abundant pleasures and lessons for those who weren’t around when Galaxie 500 were active.
Organized chronologically, the track listing draws from five recording sessions spread across three years when they worked on their debut, Today (1988), their sophomore LP, On Fire (1989), and their swansong, This Is Our Music (1990). These sessions took place in New York, where they fortuitously worked with Kramer (Mark Kramer) at Noise New York, who had a vital impact on their sound. Therefore, the title Uncollected Noise New York is both factually true and implicitly self-deprecating. A number of the demos lack the depth and cohesiveness of their best work. Instead, they retain the charm of a forgotten travel diary or notebook.
The first three tracks are among the songs never released before. Dating from February 1988, they largely contrast from the more insouciant tone that characterizes Today. Prompted by a student protest at Harvard, “Shout You Down” has the frenetic pacing of the Feelies circa Crazy Rhythms (1980). The second track, “See Through Glasses”, similarly throws off a high energy vibe, as does the demo “On the Floor (Noise NY Version)”. These songs are revelatory in that they point to a fundamentally different direction from the unhurried approach Galaxie 500 became known for.
This sense of free-spiritedness also animates the two unreleased compositions from a February 1989 recording session when Galaxie 500 were putting down the tracks for On Fire. “I Wanna Live” may be the best discovery on this compilation. Wareham sings his heart out with backing vocals from Yang and a steady danceable beat from Krukowski’s percussion. Galaxie 500 gel on this track in an elevated manner, comfortably inhabiting their mutual sound. The second track, “I Will Walk”, establishes a pleasurable Velvets groove, though it ends somewhat inconclusively like an idea that doesn’t quite know how to resolve itself.
The three remaining unreleased tracks veer toward more modulation and restraint. The song “Never Get to Heaven” from August 1989 is a plaintive composition with the band experimenting with instrumental breaks and near silences. Krukowski’s drumming, in particular, stands out for its skittery texture that supplements Wareham’s guitar and vocals in enhancing ways. “Cactus” from June 1990 confidently settles into a slowcore atmosphere with expressive guitar work from Wareham, while “Moonshot” is a dutiful, beautifully rendered cover of a song by Buffy Sainte-Marie from 1972.
Among the ten former Rykodisc offerings, these tracks also bear the scars of rehearsal and eventual abandonment, though these features also seem hardly audible. “Can’t Believe It’s Me” from 1988 is as fine as anything on Today. Wareham’s vocals strain a bit on “Jerome”, though the song shines otherwise. “Maracas Song” from their August 1989 session has all of Galaxie 500’s signature features: unguarded vocals, melancholic guitar, and a calming backbeat as if appeasing Wareham’s anxious delivery. It’s good to have these tracks newly available.
There are very few missteps in Uncollected Noise New York. Among them, the rationale behind “Blue Thunder (w/sax)” is unclear, given that the original track, which opened On Fire, was faultless. In this instance, the sax accompaniment has the wince-inducing effect of fixing the song to the 1980s – an error given that much of their catalog eludes time and place. Photographs of the band taken by Yang at times resemble the surrealist work of Man Ray.
That said, Uncollected Noise New York prompts a rethinking of Galaxie 500’s place in the indie rock canon. Though often treated as singularly apart from their contemporaries, tracks like “Oblivious” and “Crazy” suggest an affinity with New Sincerity acts like the Reivers, who followed in the footsteps of the dBs. The simply structured, magical pop of Beat Happening also comes to mind. Wareham would later cover their song “Indian Summer” with Luna.
By 1990, Galaxie 500 had arrived at their trademark sound. Uncollected Noise New York traces this circuitous evolution of cul-de-sacs and incomplete ideas. As such, it underscores a messier history as well as an astute sense of judgment about how they curated their pristine albums. The songs on the backend of this compilation, like “Them“, suggest where Galaxie 500 might have headed after This Is Our Music.
It should be mentioned that their austere reinterpretation of Joy Division’s “Ceremony” is included in Uncollected Noise New York. Galaxie 500 slow it down in a way that conjures the cerebral, haunting qualities of the song. One can imagine Ian Curtis appreciating this renewed version. Although a cover, it amounts to being a mission statement for Galaxie 500 and the heights they aspired to reach.
Though Wareham, Yang, and Krukowski have moved on to have distinguished careers in music, art, and criticism, it must have been bittersweet to revisit this archival material with the recognition that some of their best work was accomplished at such a young age. Unbelievably, The New York Times has reported that they haven’t been in the same room since 1991. In addition to their studio albums and their sole live LP, Copenhagen (1997), with its blistering moments of reverb-driven histrionics, Uncollected Noise New York provides some reprieve for this long absence.
I have a friend from college, a former radio DJ, who witnessed one of Galaxie 500’s final shows. He holds onto it like an unwavering spiritual experience. In their prime, the music of Galaxie 500 could heal you and break your heart at the same time. How many bands can do that?