Post by The Cap'n on Jan 27, 2019 13:21:22 GMT -5
Another VU
Another View is the title I’ve riffed on (or ripped off) for this essay. It was the title of a revelatory 1980s release of Velvet Underground material, material mostly intended for a “lost” fourth album that in some cases surfaced elsewhere in the band’s or Lou Reed’s later albums. But that material showed another view from the proto-punk, sneering noise-rock for which the Velvet Underground are (admittedly rightly) accused of or credited with, depending on your particular perspective. It showed another VU.
The VU that release put on display was there all along, but was subsumed by the bigger narrative that had gained currency over the years. The VU I love isn’t so much the VU of “Sister Ray” or “The Black Angel’s Death Song,” or even “Heroin.” The VU I love most is the one that shows Reed’s tremendous gifts as a traditional songwriter schooled in doo-wop, rhythm and blues, and early rock and roll; his gifts as a writer of words—funny and sincere words!; and maybe least appreciated, his gifts as a melodist. Reed fits alongside in my mind with two other giants who came out of the 1960s to be seen as forward-thinking innovators, but who I’d argue were firmly rooted in traditions, even as they publicly eschewed them: Brian Wilson, obsessed with ultra-square Four Freshmen, George Gershwin, and early rock and roll; and Frank Zappa, rooted firmly in rhythm and blues and the classical music of the first half of the twentieth century.
I don’t dislike, much less dismiss, the speeding, noisy anger and chaos on which people have spilled the most ink … it’s just a piece that ought to be seen in proportion. Even for a band like VU, black isn’t black without white. The Velvet Underground had plenty of black, white, and more colors in between than a casual listener might think.
Without further ado, a soundtrack to my VU. Not their best songs, or even the songs I like best, but a selection that demonstrate the breadth of their output, with a heavy emphasis on the sides that appeal to me most. (“Heroin” is a great song, but it’s unnecessary for me to promote it here.)
Who Loves the Sun
The opening number from the final canonical album, Loaded, could’ve come out five years earlier with a sunny, harmony-laden refrain belying the truly sad lyric. Doug Yule sings sweetly on this pure pop song.
Candy Says
Another Yule vocal, “Candy Says” is one of Reed’s most beautiful songs both lyrically and musically. The straightforward chord progression and gentle lyric resemble a love song rather than the desperate story Reed foisted upon Candy Darling and her struggle (as imagined by Reed) with her transgenderism. “I’ve come to hate my body and all that it requires in this world.” There is a total absence of cynicism here, only earnest depression … and maybe a glimmer of hope implied by the major sevenths in the outro.
Stephanie Says
Used to great effect by Wes Anderson in “The Royal Tenenbaums,” this is another sad song without a hint of aggression or noise. John Cale’s interweaving viola and celeste and Reed’s surprisingly gentle vocal performance, decorated by unsteady but well arranged harmony vocals, are almost unique to the catalogue. The song was recorded after White Light/White Heat in a dramatic departure from that sound … and was soon followed by Cale’s departure from the group. It became more traditional in its approach from there.
Cool It Down
One doesn’t imagine a funky, almost New Orleans sound in a Velvet Underground song. One does expect a lyric about carrying on with a prostitute—and premature ejaculation—in a Velvet Underground song. Yule’s piano is unique for the group. I also love Reed’s multitrack vocals that don’t quite align.
Andy’s Chest
The best known version appears on Reed’s classic Transformer, but this version, recorded for the “lost” album, is an uptempo take that fits the absurdist lyrics. Reportedly written about Valerie Solanas’s attempt to assassinate Andy Warhol, it reads more like Gogol. To me, its final lyrics—all of the “for yous”—are absolutely beautiful, touching if more or less incomprehensible tributes.
Sweet Jane
Does a classic rock staple really need to be promoted further? Yes. Because this is a classic rock ’n’ roll song coming from someone not usually considered in that vein. This is one of the most celebratory, joyful, life-affirming anthems in the history of the genre … and it’s from Lou Fucking Reed. And it opens with my favorite verse in rock and roll:
“Standing on the corner, suitcase in my hand. Jack is in his corset, Jane is in her vest, and me? I’m in a rock and roll band.” God, yes!
But it goes further to demolish the popular vision of Rebel Reed. Is there a more sincere sentiment than rebutting that “life is just to die. But anyone who ever had a heart wouldn’t turn around and break it.”
Pale Blue Eyes
Speaking of sincerity, this tribute to Reed’s ex-girlfriend, Shelly Albin, is as direct a lyric as can be. It is another offering from the self-titled third album, which had a number of almost arrestingly beautiful, soft, and straightforward songs. It’s a heartbreaking song of loss. Worse, of deserved loss. Self-inflicted loss.
“Sometimes I feel so happy. Sometimes I feel so sad. Sometimes I feel so happy, but mostly you just make me mad. … Linger on your pale blue eyes. … I thought of you as my mountaintop. I thought of you as my peak. I thought of you as everything I’ve had but couldn’t keep.”
She’s My Best Friend
A pop-rock song from the “lost” album, I’m reminded of “Andy’s Chest” in the lyric that combines absolute directness with absurdity.
There She Goes Again
Presumably not a favorite of modern social justice warriors, this combines a fabulous Motown style track with a hateful, jealous lyric about a woman—a girlfriend, a drug buddy?—sucking off other men, the narrator’s friends. Worse, he suggests the best resolution would be to hit her. It’s nasty, as Reed was known to have be toward his lovers (and others) on occasion in his younger years. For that, it is a very good song. And while it’s easy to imagine it as a slice of life, it’s important to remember that Reed was heavily influenced by gritty fiction writers like Nelson Algren and Hubert Selby, to say nothing of the people with whom he kept company in those years. It could be documentary, it could be short fiction. It’s narrator is a piece of shit … but is its narrator actually Reed? Does it matter? (I don’t know. Life is complex.)
Jesus
It is what it says. Another song from the third, self-titled album. Reed spent most of his adult life chasing various philosophies and religions, so while he was raised in a secular Jewish family, it’s entirely possibly that his prayer to Jesus was sincere at the time. “Help me in my weakness ‘cause I’m falling out of grace.”
New Age
“Sunset Boulevard” as a Brill Building ballad-cum-anthem, sung by the ever-innocent sounding Yule. The “fat blonde actress” feels like a character who could have populated the world of Berlin a few years later. The lyrical technique of quoting the narrator’s dialogue and sentiments but leaving empty spaces (almost placing the listener into the roll of the aforementioned actress, a desperate, fading character) for the full story is particularly interesting.
Ride Into the Sun
Unreleased in this form until a much later reissue of Loaded, Reed’s solo version that did see release was terrible. Here, the wistful Reed seeks redemption, which is a common theme of his music. He dreams of leaving his supposedly beloved New York City, “where everything seems so ugly when you’re sitting alone in self-pity,” but tries to cheer himself up, to “remember it’s a flower made out of clay” and, more interesting, to “remember you’re just one more person who is living there.” (You’re not so special.) The song itself is almost a solemn prayer (with which the organ helps).
Sunday Morning
Another of the few acknowledged classics included here, I hope its relative position in the running order shines new light upon it. Here is better resembles its subject matter, not an opening scene but a (near-) closing one narrating exhausted, drugged, paranoid thoughts at the end of a long—eternal?—weekend. It is another, maybe the other, example of the celeste-and-viola pairing with a sweet (for him) Reed vocal, and it again uses that to contrast the lyrical content and atmosphere. Better production would have gone a long way here, as was often the case on the first album.
After Hours
Reed could be funny, silly, and sometimes sweet. Maureen Tucker’s vocal is perfect.
(To satisfy one promise made to iluvleniloud elsewhere.)
The VU that release put on display was there all along, but was subsumed by the bigger narrative that had gained currency over the years. The VU I love isn’t so much the VU of “Sister Ray” or “The Black Angel’s Death Song,” or even “Heroin.” The VU I love most is the one that shows Reed’s tremendous gifts as a traditional songwriter schooled in doo-wop, rhythm and blues, and early rock and roll; his gifts as a writer of words—funny and sincere words!; and maybe least appreciated, his gifts as a melodist. Reed fits alongside in my mind with two other giants who came out of the 1960s to be seen as forward-thinking innovators, but who I’d argue were firmly rooted in traditions, even as they publicly eschewed them: Brian Wilson, obsessed with ultra-square Four Freshmen, George Gershwin, and early rock and roll; and Frank Zappa, rooted firmly in rhythm and blues and the classical music of the first half of the twentieth century.
I don’t dislike, much less dismiss, the speeding, noisy anger and chaos on which people have spilled the most ink … it’s just a piece that ought to be seen in proportion. Even for a band like VU, black isn’t black without white. The Velvet Underground had plenty of black, white, and more colors in between than a casual listener might think.
Without further ado, a soundtrack to my VU. Not their best songs, or even the songs I like best, but a selection that demonstrate the breadth of their output, with a heavy emphasis on the sides that appeal to me most. (“Heroin” is a great song, but it’s unnecessary for me to promote it here.)
The opening number from the final canonical album, Loaded, could’ve come out five years earlier with a sunny, harmony-laden refrain belying the truly sad lyric. Doug Yule sings sweetly on this pure pop song.
Candy Says
Another Yule vocal, “Candy Says” is one of Reed’s most beautiful songs both lyrically and musically. The straightforward chord progression and gentle lyric resemble a love song rather than the desperate story Reed foisted upon Candy Darling and her struggle (as imagined by Reed) with her transgenderism. “I’ve come to hate my body and all that it requires in this world.” There is a total absence of cynicism here, only earnest depression … and maybe a glimmer of hope implied by the major sevenths in the outro.
Stephanie Says
Used to great effect by Wes Anderson in “The Royal Tenenbaums,” this is another sad song without a hint of aggression or noise. John Cale’s interweaving viola and celeste and Reed’s surprisingly gentle vocal performance, decorated by unsteady but well arranged harmony vocals, are almost unique to the catalogue. The song was recorded after White Light/White Heat in a dramatic departure from that sound … and was soon followed by Cale’s departure from the group. It became more traditional in its approach from there.
Cool It Down
One doesn’t imagine a funky, almost New Orleans sound in a Velvet Underground song. One does expect a lyric about carrying on with a prostitute—and premature ejaculation—in a Velvet Underground song. Yule’s piano is unique for the group. I also love Reed’s multitrack vocals that don’t quite align.
Andy’s Chest
The best known version appears on Reed’s classic Transformer, but this version, recorded for the “lost” album, is an uptempo take that fits the absurdist lyrics. Reportedly written about Valerie Solanas’s attempt to assassinate Andy Warhol, it reads more like Gogol. To me, its final lyrics—all of the “for yous”—are absolutely beautiful, touching if more or less incomprehensible tributes.
Sweet Jane
Does a classic rock staple really need to be promoted further? Yes. Because this is a classic rock ’n’ roll song coming from someone not usually considered in that vein. This is one of the most celebratory, joyful, life-affirming anthems in the history of the genre … and it’s from Lou Fucking Reed. And it opens with my favorite verse in rock and roll:
“Standing on the corner, suitcase in my hand. Jack is in his corset, Jane is in her vest, and me? I’m in a rock and roll band.” God, yes!
But it goes further to demolish the popular vision of Rebel Reed. Is there a more sincere sentiment than rebutting that “life is just to die. But anyone who ever had a heart wouldn’t turn around and break it.”
Pale Blue Eyes
Speaking of sincerity, this tribute to Reed’s ex-girlfriend, Shelly Albin, is as direct a lyric as can be. It is another offering from the self-titled third album, which had a number of almost arrestingly beautiful, soft, and straightforward songs. It’s a heartbreaking song of loss. Worse, of deserved loss. Self-inflicted loss.
“Sometimes I feel so happy. Sometimes I feel so sad. Sometimes I feel so happy, but mostly you just make me mad. … Linger on your pale blue eyes. … I thought of you as my mountaintop. I thought of you as my peak. I thought of you as everything I’ve had but couldn’t keep.”
She’s My Best Friend
A pop-rock song from the “lost” album, I’m reminded of “Andy’s Chest” in the lyric that combines absolute directness with absurdity.
There She Goes Again
Presumably not a favorite of modern social justice warriors, this combines a fabulous Motown style track with a hateful, jealous lyric about a woman—a girlfriend, a drug buddy?—sucking off other men, the narrator’s friends. Worse, he suggests the best resolution would be to hit her. It’s nasty, as Reed was known to have be toward his lovers (and others) on occasion in his younger years. For that, it is a very good song. And while it’s easy to imagine it as a slice of life, it’s important to remember that Reed was heavily influenced by gritty fiction writers like Nelson Algren and Hubert Selby, to say nothing of the people with whom he kept company in those years. It could be documentary, it could be short fiction. It’s narrator is a piece of shit … but is its narrator actually Reed? Does it matter? (I don’t know. Life is complex.)
Jesus
It is what it says. Another song from the third, self-titled album. Reed spent most of his adult life chasing various philosophies and religions, so while he was raised in a secular Jewish family, it’s entirely possibly that his prayer to Jesus was sincere at the time. “Help me in my weakness ‘cause I’m falling out of grace.”
New Age
“Sunset Boulevard” as a Brill Building ballad-cum-anthem, sung by the ever-innocent sounding Yule. The “fat blonde actress” feels like a character who could have populated the world of Berlin a few years later. The lyrical technique of quoting the narrator’s dialogue and sentiments but leaving empty spaces (almost placing the listener into the roll of the aforementioned actress, a desperate, fading character) for the full story is particularly interesting.
Ride Into the Sun
Unreleased in this form until a much later reissue of Loaded, Reed’s solo version that did see release was terrible. Here, the wistful Reed seeks redemption, which is a common theme of his music. He dreams of leaving his supposedly beloved New York City, “where everything seems so ugly when you’re sitting alone in self-pity,” but tries to cheer himself up, to “remember it’s a flower made out of clay” and, more interesting, to “remember you’re just one more person who is living there.” (You’re not so special.) The song itself is almost a solemn prayer (with which the organ helps).
Sunday Morning
Another of the few acknowledged classics included here, I hope its relative position in the running order shines new light upon it. Here is better resembles its subject matter, not an opening scene but a (near-) closing one narrating exhausted, drugged, paranoid thoughts at the end of a long—eternal?—weekend. It is another, maybe the other, example of the celeste-and-viola pairing with a sweet (for him) Reed vocal, and it again uses that to contrast the lyrical content and atmosphere. Better production would have gone a long way here, as was often the case on the first album.
After Hours
Reed could be funny, silly, and sometimes sweet. Maureen Tucker’s vocal is perfect.
), but I never truly dug the Yule-fuelled VU. As for Loaded, "Sweet Jane" grabbed me but nothing else did.
The likes of "I Heard Her Call My Name" or "Sister Ray" that I'd forced on unsuspecting music-loving friends at the time all at once sounded passé and contemporaneous UK bands I'd sneered at, such as Blossom Toes, didn't sound so twee anymore. In fact they sounded rather good! 
