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Rating: It makes me smile today to think back on certain discussions I was involved in during my high school years. Those were years (mid-70s) of great ideological fervor and not just about political issues. Even topics strictly related to music (rock primarily) ignited heated debates. In fact, many considered glam rock (David Bowie, Lou Reed, etc.) a decadent style, politically labelable as "right-oriented," unlike progressive rock. If one then questioned the health of rock, there was prevalent skepticism (perhaps there was not much confidence in the longevity of prog, and the punk and new wave wave was yet to come, some decided to switch completely to jazz, and the choice was highly worthy of respect). But what puzzled me back then was noticing how the same people, who denigrated glam rock, listened to and greatly appreciated an anthology album titled "Andy Warhol's Velvet Underground featuring Nico." I found it contradictory, and in any case, all of this perhaps led me to also listen to records that many advised against in order to develop my own point of view. And indeed, the album that is the subject of this review ("The Velvet Underground & Nico" released in 1967) was the turning point, years later, to understand much about the very nature of rock.
And to understand the innovative impact of the record, I imagined myself in the shoes of a music producer who, at that time, was entrusted with the responsibility of having such a work published. Certainly, the historical moment was effervescent in the musical field. In the 60s, rock was already the musical vehicle of youth anxieties and aspirations on a global scale. It was no longer that Yankee eccentricity called rock and roll that Elvis and others had launched in the mid-50s. From the Beatles onwards, it was like a musical flood, and, becoming mature, rock could be a flourishing business for record companies. Only, the entire affair could also prove difficult to manage. Some musical proposals could be explosive (to say the least, Bob Dylan, Rolling Stones, Who, Jefferson Airplane, etc. were quite outspoken). "The Velvet Underground & Nico" was a case history precisely for this reason (and not only, as I will specify later). It's obvious that the executives at Verve, a subsidiary of Mgm, could not expect the band named Velvet Underground to reproduce a musical style in the vein of confidential crooners like Bing Crosby or Frank Sinatra (if that had been the case, what kind of innovative music group would they have been?). Of them, so reluctant to grant interviews that they would tell off anyone persistently requesting them, it was known that they were at the center of multimedia shows held in Andy Warhol's Factory, a leading conceptual artist acclaimed in the New York of that era. A respectable sponsor, but the members of the Velvet Underground were not less so, such as Lou Reed (a garage rock musician with vast literary interests), John Cale (coming from collaborations with experimental artists like John Cage and La Monte Young), Maureen Tucker (a drummer with a primitive African style), and Nico (a singer with a deep, decidedly gothic vocal tone, already appeared in a bit part in the film "La dolce vita" by Fellini).
All these credentials might have had some weight, but it's not that strange to notice the fact that the album "The Velvet Underground & Nico" was only released in March 1967 after being recorded between April and May 1966. The recorded tapes revealed raw musical representations of the cursed life in the underbelly of New York City, a real punch in the stomach. No embellishments, no dazzling lights on the American dream but rather highlighting a gallery of characters belonging to a human fauna of outcasts.
Already the opening track "Sunday Morning," immersed in the tinkling of a Christmas carol, can be misleading because what is staged is nothing more than the effect of drugs wearing off on Sunday morning after a night of debauchery. And it certainly doesn't get better with the next composition "I'm Waiting for My Man," which is not a ballad of courtly love, but a clear illustration of the condition of a junkie desperately waiting for the dealer who is never on time and keeps him waiting:
"I'm waiting for my man, with 26 dollars in my hand, up at Lexington at the crossroads with 125, I feel sick and dirty, more dead than alive, I'm waiting for my man."
In short, life on the streets of New York (and this holds true for any other metropolis) is simply disgusting, teeming with junkies, dealers, transvestite prostitutes, pimps, people who can still reveal characteristics of unexpected human warmth, as can be found in other songs like "Femme Fatale" (and here Nico is in great form, as if she were a modern version of Marlene Dietrich in "The Blue Angel"). Even more explicit is "Venus in Furs," inspired by the title of a text by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, which proclaims the perverse allure of sadomasochistic love with the words "Kiss the boot of shiny, shiny leather in the dark, tongue the belt, the strap that waits, hit, dear mistress."
Even the call to a party context like "All Tomorrow's Parties" can be misleading because here it recalls the happenings at Warhol's Factory, where every inhibition disappeared, and one would give in to various excesses.
But the apex is reached with the track "Heroin," which explained, without the gibberish about drugs of much of the hippie counterculture of the time, the infernal descent into drug addiction to the point of exclaiming "Heroin, be the death of me, heroin is my wife, my life." A candid portrayal of the scourge of drugs, and in this regard, Lou Reed always maintained that he merely demonstrated what evil is, not instigating its commission.
There are also hints at the realm of feelings, as in "I'll Be Your Mirror," where Nico's velvety voice invites the beloved person to reciprocate, singing "I'll be your mirror, reflect what you are, in case you don't know" (it really seems to celebrate a love between two people so twin-like as to be of the same sex..)
But then with the concluding tracks "The Black Angel's Death Song" and "European Son," the Velvet Underground do not hold back from launching into experimental jams close to free jazz flow (slightly inspired by Ornette Coleman's style).
Therefore, after a complete listen to such an album, the Hamlet-like doubt of a music producer of the era (do I publish it or not?) was not entirely unreasonable. Publishing the album after a year on hold was not a successful move from a commercial perspective (it only reached no. 171 in the USA record sales charts), but it was later critically re-evaluated (here's another reason I previously mentioned it as a case history). The album became a reference point for many young musicians who wanted to propose something truly innovative. This particularly applies not only to the punk wave but also to those new rockers who took their first steps in the mid-70s (Patti Smith primarily) and considered "The Velvet Underground & Nico" the dawn of a new era for rock, undoubtedly ahead of its time but still indispensable for anyone who wants to know what rock is. A historical document, therefore, that, even a long time after its release, cannot be underestimated and, in a far more distant future, will continue to testify to posterity about what the once opulent modern Western society was (almost a Pompeii of the twentieth century) in the underbelly: vicious, debauched, desperate.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 Sunday Morning (02:58)
Sunday morning, praise the dawning
It's just a restless feeling by my side
Early dawning, Sunday morning
It's just the wasted years so close behind
Watch out, the world's behind you
There's always someone around you who will call
It's nothing at all
Sunday morning and I'm falling
I've got a feeling I don't want to know
Early dawning, Sunday morning
It's all the streets you crossed, not so long ago
Watch out, the world's behind you
There's always someone around you who will call
It's nothing at all
Watch out, the world's behind you
There's always someone around you who will call
It's nothing at all
Sunday morning
Sunday morning
Sunday morning
02 I'm Waiting for the Man (04:41)
I'm waiting for my man
Twenty-six dollars in my hand
Up to Lexington, 125
Feel sick and dirty, more dead than alive
I'm waiting for my man
Hey, white boy, what you doin' uptown?
Hey, white boy, you chasin' our women around?
Oh pardon me sir, it's the furthest from my mind
I'm just lookin' for a dear, dear friend of mine
I'm waiting for my man
Here he comes, he's all dressed in black
PR shoes and a big straw hat
He's never early, he's always late
First thing you learn is you always gotta wait
I'm waiting for my man
Up to a Brownstone, up three flights of stairs
Everybody's pinned you, but nobody cares
He's got the works, gives you sweet taste
Ah then you gotta split because you got no time to waste
I'm waiting for my man
Baby don't you holler, darlin' don't you bawl and shout
I'm feeling good, you know I'm gonna work it on out
I'm feeling good, I'm feeling oh so fine
Until tomorrow, but that's just some other time
I'm waiting for my man
03 Femme Fatale (02:40)
Here she comes, you better watch your step
She's going to break your heart in two, it's true
It's not hard to realize
Just look into her false colored eyes
She builds you up to just put you down, what a clown
'Cause everybody knows (She's a femme fatale)
The things she does to please (She's a femme fatale)
She's just a little tease (She's a femme fatale)
See the way she walks
Hear the way she talks
You're put down in her book
You're number 37, have a look
She's going to smile to make you frown, what a clown
Little boy, she's from the street
Before you start, you're already beat
She's gonna play you for a fool, yes it's true
'Cause everybody knows (She's a femme fatale)
The things she does to please (She's a femme fatale)
She's just a little tease (She's a femme fatale)
See the way she walks
Hear the way she talks
04 Venus in Furs (05:10)
Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather
Whiplash girlchild in the dark
Comes in bells, your servant, don't forsake him
Strike dear mistress, and cure his heart
Downy sins of streetlight fancies
Chase the costumes she shall wear
Ermine furs adorn the imperious
Severin, severin awaits you there
I am tired, I am weary
I could sleep for a thousand years
A thousand dreams that would awake me
Different colors made of tears
Kiss the boot of shiny, shiny leather
Shiny leather in the dark
Tongue of thongs, the belt that does await you
Strike dear mistress, and cure his heart
Severin, severin, speak so slightly
Severin, down on your bended knee
Taste the whip, in love not given lightly
Taste the whip, now bleed for me
I am tired, I am weary
I could sleep for a thousand years
A thousand dreams that would awake me
Different colors made of tears
Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather
Whiplash girlchild in the dark
Severin, your servant comes in bells, please don't forsake him
Strike dear mistress, and cure his heart
05 Run Run Run (04:24)
Teenage Mary said to Uncle Dave
I sold my soul, must be saved
Gonna take a walk down to Union Square
You never know who you're gonna find there
You gotta run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run
Gypsy Death and you
Tell you whatcha do
Marguerita Passion had to get her fix
She wasn't well, she was getting sick
Went to sell her soul, she wasn't high
Didn't know, thinks she could buy it
And she would run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run
Gypsy Death and you
Tell you whatcha do
Seasick Sarah had a golden nose
Hobnail boots wrapped around her toes
When she turned blue, all the angels screamed
They didn't know, they couldn't make the scene
She had to run, run, run, run, run
Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run
Gypsy Death and you
Tell you whatcha do
Beardless Harry, what a waste
Couldn't even get a small-town taste
Rode the trolleys down to forty-seven
Figured he was good to get himself to heaven
'Cause he had to run, urn, run, run, run Take a drag or two
Run, run, run, run, run
Gypsy Death and you
Tell you whatcha do
06 All Tomorrow's Parties (06:02)
And what costume shall the poor girl wear
To all tomorrow's parties
A hand-me-down dress from who knows where
To all tomorrow's parties
And where will she go, and what shall she do
When midnight comes around
She'll turn once more to Sunday's clown and cry behind the door
And what costume shall the poor girl wear
To all tomorrow's parties
Why silks and linens of yesterday's gowns
To all tomorrow's parties
And what will she do with Thursday's rags
When Monday comes around
She'll turn once more to Sunday's clown and cry behind the door
And what costume shall the poor girl wear
To all tomorrow's parties
For Thursday's child is Sunday's clown
For whom none will go mourning
A blackened shroud
A hand-me-down gown
Of rags and silks - a costume
Fit for one who sits and cries
For all tomorrow's parties
07 Heroin (07:14)
I don't know just where I'm going
But I'm gonna try for the kingdom, if I can
'Cause it makes me feel like I'm a man
When I put a spike into my vein
And I'll tell ya, things aren't quite the same
When I'm rushing on my run
And I feel just like Jesus' son
And I guess that I just don't know
And I guess that I just don't know
I have made the big decision
I'm gonna try to nullify my life
'Cause when the blood begins to flow
When it shoots up the dropper's neck
When I'm closing in on death
And you can't help me not, you guys
And all you sweet girls with all your sweet silly talk
You can all go take a walk
And I guess that I just don't know
And I guess that I just don't know
I wish that I was born a thousand years ago
I wish that I'd sail the darkened seas
On a great big clipper ship
Going from this land here to that
In a sailor's suit and cap
Away from the big city
Where a man can not be free
Of all of the evils of this town
And of himself, and those around
Oh, and I guess that I just don't know
Oh, and I guess that I just don't know
Heroin, be the death of me
Heroin, it's my wife and it's my life
Because a mainer to my vein
Leads to a center in my head
And then I'm better off than dead
Because when the smack begins to flow
I really don't care anymore
About all the Jim-Jim's in this town
And all the politicians makin' busy sounds
And everybody puttin' everybody else down
And all the dead bodies piled up in mounds
'Cause when the smack begins to flow
Then I really don't care anymore
Ah, when the heroin is in my blood
And that blood is in my head
Then thank God that I'm as good as dead
Then thank your God that I'm not aware
And thank God that I just don't care
And I guess I just don't know
And I guess I just don't know
09 I'll Be Your Mirror (02:16)
I'll be your mirror
Reflect what you are, in case you don't know
I'll be the wind, the rain and the sunset
The light on your door to show that you're home
When you think the night has seen your mind
That inside you're twisted and unkind
Let me stand to show that you are blind
Please put down your hands
'Cause I see you
I find it hard to believe you don't know
The beauty you are
But if you don't let me be your eyes
A hand to your darkness, so you won't be afraid
When you think the night has seen your mind
That inside you're twisted and unkind
Let me stand to show that you are blind
Please put down your hands
'Cause I see you
I'll be your mirror
10 The Black Angel's Death Song (03:13)
The myriad choices of his fate
Set themselves out upon a plate
For him to choose
What had he to lose
Not a ghost bloodied country
All covered with sleep
Where the black angel did weep
Not an old city street in the east
Gone to choose
And wandering's brother
Walked on through the night
With his hair in his face
On a long splintered cut from the knife of G.T.
The rally man's patter ran on through the dawn
Until we said so long
To his skull-shrill yell
Shining brightly red-rimmed and
Red-lined with the time
Infused with the choice of the mind
On ice skates scraping chunks
From the bells
Cut mouth bleeding razor's
Forgetting the pain
Antiseptic remains cool goodbye
So you fly
To the cozy brown snow of the east
Gone to choose, choose again
Sacrificials remains make it hard to forget
Where you come from
The stools of your eyes
Serve to realize fame, choose again
And roverman's refrain of the sacrilege recluse
For the loss of a horse
Went the bowels and a tail of a rat
Come again, choose to go
And if Epiphany's terror reduced you to shame
Have your head bobbed and weaved
Choose a side to be on
If the stone glances off
Split didactics in two
Leave the colors of the mouse trails
Don't scream, try between
If you choose, if you choose, try to lose
For the loss of remain come and start
Start the game I che che che che I
Che che ka tak koh
Choose to choose
Choose to choose, choose to go
11 European Son (07:46)
You killed your European son
You spit on those under twenty-one
But now your blue car's gone
You better say so long
Hey hey, bye bye bye
You made your wallpapers green
You want to make love to the scene
Your European son is gone
You'd better say so long
Your clouds drifting goodbye
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Other reviews
By 2+2=5
Heroin, may you be my death. Heroin is my wife, it’s my life.
I am content with man and his misery; with his soul and his pain; with his anger and his Art.
By miriamlovesrock1
"An album that swallows you, an album that is an entire journey... a journey made of colors and feelings more or less pleasant."
"This is my personal image of them... simply a 'charming band of lunatics'... ladies and gentlemen: Reed, Cale, Tucker, Sterling Morrison + the unruly genius and the icy beauty: Andy Warhol and Nico..."
By Dune Buggy
"For the first time, the underworld is sung, for the first time the undergrounds are colored with violet music."
"Heroin is death, a life companion, rather it is life — and only the silence of the soul remains, the chaos of the brain in almost epileptic convulsion."
By The Velvet Undergrou
Reed’s tracks are therefore almost all fast, full of distortions, difficult, probably dominated as writing by the avant-gardist Cale.
"European Son is the final delirium made up of noise and distortions that will see its masterpiece in Sister Ray the following year."
By joe strummer
The music of Velvet Underground is like a big sadistic smile that mocks you for all this, delights in seeing you terrified and even tries to deliver the coup de grâce.
I believe it is the best album ever made, certainly dependent on tastes, but it still remains among the most expressive, raw, and lucid musical works of the last century.
