The Velvet Underground & Nico
The Velvet Underground & Nico

THE REVIEW

I apologize to the staff and to all of you for yet another review of this album. It holds personal value for me, not for dissemination. I'll start with a personal consideration. I HATE totem records. I've never digested the idea that certain records should not be questioned. I've never loved "Sgt. Pepper," and I've never been able to listen to the third by Soft Machine in one go. That said, I find it impossible not to join those who worship this album. I read once that the Ramones changed the history of music, and even more, no one could have known that in 1977 someone would play that kind of music. The same goes for the Velvet Underground. When the group formed, it had a diverse lineup: a homosexual supermarket songwriter, a rocker, a conservatory student, a girl (a real novelty at the time). The period was the peak of psychedelia. The (first) innovation of the VU's music was the use of an atypical instrument like the viola. It was John Cale's screeching viola that marked an extraordinary step forward (and if anyone wants to hear it again, they should get the first album of the Stooges). After they started performing live, the group was fired. Two nights, that was how long their work lasted. Their fortune was that on one of those two nights, another artist was sitting in the audience. Andy Warhol. The pop art guru had already started gathering around him those who constituted the most poisoned part of the Big Apple. And Warhol was also the first to believe in the reproducibility of a work of art. That was enough for him to take an interest in the Velvets and to integrate Nico into their lineup. A German singer and chansonnière, she had come to America with Brian Jones. I intentionally leave out further historical framing considerations and move on to the album. The essence of the album is its extraordinary charm. From the first (glimmering? mysterious? revealing?) notes of Sunday morning, you're in. I'll share something with you: the song, instead of the awakening image presented in the track, has always seemed to me to reflect, on the contrary, a lullaby. For me, The VU and Nico is this: it's Lou Reed (or whomever) coming back after a Saturday spent rummaging through the guts of NY, where he sees people being whipped by prostitutes, etc. And he falls asleep. I can't disentangle this music from the thought that it's nothing more than a long nightmare, in which Reed reworks, in a theatrical, passionate way, etc., what he sees. Listening to this music is like participating shoulder to shoulder in waiting for a dealer, exchanging words that become vapor with an addict. Or, if the suggestion takes you, you can think of yourself as the addict with 27 dollars in hand. You can partake in the thought of all the parties you'll attend tomorrow, which you don't even want to go to, but which are your life. I'll stop here. Forgive me for taking up your time. Listen to this album if you haven't already. It could change your life.