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Rating: “The velvety undergrounds of our psyche”
A perverse and noisy banana smoothie; a juice of sounds, lyrical and sweet. For the first time in rock history, moreover at a delicate, complex, and explosive moment in the youth world, the darkest interiors of the human mind and the modern gothic city are given a voice. For the first time, the underworld is sung, for the first time the undergrounds are colored with violet music. But above all, for the first time, it is not the music that is pushed as a drug, but the drug that is sold as music.
In '67, after two years of trying among clubs and difficult attempts to emerge from the beer mugs in the suburbs of New York pubs, Lou Reed (voice and guitars), Sterling Morrison (guitars), John Cale (viola), and Mo Tucker (drums), that is, the Velvet Underground (named after a porn magazine), the velvety soul of lower New York, release their first album of the brief career, thanks also to the master of Pop Art Andy Warhol (Exploding plastic inevitable, this is the name of the artistic musical-figurative project of the Factory), who manages to bring them almost to fame and puts the fatal muse, already a model and actress (appeared in Fellini's La Dolce Vita), Nico, in their hands.
Lou Reed's unmistakable voice opens the album with the bright Sunday Morning, an almost pop ballad with a bitter aftertaste that tastes of post-hangover on a depressing Sunday morning after a slow and alcoholic Saturday night. Or rather, it is a "restless feeling by my side", a feeling of agitation here beside, an incipient foreboding; with the following track, "I’m Waiting For The Man", this feeling transforms into reality, a dark and perverse reality, a reality of nerve-wracking waiting in a dark alley. Lou Reed drags his voice where and how the dealer drags his steps, first on the sidewalk stained by prostitution, then up three flights of stairs, to the deepest cellars of our mind, those of excesses with stale air. It will be in the '72 cover that David Bowie, during the Ziggy Stardust tour, transforms the dealer into an implicit boyfriend, who is none other than Lou Reed, since he changes the lyrics from "I’m just waiting for a dear dear friend of mine" to "I’m just waiting for a velvet friend of mine".
But here's Nico coming on stage in her most successful role, the "Femme Fatale", in the song of the same name. We hear her coming, we hear her sing, and we already know what will happen, we know her voice will enchant and break our hearts, but she is a siren, and you cannot resist velvety sirens, because these voices and these choruses torment us inside with their sensual, sweet, bitter, bright, dark tones. Even REM couldn't resist and recorded a splendid live version on one of their early albums.
The encounter with the femme fatale becomes with Venus In Furs ("Venus in furs") an intense and sick, painful and ecstatic sensual experience. Whips, leather boots, and rawest sins are sung in a climax of sadomasochism where Nico is the "mistress," the lover who owns and dominates, while Reed plays Severin, the servant. In his voice, you can hear the cold of the handcuffs on Severin's wrists, while Cale's viola gives the sound of whips cracking on the body. As it progresses, it's a climax of excitement, pain, hence ”strike dear mistress and cure his heart” just as Cale strikes his strings and cures our heart in an increasingly wild, obsessive, agitated, noisy, sick, and perverse rhythm but always lyrical, like "different colors made of tears."
The boiling spirits calm down, and water is thrown on the inflamed strings with the psychedelic blues Run Run Run, and a certain sacredness is felt in the next track, All Tomorrow’s Parties, that is, all the parties that Nico as a new Cinderella will have to attend. Notable in this song is the use of ethnic percussion and the initial choirs that smell of incense, but it's the incense with which the weeping Cinderella perfumes her Indian tent, her room (in the sense of stanza).
But at this point, the most devastating track of the whole album, Heroin, kicks in. The impact is sweet and arpeggiated but soon becomes a confused stammering of feelings of heroin flowing through veins, mental screeches, psychic trips. One seemingly distances from this world, attempting to imagine oneself a sailor of one's self, but the visions are not liberating or revelatory, absolute and divine like those experienced by Jim Morrison; they are devastating, nihilistic ("nullify my life"), the only thing revealed in the end is the loneliness of the slums, the wickedness of common life, the hypocrisy of normality … and the lie one tells oneself. Here heroin is death ("heroin be the death of me"), a life companion, rather it is life ("heroin, it's my wife and it's my life"), and only the silence of the soul remains, the chaos of the brain in almost epileptic convulsion.
Everything dissolves with two pop songs of sweet and violet taste: "There She Goes Again", fast and equipped with irresistible choruses, resumes the theme of the femme fatale, while "I’ll Be Your Mirror" talks about sapphic love as a reflection of oneself, an enveloping and warmly threatening reflection.
So we arrive at the two final tracks, the ones on the album that most launch into a sound experimentalism that will inspire generations of artists. With The Black Angel’s Death Song, we have a strange and rhythmic strophe (?) of Reed, almost stammering but sure and deadly in his rhymes, as deadly and insistent are the gusts of steam between a verse and another, while the viola continues to throw its screams and hisses to heaven and posterity; even more lacerating, twisted, overwhelming and noisy is the creation that closes the album, European Son, which has a brief spoken part and a long instrumental tail.
As this last invention, so is the career of the Velvet Underground: a brief initial stanza corresponds to their duration in the rock scene (from '65 to '70) and to their official production (only 4 albums), but the instrumental follow-up is all the importance they have had in the following decades, both as a boost of rock innovation, and as inspiration for many singers and bands (such as Bowie, REM, Smashing Pumpkins, not to mention the whole no-future generation… wasn't it Brian Eno who said, "everyone who heard the first Velvet's record in '67 then founded a rock band"?). The Velvet were not only an excellent springboard for Lou Reed and John Cale, but perhaps also the most interesting point of their art. These New York guys gave voice to an underground panorama that could not even be imagined before, they were especially revalued in the 90s, with the official release of many live and studio bootlegs, with citations from various indie bands, with the artistic revival of Lou Reed himself.
And most importantly for all fans, they will be remembered for playing the most perverse and profound strings of the velvety undergrounds of our mind.
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 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.
By andrea biacca
"Lou Reed’s voice enters my room without knocking, the drum and guitar lend a certain suggestive aura to the piece."
"An album that amplifies the bond between music and art. Songs like pieces of a mosaic, a mosaic of life, a mosaic of an entire generation."
