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Rating: I'm talking about 1968.
Now, please put away those joints, stash away the ridiculous necklaces and bell-bottom pants.
And then stop with those slogans, you know they will never come true.
I'm talking about 1968, but not the utopian and hippie version of the West Coast or Paris; we are in New York.
Amidst prostitutes, junkies, drunks, dealers, and swindlers just waiting for you to get distracted so they can stick two fingers up your ass, there are no hippies here.
Tonight a band is playing at Andy Warhol's Factory: the Velvet Underground.
"because it makes me feel like a man
when I stick a needle in my vein
and I tell you things aren’t the same anymore
when I launch into my race
and I feel just like the son of Jesus
and I think I don’t even know"
It is said that only a hundred people bought the first Velvet Underground album, but each of them is now a music critic or a rock artist.
"I will try to nullify my life
because when the blood begins to flow
when it gushes up the syringe
when I'm getting so close to death"
The Velvet Underground invented paranoia in music,
the sickness,
the degradation of modern life,
urban alienation,
existential despair,
chronic loneliness,
moral violence,
physical violence,
Hell and Heaven together.
The Velvet Underground invented the second-degree revolution, rebelling against the '68 hippies who in turn were rebelling against the pre-existing prohibitive-hypocritical system.
Like two railroad tracks that never cross, touch, or look at each other, so are the Velvet Underground and Flower Power.
And while the merchandising advanced, with Jim Morrison printed on millions of freaking copies, portrayed as Christ on the cross, the Velvet Underground appeared dressed in black, backs to the audience.
You didn’t know what they looked like.
And while Jefferson Airplane sang of free love, the Velvet Underground shouted sadomasochism in your face ("taste the whip, hit me sweet mistress, kiss the boot").
And while Simon & Garfunkel plucked the strings of the soul with their acoustic guitar, European Son scratches you with those nails, blood splattering, covered by the noise that doesn’t let you breathe, from which you pray to escape, press stop and throw that CD out the window that is just hurting you.
And do you know why?
Because it's reminding you that life is not those Mulino Bianco commercials or the Boccasana family, and so on.
A better world does not exist.
A better world has never existed.
The Velvet Underground were pessimists.
Pasolini was a pessimist.
The Velvet Underground played once for every venue in the city.
After the first time, no one invited them back.
They were completely out of tune with the audience, slowed by various cannabis derivatives, who didn’t understand.
They were moving a hundred times faster than the audience due to the effect of amphetamines.
In the last venue, however, there was Andy Warhol, the king of Pop Art, who, followed by street artists, wanted the Velvet Underground for his magnificent idea: the Exploding Plastic Inevitable.
The Exploding Plastic Inevitable is a multimedia show with a devastating sonic and visual impact.
The protagonists parade on stage with whips and leather boots, huge flashlights, hypodermic syringes, weights, and wooden crosses.
Gelatin filters of different colors transform images of old films into colorful kaleidoscopes. Everything is fused together in an ecstasy of collective hysteria, in a hedonistic ritual where the ghosts of pain are transfigured into art and then exorcised.
The Velvet Underground disbanded two years later, but no one noticed. About a decade later, Lou Reed (the frontman of the Velvet Underground) released an album that sold well enough. The hundred people mentioned earlier said: "Hey, isn’t that the singer from that band that..."
From here, the myth of the Velvet Underground began.
Peace.
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.
