The Velvet Underground
White Light/White Heat

THE REVIEW

The descent into the inferno of The Velvet Underground continues in the second work of the group, this time without Nico nor Warhol.

What emerges is an even murkier concoction of sex and death, a sharp hypnosis that expands ever more. The melodic music boxes of the debut are abandoned in favor of a greater uniformity of sound that harks back to tracks like “European Son,” “The Black Angel’s Death Song” and “I’m Waiting For The Man.” The band insists on the feverish psychedelia that until then had characterized only a part of their sound. It must be noted that this second album is not as broad as the previous one; if “The Velvet Underground & Nico” was an extreme synthesis of everything that rock had been and would be, “White Light/White Heat” is an equally terrible fresco of life and death. From this point of view, the consistency between music and themes is greater in this album; urban paranoia, corruption of the spirit, hedonism, and, more generally, 20th-century society are perfectly etched onto these massive distortions.

The work, although lesser in historical importance, has a "poetic" charge certainly equal to the previous one, if not greater. These six songs stem from the lethal encounter between wild distortions and an inhuman coldness, delving into as yet unknown territories. The title track opens the album, a frenzied and sick rock'n'roll. But there's nothing pleasant, for we soon find ourselves in a delirious whirl of voices and noises. Drugs give way to panic and remorse with “The Gift”; one of the group’s most original tracks. Cale’s monotonous and disorienting spoken word narrates the long story of a man who sends himself in a package to his girlfriend, who kills him while trying to open the gift with scissors. Lyrics and music have a formidable emotional power, creating an experiment that is undoubtedly successful. “Then she knelt down, took the shears in both hands, took a deep breath, and plunged the long blade into the center of the package, through the tape, through the cardboard, through the padding, and through the center of Waldo Jeffers' head, which split slightly amidst rhythmic arcs of red color which pulsed gently in the morning sun.” “Lady Godiva’s Operation” is another terrible vision of death. Cale’s soft voice and Reed’s acid tones intertwine in a superb dark poetry. The melody is carefully immediate, but the sensations are anything but positive. The death of the lady is announced by terrible sighs at the end.

“Here She Comes Now,” the only lull in tension, is an obsessive repetition of sexual urges and desire. The obsessiveness permeates every note of the album. “I Heard Her Call My Name,” another nightmare populated by specters, is a devastating electric discharge, characterized by a pressing rhythm and furious distortions. The 17 minutes of “Sister Ray” monstrously explode before our eyes. The initial sensation is disorientation. Drugs, sex, and death succeed each other in the unfolding of events. The terrible chaos erected by the wall of distortions is imposing, the constant rhythm accompanies a sort of black mass, in which noise becomes art. The confusing overlap of guitar and organ gives life to a bloodthirsty demon. We are the sacrificial victim, trapped in this orgiastic poetry. The track, one of the most extreme in rock history, is also one of the group's most complete and well-conceived. Reed will never be so incisive in singing again, the psychedelic plots of Cale are here at their peak splendor, The Velvet Underground’s sound has never been so violent and raw. The astonishment of the first listens later gives way to a true sadistic pleasure vehemently stimulated by “Sister Ray”; perfect, the absolute pinnacle of the group’s career and probably among those few tracks that encapsulate an entire philosophy of life and, more generally, a state of mind.

“White Light/White Heat” does not equal its predecessor, also because it is perhaps the most important album ever, but it is undoubtedly a fundamental album. The cover well expresses the dominant atmosphere in the six tracks. A swirling spiral of death that assaults the senses and leaves us with a huge sense of wonder. This is the album; a black painting, a harbinger of death. Metropolitan poetry.