Some of That Jazz

Ah, Jazz. You only take up 5% of my record collection, but lately, you've been taking up half of my listening. 

Rock 'n roll got a fifteen-year head start on you in my house. And you could never make up that ground as long as pop would remain my default setting. I'd only visit the Jazz section of the record store after having thoroughly combed the Pop bins. 

But you were never an afterthought. You were always there, just over the horizon, beckoning, reminding me that if I truly was the music lover I imagined myself to be, I'd need to broaden my horizons. 

I was one of those very serious teenagers. At least as annoying as the Zeppelin-loving potheads. I had to prove to my parents - but mostly myself - that "rock music" was as good as, or better than, any other kind of music, So I pulled away from anything simplistic or hedonistic, preferring the Allman Brothers and the Dead, probably because I could point to their virtuosity as proof of their superiority. 

I also dabbled in prog rock. It's harder to play so it must be "better" right?

Luckily, for me, rock had a way of flipping the script. As I got older that very serious-sounding prog rock began to come off as a bit pompous and silly, whereas unpretentious records like "Louie Louie"  became a source of joy. 

All it really took was a sense of humor. Once I got one of those I embraced the joy wherever I could find it while still shunning the downright stupid. 

Once I found my way, it opened up whole new vistas and old ones I had previously dismissed. And as long as I kept exploring things would never have time to get stale. And while rock is the greatest thing, it's not the only thing. Eventually, I'd make my way outside of rock altogether. 

The most obvious places to go were Classical and Jazz, the latter being more welcoming because it had - scoff if you will - some similarities to rock music. Melodies, rhythm, passion, and blues, to name a few. So there was a way in.

But Jazz, you could still be work. Your songs came from the pre-Beatles era, and your chords were rarely just major or minor, thus your solos were for a time unfathomable. Also, your sound quality really didn't get good until the 1950s, which is why I latched onto small combos (like the Beatles, Jaybee?) rather than big bands. It wasn't simple, but I persisted.  

Okay, I'll stop talking to Jazz at this point. (He/she never does answer.)

Perhaps I needed to convey that my expertise in Jazz is very limited (Not that I can be trusted with Pop, where my taste tends to skew weird. What till I tell you about that Galaxie 500 record I just got...) so it takes me a while to get my head around most Jazz records. 

Add to that my propensity to deep dive where I barely have the right to dip my toe, and it can take forever. I have a long, meandering unpublished post on three multi-album collections (Bill Evans, John Coltrane, Thelonious Monk) adding up to, oh, 28 f*cking albums. 

But very occasionally I slow down and focus. I'll get less voluminous collections and actually pay attention to them. 

Ella Fitzgerald: Sings the Cole Porter Songbook

A while back, Mrs. Jaybee picked up the Ella Fitzgerald 75th Birthday Celebration to teach her students about scat singing. While it's a perfectly good collection, I was already completely obsessed with the Magnetic Fields' 3-CD 69 Love Songs which we got at the same time. So there goes Pop shoving Jazz out of the way again.

Years passed and I felt no compunction to get anything more from Ella Fitzgerald. I'd gotten her best of, didn't I? 

But whenever I'd peruse various GOAT Jazz Album lists, there she'd be with her Cole Porter songbook. I only knew Porter from what I heard on Red Hot and Blue. No need for more, right? Right?

25 years later...

As much pop as it is jazz, The Cole Porter Songbook is a delight throughout. The clever lyrics and cleverer melodies turn out to be a perfect fit for that incomparable voice, and these thirty-five delightful songs glide by in no time at all. 

A

"Anything Goes"

Duke Ellington: At Newport 1956 Complete

In a case of deja vu all over again, I'd gotten the very fine 3-CD DE Centennial Edition (1927-1973) which should have been enough, right? 

But as with Ella another Duke album kept popping up that for decades I had convinced myself I had no need for. Boy was I wrong.

I opted for the expanded 2 CD version, which includes the entire concert including the between-song patter and the band opening with a perfectly good "Star Spangled Banner". (Hendrix rules, though.) So things aren't as compact as I'd like them to be, but I can live with that.

It's one thing to listen to the original recordings of these songs on Centennial and enjoy them despite the relatively poor sound quality. But to hear his band dig into these songs with such gusto live, well that's another thing entirely.

And yes, "Diminuendo in D" is everything you heard it was.

A

Billie Holiday: Ultimate Collection (2005)

Many years ago, I inadvertently banished Billie Holiday from my day-to-day play choices when she committed an unpardonable sin. Drugs or some other immoral behavior, you ask? Worse, she kept distracting me and Mrs. Jaybee as we engaged in our weekly Sunday Jumble competition. 

In her defense, we were listening to a single LP best-of (which is a ridiculous notion) which threw together all kinds of styles that didn't naturally flow together. So it was very detrimental to our ability to determine that OIAPN was in fact PIANO.

But really, the issue was that Billie forced you to listen, and I wasn't prepared to do that at the time. She was just too damned intense. 

I knew I'd eventually have to replace that single LP with something more cohesive and comprehensive. I did investigate it, checking Consumer Reports and the ever-reliable user ratings on Amazon, and I finally landed on this one.

Two CDs (and a DVD I haven't even bothered viewing yet).  Honestly, at first, I gave it a few listens and left it for a while. (I was in my Blues period.) It was only this past week when I caught a bad cold that I found myself spellbound. I think it was because I didn't have the strength to do anything else, so I just gave myself over to it, and well, wow. An embarrassment of riches, even if some fanatics think it could have been better. It is just fine as it is.

A

"I'm a Fool to Want You"

Miles Davis: Bags Groove

I wish I could say I needed another Miles Davis record. I think I just keep chasing the original high from Kind of Blue and A Tribute to Jack Johnson. Alas, he's always Miles Ahead of me. I'll never catch up, but I keep trying.

Recorded in 1954 but only released in 1957 - a year when he released six(!) albums.

This is a remarkably smooth and often brilliant record. The band includes Sonny Rollins and Thelonious Monk, just not on the same songs. But everyone brought their A-game, and this is a thrill. The only issue is that the title cut(s) is so great, that the remaining excellent ones have to catch up.

I'll wait.

A-

"Bag's Groove"

Miles Davis: Agharta (1975)

Again? Yeah. I couldn't help it.

Everyone more or less came around to Miles' controversial electric period in the early 1970s. This record is one of several live double albums he released at the time and is considered the best.

And it sure is better and more focused than that overrated "classic" Bitch's Brew. More rhythmic, more intense. More soloing, less dicking around.

A-

"Prelude, Part 1" (Because who but Miles would title a 30-minute cut "Prelude"?} 

At this point, I'll pause because I'm still listening to Miles Davis: Four Classic Albums. 

Narrator: And yet, this was overheard at the Jaybee Thanksgiving dinner table:

"Hey honey, I noticed there's another "Four Classic Albums" by Miles Davis on Amazon. How about that, huh?"

Blues in Black and White

Thinking Jazz and Classical were my go-to genres when I got tired of pop music, I was shocked to realize how many blues albums I had gotten recently. (FYI, anything less than a decade counts as "recently".)

While I had dipped into the blues via white artists during my youth, I got the impression that I liked it. But then a decade or so later while out driving on a beautiful summer Saturday afternoon, I put on my local Americana station which was playing actual blues at the time, not the white guys with the perfect technique but no singing (or writing) chops doing their serious version of "Ukelele Blues". Was it Robert Johnson playing acoustic? Muddy Waters playing electric with no accompaniment? I forget, but whatever it was, I shook my head, knowing that I just couldn't get into it on such a nice day. I needed to hear nice day-driving music, which is usually some form of pop. Perhaps if I were sitting on a porch in Mississippi...

I was dismayed. Didn't I enjoy Cream, the Allman Brothers, and Mike Bloomfield? (Not so much John Mayall and the Blues Brothers.) I feared I was becoming a racist - or worse - a mere dilettante, vanity being my main motivational force.

Or was I slowly becoming the oblivious middle-aged codger-to-be who thought he was liberal, but who just didn't get what the kids were going on about, either musically or politically? 

But I let it go, for quite a while.

The breaking point came one day when I suddenly realized I was getting all my clothes from Costco. Something had to be done. 

The situation called for immersion. So about 25 years ago, I got the four-CD box set Chess Blues which is an anthology of the many artists who recorded for that label for the two decades following World War II. And it worked! It proved I did like this music, which was largely electric Chicago-style blues.

Encouraged I got a few compilations of Buddy Guy, Bessie Smith, and Elmore James, all good to great. But in 2017 two early sixties Howlin' Wolf albums (not compilations, either) completely bowled me over.

Alas, some squirrels named Jazz, Classical, and a new one - AfroPop - came into my line of vision, and there went five or six years.

I guess it was my unconscious that determined it was time again to dig in again. And who deserved my attention more than BB King? Yeah, Live at the Regal, was fine, but BB deserved more attention than that.

BB King: King of the Blues (1992)

While I do wish there was a greater focus on the 1950s and 1960s since things start to get a little schlocky after that, this career-spanning box set is as good as it could possibly be. 

Now I could finally hear BB's guitar in all its glory. He rivals Neil Young for minimal guitar technique. But edges him out for pure expressiveness. 

Ditto the singing. Which is the secret ingredient the white bands tend to miss. Oh, and songs, too.

All of those elements together - not just a blazing lead guitar - make the magic happen. 

A

"Tired of Your Jive"

The Essential Sonny Boy Williamson

Sonny Boy's a real piece of work. First, steals the original Sonny Boy Williamson's identity. Well, not exactly. But he does steal his stage name. Suddenly there were two SBWs and the audience voted with their feet. SBW 2.0 ruled.

Then he writes a bunch of songs about getting caught doing shady stuff, like “One Way Out” (later covered by the Allmans). In another song, he admonishes a woman he’s been cheating with to not tell her husband or his wife. Then, when someone gets fed up and pushes back a little, he sings he's “scared of that child".

And yet, he’s not short of advice for how other folks can keep their noses clean. So the man's got nerve.

At the beginning of a recording session for "Little Village", his producer had the audacity to inquire what the name of the song was. Sonny Boy - after first lobbing some general abuse at him, eventually suggested he name it after his mama. 

So why do I like it so much? Because he’s fun. He's the shady friend who gets you thrown in jail, but you remember it fondly. Unlike Lou Reed, who couldn't even guarantee a good time. But like Lou Reed, there are casualties, most notably the first SBW.

And unlike Reed, Sonny Boy always had a great band with him. Maybe not technically the best, but who provided the exact right amount of raunch.

And he's one helluva harmonica player. 

One caveat: Mrs. Jaybee says “It all sounds the same”. 

My rebuttal: "And, your point is...?"

A-

"Bring It On Home" (with a middle finger to Led Zeppelin)

RCA Victor Rhythm & Blues Revue

This collection opens with Lil Green singing "Romance in the Dark", where she gets so excited her man has to tell her to keep it down. It ends with the Isley Brothers' "Shout". Thematically, if not musically, correct. 

Along the way run into Billy Eckstine, Earl Hines, Illinois Jacquet, Count Basie, King Curtis, and a young and unrecognizable Little Richard.

The performances are spirited, if not quite on the level of, say, Township Jazz and Jive but very fine nonetheless.

A-

"Romance in the Dark"

Fleetwood Mac: Live at the Boston Tea Party, Vol. 1 (1970)

This is the Peter Green Edition of the Mac. Version 1.0, if you will. Version 2.0 was the Christine McVie/Bob Welch era, and v3.0 was, well, you know. 

Version 2 was about blues guitars. That's plural, by the way. Second guitarist Danny Kirwan was damn near as good as Green. While this does not have that Allmans at Fillmore level of intensity, it's close. The songs are mostly blues covers, which is just fine by me. 

BB King once said of Peter Green, "He has the sweetest tone I ever heard; he was the only one who gave me the cold sweats." And his technique, while not quite virtuosic, was still a perfect match for it. Not technically flawless yet exquisite.

Oh, and Mick Fleetwood on drums and John McVie on bass. How could you go wrong?

The singing is not phenomenal but, in retrospect, you can detect that Green had his own unique type of blues to express. 

It's not all blues here, but it's too good to exclude here. 

Green had begun hanging around with the Grateful Dead around the time of this recording, and by an extraordinary coincidence, he began taking LSD. He also had no interest in fame and wanted to give away any money he made. He must have sensed that the Mac was on the verge of a breakthrough to the big time, so not long after this performance, he left. 

His sad, interesting story is here.

A-

"Jumping at Shadows"

Well, I'm expecting a squirrel or two to drop by sooner or later. So I had to get this off my chest while I had the chance. So I'll be on my way to Costco to pick up some formalwear...

Wait! What's that over there??

Summer of Lou 3: Skip to My Lou

On the left, Lou Reed, in the best of health. On the right, John Cale, overjoyed to be there.

For reasons that are only getting harder to explain, I spent the summer - one of my limited number of remaining ones - with Lou Reed. Not in hell, mind you, just reading about him and listening to his music.

First, I looked back on his work with the Velvet Underground, almost all of which I'd loved for decades. They had a great run (of quality/not fame) from 1967-70. Here's how Lou spent the two years after quitting VU, and before starting his solo career.

Then, I dug into his first five studio albums (1972-76), all pretty good, but none brilliant, so I ignored the rest of his 1970s output.

And that brought me - more or less - back to when I first encountered him.

1980: Lou Who?

Aside from the occasional song on the radio, I avoided Lou Reed for the entire 1970s. He hooked up with the glam/gay/dress-up crowd who were anathema to us Allman Brothers/Grateful Dead loving - and gay fearing - fans. So my first real - if half-assed - encounter with Lou Reed was in 1980. An intriguing start. 

You'd think I'd have followed up on it, but two things held me back. First, as Johnny Rotten said last time, there were too many Lou Reed records and none were safe bets. 

Second, there weren't enough Velvet Underground albums. Except for the post-Lou Reed abomination-in-principle Squeeze, they were out of print.

And what about Lou? After a decade of questionable decisions (lifestyle, substances, music), he, um, got married.

What?

The expressions of the onlookers are priceless.

Yes, the man who leaned into the gay side of his bi-sexuality for a decade was now - so he said -  straight, in every sense of the word.

Remarkably, he had been married before, to a saint or a martyr, since he spent all that time doing whatever the hell he wanted, and relied on her to clean up the mess. She did so, dutifully, until she couldn't take it anymore. She wrote a book about it and I hope she makes a million bucks.

He then spent a few years with the frankly stunning Rachel (whose pictures I included in the last post) who was a pioneer in the use of pronouns shall we say. They obviously loved each other, but Rachel picked up where first wife Bettye left off, but Lou continued to be Lou so things ended in 1978.

Lou continued to - in ascending order - make music, tour, drink, do drugs, and be a huge asshole. But even he began to realize things couldn't go on like this.

So he married Sylvia Morales, someone who would - and could - fulfill the same role his prior partners did, but who was also strong enough to get him to straighten himself out.

1982:

It would take a couple more years for Lou to finally make a solo record that made everyone sit up and take notice.

The Blue Mask (1982)

After years of letting himself get pigeon-holed into a glam-gay-drug addict icon that producer-of-Transformer-David Bowie could only dream of being, by, well, being said glam-gay drug addict, suddenly Lou announced he was hetero and just an average guy, albeit with a drinking problem. Probably full of shit but okay. As long as he believed it at the time. And no one believed his own bullshit more than Lou.

With folks shooting Lennon and voting for Reagan it's understandable that Lou - by now an aging rock "star" - may have taken the pulse of the times and decided this new, more conservation generation was not likely to put up with his hijinks.

But questionable assertions of wholesomeness aside, Lou now had an actual band. Guitarist Robert Quine - who could go from cool atmospherics to cluster bomb skronk in a matter of seconds - most obviously, but also bassist Fernando Saunders, who managed to make such transitions almost graceful. And, per Quine's encouragement, Lou himself on guitar - something he hadn't done in quite a while.

The songs were excellent - at turns heartfelt or horrifying - and well-suited to the production. My first take was an appreciation of the atmospherics, and maybe less so of the skronkery. A bit more melody might have helped but that's not what Lou had been selling for at least a decade. And I'd eventually learn to enjoy a bit of skronk now and then.

So, it took some time for me to get what he was about, but looking back I see it as a high point in his solo career.

A

"Our House"

Later that year, the four original Velvet Underground albums started to appear in the record shops again. I picked up their first, The Velvet Underground and Nico, and never looked back. I was immediately convinced the VU was THE great lost band of the '60s. 

So I stuck around for Lou's next record.

1983: 

Legendary Hearts (1983)

You'd think after the return to form The Blue Mask, Lou would be settling into this newfound consistency. But Lou didn't like sharing the spotlight/credit, so although he kept the same band he basically mixed poor Bob Quine out of it. The result is a more muted record. Fewer sonic highs and lows, but still a steady engine churning nonetheless.

The songs are of a more day-to-day nature. Love after romance, the ongoing drinking problem, insecurities, etc. There is also the beginning of an awareness of the outside world. Lucky for all of us he resists the urge to shoot from the hip or go for fake outrage. Geez, maybe he is a regular guy.

And while it suffers in comparison to Mask, soundwise, it's easier to hear the very good songs he wrote. The melodies are grudging, but Lou does his best to flesh them out, providing some actual vocals!

A-

"The Last Shot"

But that was enough Lou for now.

1984:

Having now given Lou two shots, a second VU album was long overdue. I picked their last one, Loaded, a tuneful, playful delight, and one of the highlights of my summer.

1985:

Their third record - the quiet, mysterious Velvet Underground - helped me through that very cold winter. An almost bewildering first listen, the songs are so good you keep coming back.

1986:

The loud, unremitting second VU album White Light/White Heat damn near scared me away. At least their first has some great melodies. This one, released in January of 1968, was filled with shrieking feedback and distortion, not to mention tales of murder and depravity. A foreshadowing of the joys of 1968.

1987:

The wonderful VU - a compilation of VU leftovers - was easily one of the best albums of that year.

So I was more or less caught up on the VU studio albums. And I was perfectly happy with my two Lou Reed solo albums. I could stop now, couldn't I?

1989:

But this was when Mrs. Jaybee got into the act. You see, Lou had sort of a hit.

LR NY (1989)

"Dirty Blvd" caught Mrs. Jaybee's attention, and she figured, here's a Lou Reed album the both of us might enjoy. 

It's probably his best-produced album. The guitar, drums, and bass sound is sharp and dense as hell, and a perfect match for Lou's vocal delivery. The words of outrage just roll off his tongue, and for once, who could argue with him?

"Romeo had Juliet"

A-

1992:

Then my dad died, on January 15 to be exact. 

Magic and Loss (1992)

Lou released this meditation on loss on January 14 and it fit like a glove. Lou opens up more and shows some real compassion. By now, I'm amazed at Lou's ability to create yet more simple but compelling rock songs. 

He sounds like he gives a shit. And he has, for some time by now.

A-

"Dreamin'"

1993 - 2012: Breaks and Reunions

After a few records, I get my fill of artists. Sometimes it's the voice (Dylan, Elvis Costello), or a feeling of diminishing returns (Neil Young). With Lou is was his narrow range. There's only so much spoken word electric guitar freak-outs I can absorb let alone enjoy. So it was time to take a break from Lou.

In 1993, the Velvet Underground got together for a reunion, but - Lou being Lou - it was short-lived.

Lucky for him - and the rest of the world - around this time he met and fell in love with Laurie Anderson. 

They stayed together for almost 20 years - eventually marrying in 2008 - and while it was no picnic this remarkable woman maintained her own independence while simultaneously bringing out the best in him.

Lou continued making records. All were ambitious, some were praised and some derided.  In other words, same old same old, albeit at a slower pace. But most critically, Lou stood by every one of them.

In early 1997, I did pick up Nico's quite lovely first album, mainly because her version of "These Days" appeared in The Royal Tennenbaums.

In 2001, I got tired of retiring to the basement to play my VU vinyl and got the 5-disc box set Peel Slowly and See, which is almost the complete studio recordings of the Velvet Underground. A great collection, but only for the already converted.

And that was it for a while.

2013:

Then Lou himself intervened by dying, which motivated me to finally get the complete 1969: The Velvet Underground Live, with Lou Reed.

Being annoyed with Reed after hearing many of the horror stories, I picked this time to give John Cale a shot. 

2015:

I followed up with Cale, picking up his great collaboration with Brian Eno

2016-2021:

I spent this time having thoughts like:

• How could Lou have been such an asshole?
• Did the rest of the VU hate him?
• Did he hate Andy Warhol?
• Did Warhol hate him?
• And how were those '70s solo albums - the ones upon which his reputation was built (and sadly not the VU albums)?

2022:

In spring, I got a collection of Reed's first five solo albums. If you don't mind getting caught in an endless loop, you can look here to see what I thought of them. 

Later that year we watched the very touching six-part documentary Andy Warhol Diaries, which led me back to this record:

Lou Reed and John Cale: Songs For Drella (1990)

Here's my initial take.

Now, with a little more context, I can see that Lou and John released this between New York and Magic and Loss. With this dynamic pairing, Cale coaxes Reed out of his guitar-bass-drums comfort zone, and together they produce a record almost as good as the last time they were together.

Now: 

Lou was, shall we say, hard to like. He exhibited all of the qualities I despised in humans. Egotism, selfishness, hypocrisy, mean-spiritedness, childishness, jealousy. I could go on.

For every moment of compassion ("Coney Island Baby"), there would be an album's worth of bile. Yet the 1989-92 run of New York, Songs for Drella, and Magic and Loss summoned the humanity Lou always had in him but was reluctant to express. 

Don't get me wrong. Even though he straightened himself out in the 80's and made better music, he was still an asshole at heart. It wasn't until he met Laurie Anderson that he softened up even a bit. 

So, we have yet another story of "redemption". And I'm just so tired of them. Why don't we have stories of forgiveness? You know, about all the people who put up with his shit and FORGAVE him? Yes, I know, they didn't make the music, but still...

I should explain: 

I'm the guy who watches a thriller and thinks What about the families of all the people who got killed? Where's their movie? (I realize this is nuts.) We don't go to the movies to watch children grow up without parents, etc. Plus, they're um, not real.

But Lou Reed was real. And just another prodigal son who finds the love of his life, and gets everything that actual nice people deserve. 

I prefer the non-prodigal son, myself. And the Marthas who get shit done, not the Marys, who sit around like groupies. 

Maybe it's my obviously Catholic upbringing - turning any potential turn towards the good into an occasion to remind the sinner of all that preceded it. In short, I'm no fun. But if there was any justice his talent would have gone to somebody kinder.

And yet...

In the several Lou Reed biographies I read, alongside the repeated negative descriptions of him, there was also a small but consistent number of dissenting views. Certain words and phrases kept popping up, like "funny as hell", "kind" (wait, what?), "devoted friend" and even "paid my medical bills"!  

But I think the two words that might allow all these wildly divergent views of him to exist in the same universe are paranoid and insecure. If you were an acquaintance who managed to get past the paranoia, you'd end up a friend, if only for a little while. But if you were an interviewer, musician, or (gulp) fan, god help you. And the insecurities that often come with a massive ego can make even the most intelligent of us strike out against perceived threats.

And that adds up to a third word: miserable, which turned up a lot. Many people said he was the most miserable person they ever met. And the trouble with miserable people is that they have to share it with you, so you end up miserable, too.

Now, throw in a beautiful mother (his bi-sexuality didn't keep him from noticing that) and a hated father (guess why?), he was even tougher on his family than on strangers. Someone should have explained to him that Freud didn't write instruction manuals.

This is not an apologia - rather, a lame theory of why Lou was such a prick. 

But the man had a vast amount of talent. His songwriting run from 1966-70 is up there with the all-time greats. 

So let's give the jerk his due.

So long, ya schmuck!

And THAT, dear teacher, is how I spent my summer vacation. And no, I still don't know why.

Summer of Lou 2: In Lou, Of Great Music

How it Started Out and...

At the dawn of the 70s, Lou Reed - like many geniuses of the 60s - had a legacy to live up to. As with the individual Beatles and Dylan, Lou knew any new music he produced would be would be held to that standard, and likely suffer in the comparison. And VU produced a four-album run that stands with the best of them. 

As such, his solo records would almost invariably meet with - at best -  a mixed reaction. And depending on who you were, those perceptions would change, for better and worse. And throw in the variables of drugs, alcohol, sexual ambiguity, and general assholery, Lou would always provoke strong reactions. 

Intimidated by all of that, and with over a dozen albums to choose from, I didn't get my first Lou Reed album until 1982 when he released The Blue Mask. The general consensus was that it was his best record, marking the beginning of his 80s renaissance. Lou Reed had finally produced something that could be mentioned in the same sentence with, say, Loaded. 

So why would I spend the time looking back on what was to all concerned a low point? My minimal curiosity was piqued when his first five records covering 1972-76 were put into a single, very reasonably priced package. As long as I was willing to put in the time, I'd finally get to hear it.

So, to paraphrase Monty Python, Lou Reed suffered for his art. Now it was my turn.

Kind of Lou:

Lou Reed (1972)

And we're off to a shaky start. 

It must have sounded pretty good at the time, but a bit of a letdown. Fans probably wondered what could have been. Lou was working with six never-released Velvet songs, after all. And once the original VU versions were finally released, they confirmed what already had been. Which was much, much better.

But I came to the VU versions first and was appalled at how poorly the new versions come off. At first, hated this record. But that isn't the only reason.

Let me count the way this album sucks:

1. From the dull thumps that start off the record (from that terrible 70s production that took away all the mystery, yet highlighted all the shortcomings of the music) the drumming sounds flat. Not even the Stones would sound good under these circumstances.
2. Backup singers are here to shore up Lou, who never needed shoring up before. 
3. Excellent musicians instead of a band, which is pretty much the opposite of the VU.
4. And as I said, inferior versions of songs he originated with VU. Like the first Led Zeppelin album except Lou was stealing from himself. 

Let me count those versions. (You know an album is bad when you're resort to arithmetic).

1. "I Can't Stand It": Well named! The VU (1985) version is sparer, and far more intense. 
2. "Walk It and Talk It" is peppy and it rocks, but the rip of the "Brown Sugar" riff is annoying. On its face not bad. But I prefer the slower, bluesy original.
3. "Lisa Says": See #1.
4. "I Love You": Lame. Earnest is not a good look for Lou.
5. "Ride Into the Sun": A bit overdone, but something's got to break through the blurry production.
6. "Ocean": It starts with a ludicrous gong(!) and is a bit melodramatic. See #1.

But there are some perfectly good songs here, marred by the production, but not arithmetic:

• "Going Down" is a quintessential album track. Not spectacular but strong. The goddamn backup singers nearly ruin it.
• "Berlin" is pretty good and there's an actual melody and decent singing!
• "Wild Child" is Lou's Dylan song. Another album track that works well.
• "Love Makes You Feel" is the most modest - and thus successful - track on the record. 

Lou is playing it safe. After being away for a couple of years, I understand. But the VU would have never stood for it.

And speaking of them, it's obvious how much Sterling Morrison is missed.  These guys have the hot licks but they don't have SM's uncanny ability to find the perfect accompaniment to Lou's songs.

Overall, a pretty good record, so I take it back. It doesn't suck. It's worse. It's disappointing.

B

"I Can't Stand It" Lou Reed

"I Can't Stand It" The Velvet Underground

Louie Reed and the Spiders From Mars

Transformer: (1972)

Produced by David Bowie, with help from Mick Ronson, it's less cluttered and brighter than its predecessor. Lou sounds relaxed, confident, and funny. 

VU Recycles: 

"Andy's Chest", which is actually an improvement over the original. 

"Satellite of Love", is relaxed enough, but still slightly subpar to the superb original.

The best new ones are, of course, "Walk on the Wild Side", and "I'm So Free". I find "Perfect Day" somewhat overrated.  The overall decadence of it is rather cute in retrospect.

Catchy, but not Great. No one knew it at the time, but it adds up to the best anyone could expect of Lou in the seventies.

A-

"Satellite of Love" Lou Reed

"Satellite of Love" The Velvet Underground

After the commercial success of Transformer, Lou had no choice but to show everyone he was above it all. And how would he do that? By making Art. He would bring literature to rock n' roll. And what is the highest form of literature? Shakespeare, of course!

LouReedian Tragedy:

Berlin: (1973)

This is what we used to call a Rock Opera, but no one would have had the nerve to call it that in front of Lou. Especially since he made it about a sadomasochistic relationship between two junkies. And in case you didn't get it already he rubs it in our faces, making it as grim and ugly as possible. In other words, he was no longer the miraculously detached singer of the VU, who could tell you about the nasty side of life without wallowing in it.

The production is excellent - the sound is big, clear, and spacious. But, not content with a mere rock n' roll band to fill it (or god forbid, leave some of that space alone), Lou and producer Bob Ezrin couldn't resist adding strings and a full orchestra.  And maybe it's me, but that's one transformation Lou can't pull off. Sometimes it works, like on "Caroline Says", but even that one goes off the rails at the end.

But I'm happy to report there are a few actual melodies (which Lou actually sings!) and excellent musicianship.

And this time the three recycled VU songs are comparable to the originals. But I'm getting tired of the recycling. Ah, but what's a druggie alcoholic to do when said drugs and alcohol are keeping him from writing? And with that back catalog and all lying around doing nothing...

Apparently, the album they delivered to the record company ran over sixty-five minutes. Said record company didn't want to release a double album, so Bob Ezrin managed to cut it down to ten overlong songs. I'll bet if he just edited them each down he might have fit them all on, and that might have helped clarify the story. As it is, the three longest ones drag out the ending

I suspect I'm looking a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it's my discomfort with all the bells and whistles in service of Lou.

It's a real mixed bag. Very ambitious, with some successes. A few misfires. Lou with an orchestra.  And sad. Very, very sad. 

At least for all its cynicism, Three Penny Opera was kind of fun. This one's no fun at all. Lou wouldn't approve.

B+

"Caroline Says"

So of course it was a bust and of course, the record company wanted a hit so they put out a very good live album made up almost entirely of VU songs.

But by this point, his fans were starving for some Good Old/New Lou. The rest just wanted to see him die in public. Every artist has a subset of such fans. It's just that with his prodigious drug taking, he raised the subject himself, thus putting him a close second in the Who's Gonna Die Next competition after - who else - Keith Richards.

Anyway, not being one who liked being told what to do, what did Lou provide his rock and roll-starved fans? An R&B record, of course.

Soul Brother Lou:

Sally Can't Dance: (1974)

It must have sounded heretical to those rock n roll-loving (but probably black people-hating) fans. Now though it sounds pretty good. Yes, the slick musicianship doesn't really fit him, but if you pretend it's someone else it's really all right. (It almost is someone else, since his role was limited to getting wheeled into the studio to sing, and then wheeled right back out again.)

It would help if he were a little kinder but he can only manage that on one or two songs. Any more than that and it wouldn't be Lou Reed. And yet the arrangements - done by someone else - increase the fun factor somewhat. 

And not a single VU song. Progress!

B+

 

"Billy"

By some miracle - catchy songs maybe? - it actually sold pretty well. But the record company probably figured they got lucky and put out another live album, just to be on the safe side. And that sold well, too. 

 

Louless

Lou noted a correlation between the high record sales for Sally Can't Dance and his very low level of actual participation in it. 

He also felt like a sellout (again). He'd grown to despise his fans and his record company (Hey Lou, everyone hates their record company). 

And wouldn't you know he found a solution to both issues? He took the next logical(?) step of removing himself completely from the music by propping up a bunch of electric guitars in front of a set of amps and letting 'em rip. 

The result - Metal Machine Music - was a double album of screeching feedback and echo. Essentially two raised middle fingers to all involved. 

I finally listened to it (on youtube.com because even I have my limits) last week. And, well...I've heard worse. Not a ringing endorsement, but also not the worst record of all time. (I reserve that judgment for the mild, the safe, the wholesome, and the uplifting.) But I'm spending too much time with Lou to figure out my WOAT at the moment. 

Many were sold, but few found it pleasing. After a record number of returns the phrase "career suicide' started making the rounds...

So after all that, Lou decided to buckle down and do something Good. And he did, kind of.

A New, Improved Lou!

Coney Island Baby: (1976)

And it's... good. But nothing to get excited about. It must have seemed like manna from hell at the time but everyone was just so parched that warm spit would have sufficed. That they got water with an ice cube was nothing to write home about.

One step back is the depressingly mediocre version of "She's My Best Friend". The original had a melody, singing, and some energy. But Lou was past all that, thinking his lyrics were people bought music for. And "Nobody's Business" is the same old don't tell me I'm a drug addict BS.

The title cut is likely the highlight, lack of melody and all.

B+

"Coney Island Baby"

Lou, looking happy for once in his miserable life, with his "friend Rachel", who inspired the record.

Epitaph:

There's a second volume to this series, covering studio albums 6-10, but I think we've heard enough. If you don't believe me, ask Johnny Rotten from 1980, after Sid Vicious was found dead:

Reporter: Did Sid die for Lou Reed's sins?

John Lydon (Johnny Rotten): Yes, too many Lou Reed albums I blame it on. There was that horrible movement from New York to London, and they brought their dirty culture with them. Sid was so impressed by the decadence of it all. God! So dreary.

To be fair, it didn't help that Lou - besides being a huge asshole and drug addict - was bi-sexual (at the very very least), and remarkably open about it, too. Transformer brought him into the Glam Rock arena, which was criticized by many, including 15-year-old Dead/Allmans fan (and somewhat homophobic) me as "not being about the music." I was wrong-ish, and the outright homophobes were far wronger.  But it was just one more thing for people to hold against him. 

He was also the '70s version of the guy who did his own research (on drugs no less). And wondered why he wasn't writing great songs. He just knew it wasn't the drugs!

But being a huge asshole and drug addict DID NOT HELP.

...How It's Going

Next: Lou finally gets it right.

Summer of Lou 1: Lou Velvet

What Where and Why:

Where have I been all summer? Well, spending time with Lou Reed, of course. 

And like most who have done so, I'm asking myself why. And the only sensible answer is: so you don't have to.

It started with a Father's Day gift which I asked for.

Lou Reed: Original Album Classics 

It comprises his first five solo studio albums, skipping two live albums and Metal Machine Music! I wonder why? I WILL get to that, eventually.

It was too hard to absorb all five records in one gulp, so I waited until I had some "free time" and did a deep dive. 

Way too deep actually. I decided I would reed (see what I did there?) all the Lou Reed/Velvet Underground biographies I could find. Again, why? I don't know. I treated it like my World History Project, and I can honestly report while VU was worth the effort, Lou himself may not have been. Of course, I'm not sure world history itself is worthy of those efforts either. But that's a topic for another day/decade. 

But Reed is an important artist who blah, blah, blah. You get the idea. But when you get down to it, it's because he was the leader of the Velvet Underground. But since most folks my age still don't all that much about them, it's not so easy to care, is it?

Add to that, within the first few pages of any of those books you will find words and phrases like "prick", "jerk", "asshole" and "worst human in history". So the reading experience ranges from horrifying to hilarious to and back again.

I was lucky to start with Lou in 1982 with The Blue Mask, considered by many to be his best solo record. It was also the one to kick off his 1980s resurgence. And I got a few more over those years from that period.

But I never got around to the early 70s, right after the Velvet Underground broke up, which was when the Lou as we all knew and feared him, emerged. This collection had the exact records I needed to fill that huge hole in the Lou Reed story as I understand it to be. 

It's one thing to become familiar with the four original Velvet Underground studio records, as I did out of order and after the fact. That only covers five years.  It's an altogether different task to track down all twenty-ish Lou Reed records, which I have no plan on doing. But I should at least explore the tumultuous early 70s period when Lou could do no wrong or right, depending on who you were.

But I'm not going to talk about that yet.

Before we skip to my Lou, we're going to talk about the Velvets again, because this trip gave me the chance to listen to them again, which only made me love them more, bad behavior notwithstanding. I was very lucky to hear them in the order I did because I went from most to least accessible record. It goes 1,4,3,2 and I highly recommend it. 

So here is my original take on VU, which still holds up.

But for those of you who have to catch a bus, here's a quick summary:

The Velvet Underground and Nico (1967)

Epochal. Rockers, ballads, drugs, S&M, and good old-fashioned noise. One of the best ever. 

A

White Light, White Heat (1968): 

Breaking away from Warhol, losing Nico, and angry at the world for not loving them, they turn up the volume to twelve and give everyone the finger. (A pattern Lou would repeat this many more times.) And "Sister Ray" is earth-shaking. 

But only for the converted. 

A-

The Velvet Underground (1969): 

With John Cale gone, it's now eerily quiet. Even a bit muffled. But well worth it because the songs are great. 

A

Loaded (1970): 

As poppy as they'd ever get. It seems a bit slight at first. So why did I want to play it over and over again?

A

And for the hell of it, here's some snippets from the later compilations:

I caught Live at Max's Kansas City on YouTube and kinda loved it. The ambiance can be a bit distracting, and Mo Tucker couldn't drum bc she was pregnant at the time. But she wasn't on Loaded either and I love that album, too. They all sound in great spirits. So why did Lou quit right after the show?  A-

Live 69: Not revelatory, but oh, so steady. Look here for more details. A-

VU (1985): This is "the great lost VU album" - songs recorded for a 69/70 release that never happened. This wonderful record almost ruins my experience of the Lou Reed solo albums because good old Lou was too busy taking drugs to write new songs, and used many of these instead. But we'll get to that at another time. A

Anyway, after five years of recording and touring to no avail, an exhausted Lou Reed left the Velvet Underground and the music business altogether, dropping out for about two years.

For your listening pleasure, here's an hour's worth of VU.

Next: Lou, Alone