Secret History: The Velvet Underground

I was just going to just jump into 1967 when I decided that the Velvet Underground deserved their own post.  If ever there was a band that represented the secret history, it’s them.

No band better defines the division between what many people call classic rock, and what has always been looked upon as “alternative” music.  Call it punk, glitter, whatever. 

It was the music most of us hated.  It was just too damned weird.

The sixties made things easy for us.  For a time (1964-69) AM radio was a place where good music and popular music were synonymous.  We had FM for what we considered the more adventurous music, and when Sgt. Pepper came along, everyone was an artiste.  All of these factors conspired to make us think we’d explored all there was to explore.  It made us lazy. 

But even then, there was an “alternative” universe being created, thankfully before the window of opportunity collapsed.  It avoided the trap of taking itself too seriously, and it stayed rock and roll based, not trying to use classical music motifs.  Perhaps as a result, it didn’t get played on the radio.

Why not?  Because whatever people say about missing the sixties, I think most were secretly relieved when they was over.  They couldn’t wait for things to get back to normal.  Check out what songs became hits on AM radio in 1970, and compare that to just the year before.  (No, you do it.  I’m busy.) 

And FM?  Well, if anything, the increasing crap on AM only made it more attractive.  But as people get older, they want to be taken seriously.  So the music they listened to had to seem more mature.  How to do that?  Well, add orchestras, stress musicianship, and trade in the electric guitar for an acoustic.  Above all, be serious.  That’ll let people have their pop music and feel grown up, too.  You know it’s art if everybody’s frowning.

So music that hoped to be sold got pretty safe.  But, as a friend once said, “safe” is one long slow slide into mediocrity.  In order for something to thrive it’s got to change.  And change can challenge people.  Some aren’t up for it. 

A friend once complained that there hasn’t been any great music since 1975.  Given where he was looking – AOR radio – I had to agree.  Had he been looking elsewhere, he might have felt differently.

And that’s a shame because I happen to think that what we call “alternative” music has been responsible for far more great rock and roll music than supposedly “classic” rock.   

My Faithful Readers: Ahem, hey Jaybee, what about the Velvet Underground?

Me:  Oh, yeah.  I forgot

I’m ashamed to say that I didn't hear my first Velvet Underground album until 1982 – at least fifteen years after it came out.  I was only three tracks into “Velvet Underground and Nico”(1967) on my first listen when it was clear to me that I was listening to a great album.    (This from a guy who doesn’t usually know he likes an album until he’s heard it a dozen times.)  I couldn’t believe how enjoyable it was.  From the beautiful ballads - written back when Lou Reed would put actual melodies in his songs, and sing them, too! - to aggressively experimental rock and roll, it amazed me that, with the exception of “Heroin”, I had heard none of it on the radio.  It was as though a , well, secret history had been revealed.

And yet, it’s quintessential “classic” rock.  I’ll admit that some of the subject matter must have been considered iffy (drugs, sado-masochism, hey, what’s not to like?) at the time, but it was the 60s for god sakes.  But then again, these topics stand in start contrast to our image of the Summer of Love.  Classics include: “Sunday Morning”, “Waiting for My Man”, “There She Goes”, “Femme Fatale”, “I’ll Be Your Mirror”.  It’s one of the all time greats.

I then figured that if the radio wouldn’t play this when it first came out, thus preventing it from entering the collective consciousness, what else were they passing on?  And if that’s what I missed then, what was I missing now?  This was when I officially gave up on commercial radio as a source of music that I could love.

The second album, “White Light/White Heat” (1968) is one of the most uncompromising albums ever made, and is admittedly a bit much.  The amps are turned way up beyond the point of distortion, let alone clarity.  If anything the subject matter is even more out there.  It could be heard as Lou Reed’s first of many extended middle fingers to his audience.    But it does have great moments – the astounding momentum of “Sister Ray”, “Lady Godiva’s Operation”, the beautiful “Here She Comes Now”.  Not for the faint hearted, it’s definitely that last one to get.

The third album - simply called “Velvet Underground” (1969) - is a total shock, because its quietly beautiful - and yet not pretty - sound occupies a completely different universe from its predecessors.  Maybe it’s the morning after the orgy of the prior album.  Minor caveats include the woozy lead guitar in the middle of “What Goes On”, which is more than made up for by the great rhythm(!) guitar solo at the end, and the experimental “Murder Mystery” which is a bit long.   Highlights include “Candy Says”, “Beginning to See the Light” and “Jesus”, which, if it were ever played at Mass, I might start going again.  It’s a morning album, but have your coffee first.  Definitely worthwhile.

“Loaded” (1970) is the last official studio album, and is much more relaxed and seemingly lightweight than the prior ones, so much so that it may take a few listens to take hold, but by then, you’re hooked.  It’s got “Who Loves the Sun”, which could have been done by the Cowsills, “Sweet Jane”, which was done admittedly better by Mott the Hoople, and “Rock n Roll”.  Lou Reed sounds like he’s having the time of his life, which is weird, because he quit the band before the record was completed.  This one’s the funnest.

Of the live albums, I recommend the double “1969: The Velvet Underground Live”.  Of the two collections of lost recordings released in the 80s, I can vouch for the first “VU”, which has “You’re My Best Friend” and “Ocean” which are amongst my all time VU favorites.

So I suggest that you start with “Velvet Underground and Nico” for the classic songs, or “Loaded” for fun.  Then choose between the strong songs on “Velvet Underground” or the good tunes on “VU”.  And if you make it to “White Light/White Heat”, I’ll be very proud.

You don’t put the Velvets on during a party, unless you’ve invited a bunch of heroin addicts.  And at times you will find them to be downright unpleasant. 

But the Velvet Underground would be the well spring from which hundreds of other bands would arise.  Some of them could be unsavory (Iggy and the Stooges), or downright alarming (The New York Dolls).  In other words, they were often totally at odds with what many of us thought of as serious music.  And they smelled of gimmick, when it should be about the music. 

But what about the music?  There was always something twisted about it.  (Call it Bizzarro music if you like.)  It was loud, messy.  Definitely not mellow.  It was, after all, rock and roll music.  And we thought we were getting too old for it. 

But that’s only because too many of us see a contradiction between a seeming lack of seriousness and art.  And thanks to the ever tightening grip of money on radio, and the blindness of even so called free form stations, this music would always be relegated to the musical ghetto.

But over time, it’s become clear that this has been the real source of inspiration for the great rock and roll music being made even now.  And we have the Velvet Underground to thank for it.

Secret History 1966: "Aftermath" – The Great Unknown Stones Album

Even though I didn’t for a while, I eventually got around to liking the Stones. It was the whole Stones vs. Beatles thing. I mean, where did anyone get off versing the Beatles, anyway?

It wasn’t like you had to choose one or the other, but you usually had a clear favorite. And which one it was said a lot about you and what other things you liked. If you liked the Beatles, you liked songs, melody, harmony and production. If you liked the Stones you liked rock and roll, and flirted with the dark side.

I was vaguely aware of this dynamic at the time. I was the typical “good kid” who liked nice things. The Beatles were nice, and, as Col. Frank Burns would say, it's nice to be nice to the nice, so I liked them. The Stones were not nice, so my Catholic upbringing allowed me to like them only so much. And yet my friends –fellow Catholics - did not appear to have this problem.

So you tell me, Stones fans. What was the attraction? It was clear that the cooler kids liked the Stones. Was it the bad boy thing? Or was it simply how great the music was? Even I noticed that. Well, it was all of the above.

Although the histories of the Beatles and Stones were all jumbled up for me at the time, it appears that the Stones got the later start. And as good as they already were, their artistic and commercial breakthrough – “Satisfaction” – didn’t occur until 1965, and their albums weren’t generally recognized as great until 1968 or so.

But ours would remain a not-quite-love/don’t-know-at-all relationship for a while. After the Beatles broke up, I was able to like the Stones more. Me and my friends immersed ourselves in “Sticky Fingers”, “Exile on Main Street” and “Hot Rocks”. Then I got annoyed with them all over again when they started calling themselves "the greatest rock and roll band in the world". It was bad enough that they were doing this now that the Beatles were gone, but then I caught the emcee saying it during the intro of “Get Yer Ya Yas Out” …in 1969. Sacrilege!

And then they gave me/us some valid reasons to not like them, putting out crappy albums like “Goat's Head Soap” and “It's Only Rock and Roll” (Whaddaya mean only! More Sacrilege!!), so I could safely ignore them until 1978 and “Some Girls” when I'm forced to like them all over again, over the objections of Jesse Jackson, no less. But by then, I'd loosened up a bit. (At this rate, I’ll be almost cool at 90.)

Since then, there was a long slow decline I could safely ignore.

And yet, I'd keep hearing that I had somehow still missed some of their greatest music.
So I made my way back to, oh I don’t know, 1966 or so. (Subliminal message: When I get “The Singles Collection: The London Years” for Father’s Day, I’ll be able to fill in a lot of blanks.)

But I have taken a shot here and there.

The only “pre-album appreciation” period records I have are “Now!”, “Aftermath” and “Between the Buttons”. The first is a good record consisting mostly of covers of rhythm and blues standards I might not have heard otherwise. I know I should like this record more than I actually do, but Mick sounds like the young British appreciater of this music rather than the master of it. The band does better, but I like them better still when they’ve fully come into their own.

The latter is a damned good album with hits like “Ruby Tuesday” and “Let’s Spend the Night Together”, and relatively obscure gems like “Connection” and “She Smiled Sweetly”. The rest is not brilliant, but more than adequate.

Which is where “Aftermath” comes in. What at first glace may appear as a typical hits plus filler record, turns out to be one of the great albums of the sixties.

Yes, I know we’ve been through this already with the Who (“Sell Out”) and the Kinks with (“Face to Face”). I’m not going that far with the Stones. After all, it’s hard to make better albums than “Beggar’s Banquet”, “Let it Bleed”, etc. But “Aftermath” is right up there. And anyway, they seem to be doing just fine without my help, thank you very much.

The singles “Paint Black”, “Under My Thumb” and “Lady Jane” kick things off. Not bad, right?

And you know how they get all authentic on you when you think they’re about to go soft? Out they come with the slide guitar and harmonica, and they start playing the blues. This is annoying to us superficial pop music fans, and I admit that this was my first reaction. But then I noticed that the bluesy songs (“Doncha Bother Me”, “505” and the 11 minute(!) “Going Home”) were being done with much greater authority, and they just kept growing on me.

And, of course, it wouldn’t be a Stones record without some great obscurities, like “Think”, “High and Dry”, “It's Not Easy” and the brilliant “I am Waiting”.

So if you’re thinking about giving these multi-millionaires even more of your money, you could do a lot worse than to shell out a few bucks for this wonderful record.

Which leaves just one last question: Aftermath to what? They were just getting started.

Secret History: 1966

1966 is one of my favorite years in music, not just because I got my first album "Revolver" then, but because it's a year where the quality is still higher than the musicians themselves.

The music has a light touch. Psychedelia hasn't yet kicked in, the guitars aren't too distorted, the musicianship and songwriting is improving, the songs are still short and to the point. In other words, it's right before things started getting pretentious.

You already know about what the Beatles and Dylan were doing that year. And I'll save the Stones for a separate post. But until Allmusic.com comes up with a "We Love 1966" post, you'll have to settle for my take on that year. So, in order of my preference, here's a few records worthy of your time and attention:

• First, there's the Kink's greatest record "Face to Face". Here's my post on that criminally neglected era. Nuff said.
• Then, there's the Beach Boys' "Pet Sounds", which I finally picked up in 1990. I have to admit being underwhelmed at first, especially with it popping up on all these all time greatest albums lists. I still think it's a bit overrated, but it's certainly a very worthy record. Brian Wilson with his heart on his sleeve.
  
• And don't' forget the Byrds. Their third album, "Fifth Dimension" starts off with the title track – one of my all time favorite songs – and stays great until more than halfway through, up to “Eight Miles High”, after which  they do a lame version of "Hey Joe", a song that seems to trip up everyone except Jimi Hendrix. It's also followed by some filler, but the rest of it is brilliant, and well worth your while.
  
• Then there's the Who, who are already getting a bit arty on "A Quick One". I also went on about them, too. Although the songwriting it divided pretty evenly, everybody comes up with good tunes. And the title tune - our first mini rock opera (awwww!) - is just wonderful. Sweet and funny all at once.
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  And don't forget "John Mayall's Bluesbreakers, With (a Pre Cream/post Yardbirds) Eric Clapton". Here, Slowhand has not yet turned into Slowhead. In fact, he's as sharp as a tack. Too bad about the singing, though. Not perfect, but pretty fine.
  
  And… well, I don't know

I'm sure I'm forgetting someone. (What do you want, I was nine years old.) So please remind me, or berate me for any obvious omissions.

The Secret History Project

The Secret History Project is my attempt to make sense of the divide between music that was popular and music that, in my opinion, should have been popular.


The Reasons:

Why? Well, to answer the eternal question - where or where did I go wrong? (Or, since it's my blog, where did you go wrong?) In other words, where did we part ways? How did I get from there to here? Where is "there", anyway? Graduation from college? High school?? Grammar school??? (the birth canal?)

I also want to figure out if this divide had to happen. Was it predetermined by taste? Or would we all have loved the same music given the opportunity? In my heart, I'd like to think so, even though my brain says otherwise.

My official, altruistic reason, as always, is to expose you to music you might have missed along the way.

My less than noble reason is that I'm trying to be cool.

But seriously, I always loved music. You did too, but you had a life. So now I'm giving you the opportunity to have your cake and eat it too. You'll have a life and know about cool music too. And then we can go back to where we were when we were kids – you being cool and me being pathetic. You know, the way it was meant to be.

But it's worth doing, because my mission is to bring you joy through music. And since I can't do this by actually playing it, I'll do the next best thing – spreading the word about it. Kind of like John the Baptist (another JB, mmmm…) except with music. And so far, no one's asked for my head on a platter. Empty calories, no doubt.



The Rules:

First, pop music only. You may not be a fan of Classical music or jazz (or country or world, etc.). I 'm trying to find things that you don't have to appreciate before you love.

Second, it's got to be music that came out in my lifetime.

Third, it's got to be less than obvious, since the point is to find things you don't know about already. Feel free to return the favor. Tell me what you've found along the byways of pop music.


The Method:

I'll be looking at records by the year they were released. In other words, not by when I may have actually experienced them, which in some cases was decades later. This will give you an opportunity to say, hey what took you so long, anyway?

This may not be exactly how we experienced it, but it's just plain more orderly. It's also a way to think about what we were doing at the time.

So - flawed thrice-over – this approach puts us up against the limits of my record collection, my taste, and my revisionist history.


1957 - 1965:

So I started with 1957, and, after excluding Broadway and Movie soundtracks, I found some oldies. Not a huge fan. You should really start your own blog to convince to me it's great. I supposed I could point you to Elvis's "Sun Sessions", but I think I'll save that for another post.

And it stays that way, more or less, until 1964 when we hit the British Invasion. For that, I recommend watching PBS during pledge week. Just saying…

And 1965 at first seems like more of the same. (I'm saving middle-period Beatles for another post.)

One exception is "The Who Sing My Generation", but I dealt with that before.

I guess, the Byrds should count here, but despite some great songs, I find "Mr. Tambourine Man" a bit overrated, going a bit soft here and there. (Will someone please do a hard rock version of "Spanish Harlem Incident"?) Good, but not peak Byrds.

So it isn't until 1966 where I start to find the real hidden treasures, which I'll start to deal with next time.

Favorite Son Does Cover of Favorite Song by Favorite Band

Or as The Onion might put it "Area Man Proud of Son".

Check it out here.

It brings tears to my eyes.

Free Again: Alex Chilton, RIP

Okay, I admit it.  My Big Star post may have been ill-timed.  Then again, with Big Star slated to play the South by Southwest Festival this month, so was Alex Chilton’s death.

Alex Chilton was not the greatest rock and roll artist of all time.  In fact, he's been compared to Rod Stewart in his capacity to turn his back on what he was great at.  But for a brief period of time, Alex Chilton could do no wrong.  And for a brief time after that, his selfdestructive habits created great art anyway.

In both cases, the public ignored it. 

Maybe it was a good thing that the Beatles broke up when they did, because hard rock was the in thing at the time.  In 1969, a friend told me that Led Zeppelin was better than the Beatles.  So, even with the great guitar playing on “Abbey Road”, it's hard to see the Beatles taken as seriously in that environment.  And in the mid-seventies, John Lennon himself ventured a guess that had they not broken up, they would probably have been doing music similar to ELO.  (Sorry, but, ewwww.)  So how could Big Star - the natural heirs to the Beatles – prosper in such an environment?

But to listen to their music now is to forget all that and wonder how they didn't make it, well, big.   But enough of that.

Alex Chilton, above all else, valued his freedom.  Why else break up the successful Box Tops?  Why else record "Free Again" right after it, and then later "You Can't Have Me."  There's a story about how a record company guy hanging out in the studio said that a new song Chilton was recording had hit potential.  Chilton, taking this opinion for what he thought it was worth, completely changed the arrangement.  To the song's detriment, probably.  But that was Alex for you.

Why else release a greatest hits record called “19 Years” instead of waiting one more year?

Why else put “Thank You Friends” - a natural album closer – second?
His behavior sent Chris Bell packing from Big Star, and yet they may have gone on to make even better music without him.

He had a great way of playing rhythm guitar, where the chords never seemed to come when you’d expect them – “You Can’t Have Me” and “What’s Going Ahn”, being great examples.

Artists from the Replacements, the Bangles, Elliot Smith and others know they owe a debt to Alex Chilton.  Alex himself could probably have cared less as he pretty much disavowed the Big Star records.  He was too busy making what he called "untamed" music.

He did eventually cave and do reunions with both the Box Tops and Big Star, but after decades of working in obscurity who could blame him?

So, no, he wasn't the greatest rock and roll artist of all time.  But he was great in the Bob Dylan and Neil Young tradition of going his own way and to hell with the consequences.

Well, he’s gone his own way again.  I hope we cross paths some time.

Big Brother Is Listening For You

The Song Remains the Same:

There’s this song that I like.  Do you know it?  It kind of goes like…well, I can’t sing.  But the words are about…well, I forget.  But you know which one I’m talking about, right? 

Why, of course!  What, am I a mind reader?

And mind reading alone wouldn’t cut it, since when you did read that mind, it might be blank.  You would need something stronger.

But isn’t it great when our friends attribute such magical powers to us?  It’s like when they ask you if you saw that movie they loved.  You know the one, right?  Of course, they’ve forgotten the title.  (I spend my life trying to forget the movies I hated.  How is it that they forget the ones they loved?)  It’s the one with that guy in it. 

Oh, yeah.   That one. 

As dumb as this all sounds, it appears that I’ve lowered the bar even further, because there really is this song I like - I know the title and how it goes.  It’s not that I don’t remember what song it is.  I just don’t remember which song it is (although “Pictures of Matchstick Men”, “The Mighty Quinn” and “Hurdy Gurdy Man” are among the usual suspects)  And it’s important because this song has an usual history for me. 

Most people I know have a system for judging music.  They:

1. Listen to a song
2. Decide that they either:
1. Like it
2. Don’t like it.

That’s pretty much it.  It’s a simple system, really.  And I occasionally use it, but not for this song. 

Around the time I turned forty, this song went from the Hate It column to the Like It column.  This isn’t unusual – our tastes do change.  Songs that first sat in one column move to the other, and vice versa.  It’s just a matter of running the song through the system again, only this time you get a different result.

But the weird thing about this song is that, when I turned forty, I admitted to myself that I liked it, and probably always did.
So why would I lie to myself and tell myself I didn’t?  Well, it was because my big brother didn’t like it.

No, not the well-respected, fifty-ish family man who's a year older than me now, but rather, the nine-year-old (but still a year older than me) then.  Now, as smart as he is, and was, perhaps I shouldn’t have been so beholden to his opinion.  So, after thirty years, I came to the inescapable conclusion that I had no reason to dislike the song other than the fact that a nine year old boy disliked it.  In 1966.

But by 1997, I was ready to come out from behind my brother’s nine year old shadow, and begin to think for myself.  A somewhat less than inspiring coming of old age story, I’ll admit.

And who knows?  Maybe even he likes the song now.  If I could remember which one it was, I’d ask.


Mom's Listening, Too:

I’m not saying that it took me forty years to figure out my own musical tastes, and suddenly throw out all the records my brother liked.  It’s just that my experience with this song is a good example of how you can think you’re having your own thoughts when you’re really having someone else’s.

In the early seventies, my brother and I stood united on all the crucial musical issues of the day (Grateful Dead vs. Led Zeppelin, Allman Brothers vs. Led Zeppelin, Beatles vs. Led Zeppelin, etc.).   But there were isolated episodes when I wandered off the righteous path.  So I guess my own thoughts were starting to form…


1971
Elton John: Tumbleweed Connection
I seem to remember getting a less than enthusiastic reaction to this one.  Being an Irish household, it may have been that all non-Beatle Brits were suspect.  I know that my mom wasn’t happy that I spent my allowance on it, as the following primal scene attests:
Mom:  What happened to all your money?
Me:     I spent it.
Enter, two younger sisters, as Greek chorus, to provide moral support, to my mom as it turned out.
Mom:  On What?
Me:     An album.
Greek Chorus Younger Sisters: A sharp intake of breath, in unison.
Mom:  What album?
Me:     Tumbleweed Connection
Mom:  I prefer his first record.  How much was it?
Me:     Three dollars.
GCYS:Very, very sharp intake of breath.  In unison.
(Everyone blacks out, as all the oxygen has been sucked from the room.)

1972
Emerson, Lake and Palmer
I went through an ELP phase (72-74), which didn’t sit well with my brother’s Allman Brothers phase (72-present).  Those Brits again.

1973
Kinks: Everybody’s In Showbiz
I could see the look of disappointment in his eyes.  (It wasn’t hard.  He was calling me an idiot at the time.)  After all, there were so many Hot Tuna records to get, and so little money.  My first Kinks album, and one of the weaker ones, as it turns out.  Brits, too, but big drinkers, and so, honorary Irish.

1974
Advice to younger siblings sharing a room with older siblings:  Don’t play side two of pre “Born to Run” no-name Bruce Springsteen’s “The Wild, the Innocent and the E Street Shuffle”, while getting ready for work/school.  Your older sibling was out late last night, and is still trying to sleep.

1975:
Pre-E-Street-Band-no-name Nils Lofgren’s self titled solo album, and to-this-day-still-no-name Elliot Murphy’s “Aquashow”.  For some reason, these two records really got on his nerves.  Maybe Nils was a little too bouncy/hooky for what was his more boogie/jammy taste.  Elliot’s voice was a little nasally, but his attack is right out of “Blonde on Blonde”.  I’m still a bit mystified.

1976
Warren Zevon’s (or to my brother, Warren Zero) first record.  I admit that I got it because it was produced by Jackson Browne, who my brother thought I had a crush on.  Warren’s voice is a bit husky and awkward, but the songs are great.  His version of “Poor Poor Pitiful Me” demolishes Linda Rondstadt’s.
Crazy Horse’s first album, with soon-to-be-topic-of-Neil Young’s “Tonight’s the Night”, Danny Whitten, and repeat offender Nils Lofgren.  One song in particular annoyed the hell out of him, with a vocal by who knows who (it sounds half Danny/half Nils, but with a head cold), run through a phaser of some kind.  He thought they were saying “Finkelstein” (I does kind of sound like that) but the actual title is “Beggar’s Day”.

1977 and So On:

I think by now he’d given up on me.  Besides, we were both working and could buy whatever records we wanted.  I guess, in retrospect, his focus on the tried and true allowed me to go off the deep end.  I’d spend hours in the cutoff bin bringing home stuff like Earth Opera (because Peter Rowan was on it), and Nektar (because I liked album-long suites), while he filled in the West Coast catalogue.  In all, it was a good balance.

But I can’t leave well enough alone.  As adults, we’d exchange Christmas presents, and I couldn’t resist getting him CDs – Eno and Roxy Music being the most egregious examples.  (Jesus, more Brits.)  Then I went the burned CD route.  Best of Crazy Horse, anyone? 


And So Forth:

But since the whole point of this blog is to turn you on to something you haven’t heard yet, I will be going back to retrace some of my steps.  I expect to find a few times where I went wrong, but hope to find a number of instances where I went right, because there are a lot of great records out there that I think you’d like to know about. 

What was that song, anyway?