In a past life, Fresh and the Qualifier used to get paid to write about music. For years they toiled through a tag-team article called Counterbalance, going head to head, hashing out the relative merits of new releases for the local Chicken Dinner Newspaper. But that was a long time ago - before the economy crashed, sending their frivolous Arts & Entertainment section down in flames.
After wandering in the wilderness, lost and directionless, Fresh and the Qualifier have returned to take on their most challenging assignment: the Greatest Albums of All-Time. Do these critics' darlings hold up, or are they just hyped up?
The Velvet Underground & Nico's self-titled debut album - number four on the list - started out as all hype thanks to Andy Warhol but somehow managed to become one of the most influential records of all time. Has this record outlasted it's fifteen minutes of fame?
Fresh: I love the way this album starts off with the airy feel of "Sunday Morning" and its ambiguous, non-threatening lyrics. After that its all down-hill, like picking up a rock and peering into the seedy underbelly of urban America in the 1960s. It's fantastic. Except the parts where Nico sings. I could do without that.
Qualifier: Ah, but Fresh, without Nico there might not be a Velvet Underground as we know it. Allow me to oversimplify: Andy Warhol essentially pulled Lou Reed, John Cale and Co. from obscurity in order to have a backing band for his newly discovered "chanteuse," offering up his brand name and connections in exchange for hearing her Kissinger-esque tones on vinyl. After they got in the studio, actual producer Tom Wilson was so taken with Nico's Teutonic appeal that he insisted that Reed write a single just for her. Somehow that song became "Sunday Morning," and Lou ended up singing it anyway. (I'm not sure how that happened; I'm assuming a blonde wig and some coquettish flirting was involved.)
After wandering in the wilderness, lost and directionless, Fresh and the Qualifier have returned to take on their most challenging assignment: the Greatest Albums of All-Time. Do these critics' darlings hold up, or are they just hyped up?
The Velvet Underground & Nico's self-titled debut album - number four on the list - started out as all hype thanks to Andy Warhol but somehow managed to become one of the most influential records of all time. Has this record outlasted it's fifteen minutes of fame?
Fresh: I love the way this album starts off with the airy feel of "Sunday Morning" and its ambiguous, non-threatening lyrics. After that its all down-hill, like picking up a rock and peering into the seedy underbelly of urban America in the 1960s. It's fantastic. Except the parts where Nico sings. I could do without that.Qualifier: Ah, but Fresh, without Nico there might not be a Velvet Underground as we know it. Allow me to oversimplify: Andy Warhol essentially pulled Lou Reed, John Cale and Co. from obscurity in order to have a backing band for his newly discovered "chanteuse," offering up his brand name and connections in exchange for hearing her Kissinger-esque tones on vinyl. After they got in the studio, actual producer Tom Wilson was so taken with Nico's Teutonic appeal that he insisted that Reed write a single just for her. Somehow that song became "Sunday Morning," and Lou ended up singing it anyway. (I'm not sure how that happened; I'm assuming a blonde wig and some coquettish flirting was involved.)
F: I know, I know. It's just more of Warhol's disposable art gone wrong. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to punch Nico in the mouth. Seriously, Germans should not be allowed to sing. Or listen to music. Any nation that embraces David Hasselhoff as a national icon has issues.
It's funny, though: I can't stand Nico, but without her Warhol wouldn't have tapped the Velvet Underground and without the Velvet Underground, the whole art house rock/avant/noise/punk thing wouldn't have spawned a ton of different bands that I (and you) love. Instead, rock would sound very clean and happy - somewhere between the Beatles and the Beach Boys - and that would get old quick.
Q: Whoa, whoa, good sir - I cannot in good conscience advocate anti-chanteuse violence. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that Nico's off-key caterwauling is what gives this album some of its off-kilter charm. But that's me; I think Beatles albums need Ringo songs for balance.
You mention the Beach Boys and the Beatles, and it's interesting that this album was being recorded at the same time as Pet Sounds and Revolver. Three of the top four albums on the big list were in progress concurrently, although this is the only one to touch on sadomasochism and intravenous drug use (unless there's something about "Sloop John B" that I'm missing.)
F: I don't really want to hurt Nico. I just want to tie her to a chair and slap her until she pronounces the word "clown" correctly. It's KLOUN. Not KLÄN.
When I listen to this album I hear a lot of the early pop and rock influences that fueled both Pet Sounds and Revolver, but there is something very raw within the songs and its not just the lyrical subject matter. Compared to pristine sounds of the Beatles and Beach Boys, the Velvet Underground sound like they are recording in a dirty alley, behind a couple of dumpsters. They sound like they barely know how to play their instruments and are over driving their amps. Its tribal, trance inducing and full of white noise - a distinct departure from the prevailing, feel-good aura of the late 1960s.
Q: I say KLÖN, however that's just my rich Alsatian heritage coming through. But you're right that underneath the feedback and screeching viola, Velvet Underground & Nico for the most part features pop-oriented chord changes and melodies. Even something like "Black Angel's Death Song" could be a folk song if not for the odd tunings and what sounds like someone blowing up balloons every so often.
But that's not to say that the going doesn't get good and weird. "European Son" is a good old fashioned freak out, and "Venus and Furs" still sounds decadent even after countless listenings. And then there's "Heroin"...
F: Yeah, and then there's "Heroin." The title says it all. What I find fascinating is that Lou Reed isn't trying to veil the song's true meaning. The Beatles and the Beach Boys wrote songs about their drug use but nothing so blatant. Do you think its just that New York City mentality?
Q: While I'm tempted to believe that every New Yorker is more than willing to share with you all the most intimate details of their pharmaceutical use, from Sweet Lady H to Compound W, I suspect it's mostly down to the singularly prickly personality of Lou Reed.
Reed wrote the two most overt drug ditties, "Heroin" and "Waiting for the Man," in 1965, when he was a staff writer for the budget pop label Pickwick (I have an early tune of his called "Cycle Annie" that I can post to my blog). I'm not 100% convinced Reed ever expected these tracks to see widespread release. Warhol's fascination with the seamier side of life may well have carried the day, even if it did keep them off Atlantic Records.
F: Hmmm. . . . an Atlantic-released/produced Velvet Underground album. Ah, what could have been. Regardless, the Velvet Underground got their 15 minutes and then some. As for Nico, she set the template for a classic music biz sycophant: pretty women with no talent and drug problems who ride the coat tails of more talented musicians. Her legacy lives on: Fergie, I'm looking at you.
Q: Well, technically, Loaded was released on Cotillion, which was a subsidiary of Atlantic. And I cannot let you end this by comparing Nico with Fergie. Of all the indignities Nico faced throughout her tragically brief life, that may be the cruelest.
Nico was no mere hanger-on; she used whatever eerie powers she had over the men round her, including some of the most powerful individuals in her field, to her best possible advantage. Despite her flaws, she made a career for herself in a field for which she may not have been especially qualified, and she remains an icon to a small but rabid legion of fans to this day.
Good lord, I just described Sarah Palin.
F: You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? I try to end it with a bland but "Fergalicious" comment about Nico's so-called trailblazing, but no, you had to go and ruin it. Suddenly, "London Bridge" is falling down and everyone knows that without Nico, Sarah Palin would be just another two-bit sports anchor in an Alaskan backwater dreaming about a "Glamorous" life where empowered but marginally talented women move quickly beyond the "Clumsy" overtures of the men around them to "Finally" live in a world where "Big Girls Don't Cry." The truth hurts, don't it pal? Vote Palin/zombie Nico - 2012.
It's funny, though: I can't stand Nico, but without her Warhol wouldn't have tapped the Velvet Underground and without the Velvet Underground, the whole art house rock/avant/noise/punk thing wouldn't have spawned a ton of different bands that I (and you) love. Instead, rock would sound very clean and happy - somewhere between the Beatles and the Beach Boys - and that would get old quick.
Q: Whoa, whoa, good sir - I cannot in good conscience advocate anti-chanteuse violence. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that Nico's off-key caterwauling is what gives this album some of its off-kilter charm. But that's me; I think Beatles albums need Ringo songs for balance.
You mention the Beach Boys and the Beatles, and it's interesting that this album was being recorded at the same time as Pet Sounds and Revolver. Three of the top four albums on the big list were in progress concurrently, although this is the only one to touch on sadomasochism and intravenous drug use (unless there's something about "Sloop John B" that I'm missing.)
F: I don't really want to hurt Nico. I just want to tie her to a chair and slap her until she pronounces the word "clown" correctly. It's KLOUN. Not KLÄN.
When I listen to this album I hear a lot of the early pop and rock influences that fueled both Pet Sounds and Revolver, but there is something very raw within the songs and its not just the lyrical subject matter. Compared to pristine sounds of the Beatles and Beach Boys, the Velvet Underground sound like they are recording in a dirty alley, behind a couple of dumpsters. They sound like they barely know how to play their instruments and are over driving their amps. Its tribal, trance inducing and full of white noise - a distinct departure from the prevailing, feel-good aura of the late 1960s.
Q: I say KLÖN, however that's just my rich Alsatian heritage coming through. But you're right that underneath the feedback and screeching viola, Velvet Underground & Nico for the most part features pop-oriented chord changes and melodies. Even something like "Black Angel's Death Song" could be a folk song if not for the odd tunings and what sounds like someone blowing up balloons every so often.
But that's not to say that the going doesn't get good and weird. "European Son" is a good old fashioned freak out, and "Venus and Furs" still sounds decadent even after countless listenings. And then there's "Heroin"...
F: Yeah, and then there's "Heroin." The title says it all. What I find fascinating is that Lou Reed isn't trying to veil the song's true meaning. The Beatles and the Beach Boys wrote songs about their drug use but nothing so blatant. Do you think its just that New York City mentality?
Q: While I'm tempted to believe that every New Yorker is more than willing to share with you all the most intimate details of their pharmaceutical use, from Sweet Lady H to Compound W, I suspect it's mostly down to the singularly prickly personality of Lou Reed.
Reed wrote the two most overt drug ditties, "Heroin" and "Waiting for the Man," in 1965, when he was a staff writer for the budget pop label Pickwick (I have an early tune of his called "Cycle Annie" that I can post to my blog). I'm not 100% convinced Reed ever expected these tracks to see widespread release. Warhol's fascination with the seamier side of life may well have carried the day, even if it did keep them off Atlantic Records.
F: Hmmm. . . . an Atlantic-released/produced Velvet Underground album. Ah, what could have been. Regardless, the Velvet Underground got their 15 minutes and then some. As for Nico, she set the template for a classic music biz sycophant: pretty women with no talent and drug problems who ride the coat tails of more talented musicians. Her legacy lives on: Fergie, I'm looking at you.
Q: Well, technically, Loaded was released on Cotillion, which was a subsidiary of Atlantic. And I cannot let you end this by comparing Nico with Fergie. Of all the indignities Nico faced throughout her tragically brief life, that may be the cruelest.
Nico was no mere hanger-on; she used whatever eerie powers she had over the men round her, including some of the most powerful individuals in her field, to her best possible advantage. Despite her flaws, she made a career for herself in a field for which she may not have been especially qualified, and she remains an icon to a small but rabid legion of fans to this day.
Good lord, I just described Sarah Palin.
F: You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? I try to end it with a bland but "Fergalicious" comment about Nico's so-called trailblazing, but no, you had to go and ruin it. Suddenly, "London Bridge" is falling down and everyone knows that without Nico, Sarah Palin would be just another two-bit sports anchor in an Alaskan backwater dreaming about a "Glamorous" life where empowered but marginally talented women move quickly beyond the "Clumsy" overtures of the men around them to "Finally" live in a world where "Big Girls Don't Cry." The truth hurts, don't it pal? Vote Palin/zombie Nico - 2012.
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