Appreciation: Lou Reed, the minimalist god
The apocryphal and numerically fluctuating line about the Velvet Underground, often attributed to Brian Eno, is that just 3,000 people bought "The Velvet Underground and Nico," but every one of them formed a band.
It wasn't true -- the 1967 album sold more than 50,000 copies in its first two years of release -- but the influence of the album is inescapable.
The Velvets were precursors to punk rock, art rock, avant-garde rock, almost any kind of rock that veered from the status quo. And, not to discount the contributions of John Cale, Sterling Morrison, Maureen Tucker and the soon-to-depart Nico, but the voice of the band was Lou Reed.
The singer, guitarist and songwriter died Sunday, according to his publicist. He had undergone a liver transplant in May.
The Velvet Underground brought a thrilling dose of downtown noise and crudeness to a rock scene that was beginning to take its love-and-peace feelings all too seriously. Reed's songs, such as "Waiting for the Man" (whose narrator traveled to Harlem to meet his dealer), "Venus in Furs" (about a sadomasochistic relationship) and "Heroin" (self-explanatory), were journeys into humanity's dark side.
Reed wrote or co-wrote every song on that first album and expanded his songwriting expertise on the VU's later works: the even rawer "White Light/White Heat" (1968); the quiet, sometimes brooding, occasionally ecstatic "The Velvet Underground" (1969); the pop-directed "Loaded" (1970); and the wide-ranging "lost album" "VU," which was released in 1985. That was 15 years after the band broke up.
The Velvets would later reunite for a 1993 tour and, after guitarist Sterling Morrison's passing, their 1996 introduction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Reed's songs were generally minimalist, sometimes self-consciously poetic, and usually delivered with a deadpan vocal that was all the more haunting, given the songs' subject matter.
"Heroin will be the death of me," he sang on "Heroin," and then added, "It's my wife / and it's my life," followed by a chuckle so chilling it sounded like giving up. Combined with the squeal of Cale's viola and the undertow of Tucker's percussion, it was like peering down a dark alley.
But Reed was nothing if not a student of pop as well. He'd spent a couple pre-Velvet years slaving away at low-budget Pickwick Records learning the trade, and in his two-, three- and four-chord songs were undergirded with craftsmanship. Four chords may have been a bit much, anyway: "One chord is fine. Two chords is pushing it. Three chords, and you're into jazz," he once said.
"Sunday Morning," from the "Velvet Underground and Nico" album, contrasted a gorgeous melody with warnings about the past. "Jesus," from "The Velvet Underground," had the purity of a prayer.
It wasn't true -- the 1967 album sold more than 50,000 copies in its first two years of release -- but the influence of the album is inescapable.
The Velvets were precursors to punk rock, art rock, avant-garde rock, almost any kind of rock that veered from the status quo. And, not to discount the contributions of John Cale, Sterling Morrison, Maureen Tucker and the soon-to-depart Nico, but the voice of the band was Lou Reed.
The singer, guitarist and songwriter died Sunday, according to his publicist. He had undergone a liver transplant in May.
The Velvet Underground brought a thrilling dose of downtown noise and crudeness to a rock scene that was beginning to take its love-and-peace feelings all too seriously. Reed's songs, such as "Waiting for the Man" (whose narrator traveled to Harlem to meet his dealer), "Venus in Furs" (about a sadomasochistic relationship) and "Heroin" (self-explanatory), were journeys into humanity's dark side.
Reed wrote or co-wrote every song on that first album and expanded his songwriting expertise on the VU's later works: the even rawer "White Light/White Heat" (1968); the quiet, sometimes brooding, occasionally ecstatic "The Velvet Underground" (1969); the pop-directed "Loaded" (1970); and the wide-ranging "lost album" "VU," which was released in 1985. That was 15 years after the band broke up.
The Velvets would later reunite for a 1993 tour and, after guitarist Sterling Morrison's passing, their 1996 introduction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Reed's songs were generally minimalist, sometimes self-consciously poetic, and usually delivered with a deadpan vocal that was all the more haunting, given the songs' subject matter.
"Heroin will be the death of me," he sang on "Heroin," and then added, "It's my wife / and it's my life," followed by a chuckle so chilling it sounded like giving up. Combined with the squeal of Cale's viola and the undertow of Tucker's percussion, it was like peering down a dark alley.
But Reed was nothing if not a student of pop as well. He'd spent a couple pre-Velvet years slaving away at low-budget Pickwick Records learning the trade, and in his two-, three- and four-chord songs were undergirded with craftsmanship. Four chords may have been a bit much, anyway: "One chord is fine. Two chords is pushing it. Three chords, and you're into jazz," he once said.
"Sunday Morning," from the "Velvet Underground and Nico" album, contrasted a gorgeous melody with warnings about the past. "Jesus," from "The Velvet Underground," had the purity of a prayer.
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