35th... Welcome back

The Velvet Underground. Five stars.

The above is a reference not merely to the Velvet Underground's return to making vaguely listenable music, but also to my unpardonably long retreat from the field, which has probably lost me what following I had.

That old line from Oscar Wilde "we are all in the gutter but some of us are looking at the stars" applies itself very well to this record; it marks an astonishing change in direction. After their music-as-reportage debut and '68's twisted slag heap White Light/White Heat (I'm NOT an admirer of that one), Lou Reed takes a new approach so completely it appears as if he had found God. I don't mean literally, a la Bob Dylan, I mean it as a metaphorical gesture, the light which comes on the heels of exorcism. Perhaps the band realised they'd gone too far, or perhaps they simply needed to change their artistic direction before it was too late. This same musical story played out again in the 90s, when Nick Cave followed up his dubious "joke" record Murder Ballads with the thoughtful and serious Boatman's Call.

Anyway, back in 1969 came the carelessly titles The Velvet Underground, a delicate affair, as pale and laid back as the cover art; the morning after the drugged, decadent trip to hell. Shadows remain - this is Lou Reed, after all, but it marks a laudatory change in direction and is also a return to disciplined endeavour.

Each album found the band losing members - first it had been Nico, then John Cale and his satanic feedback. This was doubtless to the good, as it freed the band from the trappings of noise-rock and left Cale and Nico free to collaborate on her solo albums (I've already documented my love for Desertshore). Cale was replaced with Doug Yule, who already knew the band and could play bass. Perhaps in honour of his admission, he was given the opening track to sing....

Candy Says is actually a rather unsettling song. Over gentle drums and guitar, a sparse and lilting backdrop, Yule croons the first line "Candy says/I've come to hate my body/and all that it requires/in this world." The vibe is mournful, and yet it is performed without the remotest grandeur. As an opener it feels like a mistake, yet subsequent listens reveal it to have a haunting dignity.

The pace picks up sharply when Lou takes the mike for What Goes On. A rocker? Not exactly. Noodling guitars backed by Maureen's dependable beat, it has the quality of being unhurried, again lacking theatrical intensity. It simply is. It's almost zen.

Some Kinda Love is a good-natured take on sexual deviancy, making it very different in tone from their last few songs on the subject. Based on the bare bones instrumentation you think it's going to be ominous, but Lou's breathy/muttered yet overemphasized vocal and inability to actually say anything makes it the first humourous track the Velvet's spawned.

Pale Blue Eyes runs in the opposite direction. Emotionally, this song is heartwrending. Again, that terrible and stately dignity. Lou Reed's fragile singing, as even he sounds choked up. The story recounted is of an extramarital affair, how much it drains the emotions and yet how vital it is to the narrator's life. All of this is implied more than stated outright and it proves the utter magic of this form - music will give you emotion in the palm of your hand.

Next is the two line mantra Jesus. Is it a joke? you think. Regardless of intention, it does make for a lovely musical interlude, and the fact the Lou sings it so calmly and gives it three minutes of airplay without once savaging it leads me to believe it IS a serious song. Possibly even sincere. It has the simple beauty inherent of the album. Only think of how, in a few years time, prog rock would arise, with King Crimson and ELP. Then think of this record.

Beginning to See the Light mixes rock and roll with humour and makes an effective return to earth from the mantra. The verses are absurd and Lou cracks up like he's having a private joke on his listeners, yet the bridge features that softness which ties it back into the album as a whole. The coda is "how does it feel to be loved?" which, depending on my mood can be an uplifting and generous thought or a pitiful cry. Lastly: keep an ear out for Lou's falsetto - it'll blow your mind.

If I were to choose the three greatest songs the Velvet Underground ever did, they would probably be:
1. I'm Set Free
2. Venus in Furs
3. Pale Blue Eyes
I'm Set Free is their best song, a work of the sublime. It alone on the record operates on crescendos, and is breathtaking in the power of its emotions. Sorrow and joy co mingle, exactly as would be the case with someone who has just been delivered from the darkness. Musically, everything is just right - the backups chanting "maybe," the guitar solo, the crescendos...

That's the Story of My Life is a jaunty way to draw breath and again return to earth. Only two minutes long, it feels like an author's note. Flimsy as it is, it works as a summing up and as an ushering in of the final stretch. It forms a divider... as what has come before bears no relation to what follows...

Without Cale, the avant-garde nature of the band pretty much subsided, yet there's still time for a nine minute out-there opus. The Murder Mystery. As the music revves up you think it has a cool, jazzy feel. Then the robotic vocals kick in, one for each ear, intercut with Yule and Maureen singing. The lyrics are fascinating and sometimes gory, though quite impossible to make sense of. You may laugh at first, but it will become tedious at about five minutes. Quiz: should it have been
A. More coherent
B. Shorter
C. More musically varied
D. All of the above
I'll go for C myself.

With that comes the finale, a surreal inclusion called After Hours. Maureen sings an acoustic demo, predating by years the indie eccentrics like Joanna Newsom. It is stilted, deeply odd, yet warm. In keeping with the tradition of unlovely voices, it may be the strangest song the band ever recorded. Interestingly, the album starts and ends without Lou Reed's singing to guide it.

The band's obscurity was always inevitable and always unwarranted. Next year, as a final act, they attempted to create a friendly album, one that would sell. It didn't, of course, and Lou's next move was out of the show altogether - on to a solo career and pastures greener. He left behind a resume I would argue as 3/4 percent genius, which is more than most bands manage. I would recommend this CD highly; the great glory of such quiet discs is that they grow and give more over time. I had to hear this one many times over before its many shades sunk in.