Jason Thompson Reviews: May, 2001

What do you think I'd see if I could walk away from me?

The Velvet Underground
The Velvet Underground

(Verve)

Who'd have thought that the same band that once appalled passersby with the strains of "Heroin" could turn right around and create something as hauntingly brilliant as "Jesus"? Well, no one was still giving a shit for the Velvets by the time their third album was released in 1969, so it probably came as no surprise to all those folk who were still clamoring for Hendrix and the Who. But this isn't going to be another piece about the VU getting dissed and finally acquiring a tremendous following some twenty or so odd years later. This is about the music on that beautiful third album.

To say the Velvets were less of an act following John Cale's departure is to entirely miss the point. Certainly, the more avant-garde tendencies were washed away (though not entirely, as "The Murder Mystery" clearly points out), but Lou Reed's gentler side was allowed to come to the fore. It's hard to imagine Reed and Cale agreeing to put forth the moving "Candy Says" in an amicable fashion. Indeed, Sterling Morrisson balked at recording "Pale Blue Eyes", but in the end Reed's heartbreaker was laid down and became just as Important as "I'm Waiting For The Man".

Newcomer Doug Yule was hand picked by Reed. Some would say because Yule was naïve. Lou would probably agree with that, allowing him to sing "Candy Says" and later "New Age" from Loaded, as well as a handful of others. But it just made the Velvets a coherent unit once again. Yule's exposition of Warhol celeb Candy Darling was at once both touching and perverse. "Candy says/'I've come to hate my body/And all that it requires in this world'". Not wholly unlike the opening of "Sunday Morning" from The Velvet Underground And Nico, "Candy Says" just added more mystique to the Lou Reed canon.

And the kinkiness of the debut wasn't left behind, either. Though it had taken quite a dark turn on White Light/White Heat's "Lady Godiva's Operation", it became a bit more grounded in "Some Kinda Love". "Between thought and expression lies a lifetime," sang Lou. And when you think about it, that's just as poignant as "Heroin/It's my wife and it's my life". But here, Reed was laughing and smiling through the words, tossing off la-de-das as he instructed his lover to "Put jelly on your shoulder/Let us do what you fear most/That from which you recoil/But which still makes your eyes moist". Hearing these lines as a teenager gave me the giggles, like when I used to go sneak a look at my brother's stash of Playboy magazines, knowing I might get caught at any moment. "I don't know just what it's all about/But put on your red pajamas and find out". La-de-da indeed.

Frankly, all I hear on this album is pure optimism. Even if Lou truly finds the affair in "Pale Blue Eyes" a sin, the song is still remarkable in its simplistic honesty. And maybe that's what Sterling cringed at - the Velvets wearing a romantic heart on their sleeves. But it's hard to argue with the spiritual "What Goes On". It's not so much the music as it is the drone of the organ that creeps in. It's especially effective in the closet mix of the album, creating a warm vibration that strikes me in such a way that I have yet to feel it in any other song I've ever heard in my life. This was true transcendental music. While the Fab Four had been off in India trying to gain enlightenment through mantras, back in New York Lou Reed was offering the Truth in under five minutes.

Again, there's that song "Jesus" which is nothing more than a simple prayer. Imagine that. "Help me in my weakness/'Cause I've fallen out of grace/Jesus/Jesus". The guitars really do gently weep and drape the song in a darkened sensuality. Does it connect? Yes it does. Do you have to Believe? No. The music does the Believing for you. The song takes care of your concerns as you sit listening. And then the second half of the album hits you with "Beginning To See The Light". Had Reed found real spiritual solace? Hearing his tales on this album would make one think so. But rather than being hippie-ish about it, he dresses it up in leather and throws wrap around shades on top. It makes the message even more absolute.

But Lou wasn't about preaching to get his point across, anyway. In "I'm Set Free" he rips the sky down for us all be declaring "I'm set free to find a new illusion". But didn't you just say five minutes ago that...nevermind, it's still fucking brilliant. The manipulation of the audience right under their noses and they probably don't even notice. Would they notice the ridiculous power of "That's The Story Of My Life"? Billy Name provided the inspiration and informed Lou that Reed was a lesbian. "That's the story of my life/That's the difference between wrong and right". What's the difference? It's never told. That suggested "it" is in the eye of the beholder. Catching on yet?

So the album missteps with the failed experiment "The Murder Mystery". It's still amusing to hear Doug Yule and Maureen Tucker sing their lines like school children. And of course it's an even bigger treat to hear Moe sing "Afterhours" all by herself. Apparently, it took some coaxing but Lou finally won out. "Dark party bars, shiny Cadillac cars and the people on subways in trains/Lookin' grey in the rain as they stand disarrayed/All the people look well in the dark". And that my friends is the entire point behind the whole album. The difference between wrong and right is the night. Good and bad, love and hate, hold the onions or add the mayo, it's all the same. Don't believe me? Then score yourself a copy of this album and find the key to Heaven yourself. Yes, it's that fucking good.

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Static Cracking Slowly

Sly And The Family Stone
There's A Riot Goin' On

(Epic)

This is one of those albums on the nod. Music drenched in defeat and drugs and more drugs. Addiction settling in, taking over and spilling onto the takes. You've read about it all before. Sly's good times slipping away into cynicism and mud. All those famous record guides never fail to point that out. But that doesn't really say anything about the music on this album. So the Family Stone was wasted, what about the grooves?

The grooves are all but there; hanging together by a loose string of spit that is just about to break loose from the microphone. Sly cries out in muted turmoil. The band pushes along like a slug's slow journey across the driveway. Burnt out in the '60s with no more smiles. Although, "(You Caught Me) Smilin'" would try to say otherwise. It isn't convincing. Sly moans it all out, giving up the funk ghost. You can literally hear it die in the notes. A giant Soul Sigh.

"Just Like A Baby". What the hell's that about? Some mumbled words, distorted keyboards and the thinnest beat that they could come up with prop up the song just in time for it to split like brittle matchsticks. But there's something perversely amazing about it. It's not often that you hear a bunch of junked up freaks still manage to pull it off, if only marginally. To hear the opening "Luv N' Haight", one would assume that this was still the good time Family. But after that, where does it go? Straight into the funk gutter.

The smoke-'em-if-you-got-em approach of "Thank You For Talkin' To Me Africa" slides away like a sickly eel dumping itself into a polluted river. It sounds like the record has slowed down to 16 RPMs as Sly gropes for the words. Was he thanking his audience or the chemicals he had so fondly become accustomed to when he managed to get the "Thank you...for lettin' me...be myself...again." away from his lips? He was barely keeping it together in those last seven or eight minutes of the album. Music to have sex to while you're losing your mind in some other car. The transistors played it and collapsed immediately.

But they could still hit the charts. "Family Affair" sounded like it was coming out of your speakers ten miles down the road, and maybe two weeks back in time but people still listened. "Newlywed a year ago/But you're still checkin' each other out/Nobody wants to blow/But nobody wants to be left out". And that whole thing about "Another child grows up to be/Somebody you'd just love to burn". Strange. No more "Fun". No more "Stand". No more "Everyday People". Instead we were left to deal with such oddities as "Poet", "Spaced Cowboy" (probably the most telling thing here), and the surreal "Runnin' Away". Ha-ha-ha-ha.

One could speculate all day on what kind of devils were controlling Sly. He'd rebound after this with Fresh, but it was all over by then. There's A Riot Goin' On is pure debauchery. The words don't have to say anything; the party vibe doesn't have to be audible. Hell, you don't even have to be moved to dance to it. Frankly, you can't. But it is essential. For what real reason? I don't know. Maybe it is the stigma attached to it, but personally I think it has more to do with a raw nerve exposed for everyone to take a glimpse of and apply it to themselves. Because we all have a darkness inside that is equivalent to this music. And sometimes you have to let that side get down as well.

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