Velvet Underground: Loaded
A half century ago yesterday, The Velvet Underground released their final album "Loaded." An ironic title, perhaps, in that this was their final bid for commercial respectability and as such wanted to pack an album that was "Loaded" with hits that would never in a million years be played on the radio.
And yet.
"Sweet Jane," "Rock and Roll," " New Age," and "Oh, Sweet Nuthin," eventually became ingrained in the rock lexicon, and indie films everywhere. None of those songs were technically hits. But "Sweet Jane's" opening riff did as much for music as The Kinks album The Kinks are The Village Green Preservation Society or Pet Sounds, by The Beach Boys. But while The Kinks and The Beach Boys had hits before their seminal albums, Lou Reed and company never did. But this trio of albums did more to influence the next fifty years than Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. That album may have been a statement, but it's a dated statement. Whereas the story songs of Ray Davies, the naked vulnerability of Brian Wilson and Lou Reed's dark and light that permeated his entire body of work not only lasts but still inspires to this day
The quote that "Only a few thousand people bought The Velvet Underground and Nico but every one of them started their own band," is attributed to Brian Eno. And that might well be true. But the same could be said of Loaded. Sure, some of the rough edges were smoothed out. But how many times can you listen to "European Son," versus "Head Held High?"
Also, just look at the album cover. A few decades later they turned it into a lenticular, where when you moved the album back and forth the subway steam turned from pink to green.
Lou's voice on this album was ragged from touring (and probably all the vices that came along with it) and yet he never sounded more joyous. "Train Round The Bend," and "Rock and Roll," showed a side of Lou Reed that was all too rare. Full of swagger and optimism. "I Found a Reason," predated Lou's warmest album Coney Island Baby by six years, but it laid the groundwork for beautiful doo-wop, even if it was laced with decadence.
And while some accounts suggested Lou phoned it in to the point that he "allowed" Doug Yule to sing four of the songs, I just don't believe he was the type to phone anything in. He might have been sloppy and believed until his death in the "first thought, best thought" mantra. But there was no way he would have worked with anyone if he didn't think they were on the same page. He didn't have the patience for people who couldn't keep up. His damaged psyche might have tortured them for being there, but there was still a street code of respect.
Watch some interviews with Lou during the 80's and 90's and 2000's when he is asked about great music and you can hear the respect.
Commercially speaking, the Velvets went out with a whimper on Loaded, and the Louless follow up dubbed "Squeeze," panted listlessly for one more time. And even fewer people cared about it. But even the ghost of Lou managed to inspire, by giving England's second greatest writing duo after Lennon-McCartney their name.
Not to mention a fantastic band called Luna covering the one song off the album worth mentioning.
Which is not to say Squeeze was Doug Yule's fault by any stretch of the imagination. listen to the post-breakup album "Live at Max's Kansas City" to get a sense of just how good his singing and playing chops were.
Incidentally, Live at Max's was the first album I heard by the Velvets. I can still recall lying on my bedroom with headphones on listening to the sometimes sincere, sometimes sarcastic banter. "This is a song about, oh, when you've done something so sad...and you wake up the next day and you remember it. Not to sound grim or anything," is an example of the former. Whereas his introduction to "Femme Fatale," and not-too-subtle digs at Nico "I guess that makes it a European," song are fantastically catty.
If anything, "Live at Max's Kansas City," is a natural extension to The Beach Boys and their album before Pet Sounds, which was Party. But where Party was painfully constructed in the studio to create a fabrication of a live audience, Max's Kansas City, was cinéma vérité, with Warhol superstars in attendance, laughing and agreeing with the band leader while asking for barbiturates and washing them down with double Pernod. It's as much a historical document as it is a great concert. I wonder what the food was like there.