Day 23: The Velvet Underground & Nico, “The Velvet Underground & Nico”

When: Released March 12, 1967

Why? Other than having seen its iconic sleeve, this album is completely unfamiliar to me. Regarding its impact, music producer Brian Eno told Billboard magazine in 1997: “I was talking to [Velvet Underground member] Lou Reed the other day, and he said that the first Velvet Underground record sold only 30,000 copies in its first five years. Yet, that was an enormously important record for so many people. I think everyone who bought one of those 30,000 copies started a band!” I’m eager to see if I can hear why that might be the case.

What? Eleven songs, 49 minutes. This is the first album by the Andy Warhol-managed Velvet Underground, with three songs featuring vocals by German singer and actress Nico (born Christa Päffgen).

First Impressions: Given what little I knew about the Velvet Underground and Warhol’s artistic aesthetic, I expected this to be a challenging listen, weird and off-putting. So I was pleasantly surprised when “Sunday Morning” began. I’m not sure why, but I couldn’t help writing down that this song felt like a warm embrace. It was an utterly unexpected opener which, along with the next two tracks, “I’m Waiting for the Man” and “Femme Fatale,” gives a pretty good summation of this album: well-crafted, slice-of-life pop alongside often grittier, lo-fi songs focusing on drugs, sex/relationships, and New York City’s late-Sixties downtown club scene.

Warhol funded the recording of this album but put surprisingly little money into it. It shows. The recording/production quality varies markedly throughout the album. Most songs were recorded in what has been described as a run-down studio in Manhattan. Three were rerecorded later—“I’m Waiting for the Man,” “Venus in Furs,” and “Heroin”—apparently under better conditions (although there are still guitar-tuning issues on “I’m Waiting…”). “Sunday Morning” was recorded even later, a last-minute addition. Those four songs sound better than anything else on the album.

On “Venus in Furs,” a song about S&M that was one of the more controversial tracks when the album was released, Indian-like drones, out-of-tune electric guitars, and John Cale’s strings underscore songwriter Lou Reed’s veiled lyrics.

“Heroin” is simply Reed’s description of taking the drug and its effects on him: “I don’t know just where I’m going / But I’m gonna try for the kingdom if I can / ’Cause it makes me feel like I’m a man / When I put a spike into my vein.” (The narrator describes the resulting high as “rushing on my run,” which echoes an earlier song, “Run, Run, Run,” suggesting that it too is about a desire for the drug. “I’m Waiting…” is about meeting a drug dealer.)

Nico’s voice caught me off-guard. Expecting a higher-pitched female voice, I got almost all the way through the album before I realized that she had been the singer of “Femme Fatale,” “All Tomorrow’s Parties,” and the haunting “I’ll Be Your Mirror.” (She also provides backing vocals on “Sunday Morning.”) I don’t dislike Lou Reed’s voice in any way, but it’s interesting to me that Nico sings on my three favorite tracks on the album.

Along with the traditional songcraft on display, there are experimental moments. Cale’s strings provide tension and accents as well as drones that sometimes mimic Indian instruments, sometimes shriek and wail like nothing else. They are just as likely to provide the instrumental breaks between song sections as the electric guitars—played by Reed and Sterling Morrison—which can go from melodic and rhythmic to “I’m going to randomly hit every possible string and fret until I find the note I’m looking for” time-wasting nonsense. Closer “European Son” offers a short lyrical passage before descending into perhaps six full minutes of sonic chaos.

So? I didn’t really vibe with the unintentionally poor quality of some of the recording here. Morrison’s bass playing and Maureen Tucker’s drumming provide a rhythmic foundation but not much more. And I believe Reed’s observational lyrics are so specific to his experiences and his environment at the time that they don’t lend themselves well to broader interpretations, making them difficult to relate to beyond mere travelogue. So I don’t see myself revisiting this album in its entirety. I will, however, be adding all of Nico’s songs to my playlists, along with “Sunday Morning.”

Day 21: Roxy Music, “Roxy Music”

When: Released June 16, 1972

Why? I have been seeing Roxy Music album covers in the racks for as long as I’ve been buying albums, but I’ve never heard a single song.

What? Ten songs, 46 minutes, that have been described as art rock, glam rock, prog rock, cosmic rock, “eclectic” and “very peculiar.” This is Roxy Music’s debut album. (Although the song “Virginia Plain” did not appear on the original LP, it has been included on a number of rereleases and was included during this listen.)

First Impressions: This isn’t the kind of album you casually listen to in the background. Synthesized soundscapes, background saxophones and oboes that sound like animals unleashed, drumming of a proficiency rarely heard in pop/rock music these days, and lead singer Bryan Ferry’s over-the-top delivery (and vibrato) combine to deliver songs that flow like prose poems and reward attention—even if you have no idea what they mean.

After one listen, I understand why all of the descriptors above have been used to describe Roxy Music. In fact, there are individual songs here where every single one of them would apply (“The Bob”). Despite the eclecticism and peculiarities—or maybe because of them—I really enjoyed the journey this album presented.

That surprised me a bit because this album shares similarities with King Crimson’s “In the Court of the Crimson King,” which I did not enjoy—particularly, a fondness for extended instrumentals and strange soundscapes. (There is another connection: This album was produced by former King Crimson lyricist Peter Sinfield.) The difference for me was that these experiences were much more focused here, more musical to my ears, and delivered with humor, which—far as I could tell—was completely absent from “Court.” Consider opener “Re-Make/Re-Model.” Not only does Ferry’s exaggerated vibrato suggest that he’s (over)playing a role, but the main chorus hook is a license-plate number. As a song, it seems to have its tongue firmly planted in one cheek. That doesn’t stop with the lyrics. During the extended instrumental outro, we get musical breaks punctuated with quick riffs from familiar songs—for example, a line from The Beatles’ “Day Tripper”—as if Roxy is nodding to some of their heroes. Or maybe just having a laugh.

Despite the knowing humor that glam represents (and without the visual of the band this doesn’t always feel like a glam-rock record to me), the lyrics are grounded and meaningful with only an occasional bit of wordplay or frivolity. (Closer “Bitters End” is a lighthearted pun- and allusion-filled exception.) The musicianship is stellar, with particularly standout performances by Andy Mackay on sax and oboe, Paul Thompson on drums, Brian Eno on synthesizers, and Ferry himself on piano. While not showy, Graham Simpson’s bass work is foundational and tasteful.

Equally important is the stereo mix. There are moments when synthesized chaos is occurring in the right channel while a simple melody is offering counterpoint in the left, with both underscoring what’s happening lyrically.

I don’t think there was a weak track here. Among those I most enjoyed, though, “Sea Breezes” may be my favorite. It’s a beautiful, well-crafted song raised to another level through its inventive production and arrangement.

So? I found something to like in every track here. I will definitely continue to listen to this.

Day 16: Talking Heads, “Remain in Light”

When: Released October 8, 1980

Why? I’ve heard a couple of Talking Heads radio singles (I love “Burning Down the House”) but never an album. Rolling Stone ranks this at #39 in their list of the top 500 albums (from all popular genres) of all time. The only track I had heard before was “Once in a Lifetime.”

What? Eight songs, 40 minutes. Music journalist Daryl Easlea calls this “Talking Heads’ greatest statement.”

First Impressions: This feels like an album that will only reveal itself with multiple listens.

To me, this is art-pop, with oblique, stream-of-consciousness lyrics frequently delivered in spoken-sung style by David Byrne. I was two songs in before I realized that each one was built on a single chord, with no chord changes. That one-chord-per-song approach continued for the entire album. To add interest and variety, sometimes other chords are hinted at by Tina Weymouth’s bass notes or Byrne’s top-line melodies. In addition each chord is expanded upon by a multilayered instrumental track recorded to sound like a continuous loop, although each one is actually a real band performance. (Seamless computer-based looping was not an option in 1980.)

Apparently, this album was heavily inspired by African rhythms and melodies—at least that was the case for Byrne’s songwriting—and that comes through from the very first notes. What was less clear for me was the meaning or intent behind most of the tracks. (Producer Brian Eno has been quoted as saying he doesn’t believe lyrics are necessarily the heart of a song.)

Meaning aside, I enjoyed most of the tracks here. The less-successful ones for me were the opener, “Born Under Punches,” and the closer, “The Overload.” I especially enjoyed “The Great Curve,” “Once in a Lifetime,” “Houses in Motion,” and “Seen and Not Seen.”

One surprise for me was discovering how the musical arrangements here reminded me of tracks from Godley & Creme’s “Ismism” (1981). It wouldn’t surprise me if Kevin Godley and Lol Creme had heard and been inspired by “Remain in Light” prior to writing their own album (originally released as “Snack Attack” in the U.S.).

So? Given the somewhat experimental approach of this album—all songs based on a single chord, musical performances meant to sound like repeating loops—I’m not sure it’s a fair representation of what a typical Talking Heads album might sound like. But I didn’t dislike any of the songs, and I enjoyed six of the eight. The musicianship required to sound like a computerized loop when actually playing live is remarkable; Byrne’s voice is appealing and interesting to me, providing just the right tone of quirky detachment; and the songwriting offers ample food for thought.