It actually took me a while to come around to this album. At first, the only track I liked was “Venus in Furs,” which I would listen to pretty rarely after “Sexual Behavior in the Human Male” or something. Then, I don’t know, something happened and I got really into “The Black Angel’s Death Song.” Like, I would listen to that track on repeat for an hour or so on end. I thought (think) it has some of the most wonderful lyricism of any song. And then like dominoes, I started getting into every other track. The sublime perfection of “Sunday Morning.” The frantic, fevered guitar solos of “Run Run Run.” The miserable loveliness of “All Tomorrow’s Parties” and “I’ll Be Your Mirror” - the perfect soundtrack for walking out alone on a winter day. The urgency and straightforwardness of “Heroin.” The hellish breakdown of “European Son…” I mean, every track here is just perfect. And the fact that they’re all here together on the same album, by the same group of musicians, it’s really breathtaking, you know.
I think The Velvet Underground & Nico has everything good about music on it. I don’t know how to say it any better than that. It has simplicity and familiarity, but also brashness and daring and wild experimentation against the grain. For me, this album sits at the very nucleus of everything that I like. I can draw a straight line from any of the tracks here to any other part of my life. And their other albums - I mean, White Light White Heat is probably just as good. Maybe things fell off a little bit with The Velvet Underground and Loaded, but falling off a little bit from utter perfection still puts you head and shoulders above all but the very best. I’ve never listened to Squeeze, actually, even though I’m sympathetic to Doug Yule. It just seems like a waste of time, somehow. But even that one is still probably pretty good if you compare it to everything else. The bootlegs are where it’s really at, though - demo versions, insane live shows with “Sweet Sister Ray” and “Booker T.” I also really like Chelsea Girl, which is sort of like the secret Velvet Underground album, even if Marble Index is better. There’s great covers, too, like 3/3’s masterful version of “Femme Fatale,” or some of the stuff on the Rabid Chords compilation. But, really, it all comes back to this. Sunday morning, waiting for the man. You know the rest.
I’m actually allergic to bananas, you know. Something about one of the proteins in them. It would probably be fatal if I had more than a bite or two, but I still like bananas. Sometimes I think about grazing my teeth against one just to get the tiniest string of flesh, just for the taste of it, right, but then I think better. I really wish I could eat them, but I can’t. Nothing I can do about it. You know, that’s life.