Tentative Reviews: Lou Reed & John Cale: _Songs For Drella_ (1990)
Christopher J Currie
Tentative Review No. 166: Lou Reed & John Cale: _Songs For Drella_ (1990)
Track Rating
1. Small Town ****
2. Open House ***
3. Style It Takes *** 1/2
4. Work *** 1/2
5. Trouble With Classicists ****
6. Starlight *** 1/2
7. Faces And Names ** 1/2
8. Images *** 1/2
9. Slip Away (A Warning) ***
10. It Wasn't Me *** 1/2
11. I Believe ***
12. Nobody But You ** 1/2
13. A Dream ****
14. Forever Changed ****
15. Hello It's Me ***
Personnel:
John Cale: keyboards, viola, lead vocals on "Style It Takes", "Trouble
With Classicists", "Faces And Names", "A Dream" and "Forever
Changed"; backing vocals on "Open House" and "I Believe"
Lou Reed: guitar; lead vocals on "Small Town", Open House", "Work",
"Starlight", "Images", "Slip Away", "It Wasn't Me", "I Believe",
"Nobody But You" and "Hello It's Me"; backing vocals on "Style It
Takes"
Produced by John Cale & Lou Reed.
Credits:
All tracks by John Cale & Lou Reed.
Comments:
"Art? That's a man's name."
Andy Warhol
In the early 1990s, John Ralston Saul lamented that modern culture
had become bureaucratized even to the extent of eliminating the character
of the "royal fool", a figure who could freely mock the pretensions of the
aristocracy. Perhaps Saul's ideological blinkers prevented him from
finding this very figure within the American modern art milleu.
In the final judgement, Andy Warhol probably filled this role as well
as anyone else. A man lacking in profound insight and critical discretion,
Warhol nevertheless managed to capture the absurdities of an image-based
culture in their full dress and glory. He was in every way the antithesis
of a glamorous celebrity, and yet he managed to travel freely between the
underground and the glitzy world of celebrity parties. His works may not
be remembered in fifty years; the public role he created for himself
probably will.
Along the way, of course, Warhol dabbled in the music industry. He
created cover art for a variety of musicians, and gained a fleeting bit of
MTV notoriety by directing The Cars's "Hello Again" video. He's probably
best remembered, though, for introducing the Velvet Underground to the
world. When the avant-garde foursome teamed up with Warhol, they suddenly
received attention from New York's most connected critics (albeit that
this never translated into album sales). Warhol even "produced" their
first album, after a fashion, and maintained ties to Lou Reed and John
Cale for the rest of his life.
It's understandable, then, that Reed and Cale would have been willing
to collaborate on a tribute to Warhol. It's also understandable that
would collaboration would be a *genuinely* private affair between the two,
without any musical accompaniment from outside figures. (Drums? Bass? You
won't find only on this record.)
_Songs For Drella_ marked the first time that the two musicians had
worked together since Cale's departure from the VU in 1968. The album is
designed as a song cycle, chronicling Warhol's rise to fame, and his
personal decline after being shot by Valerie Solanis. Reed and Cale dig
below the surface to present Warhol as being driven by a powerful work
ethic, determined to create art and outrage through an unbreakable sense
of personal integrity. They don't present him as possessed unheralded
reservoirs of thought, of course, but they nevertheless manage to tap into
the motivation and despair behind the image. Perversely, Reed claims that
the song cycle is entirely fictitious.
The album begins with "Small Town", a more-or-less perfect
counterpoint to John Mellencamp's rootsy song of the same name. As Cale
pounds out the lead keyboard riff, Reed's laconic vocals focus on Warhol's
early frustrations in the repressive culture of working-class Pittsburgh
[which isn't really a small town, but never mind ...]. It doesn't get
boring (mind you, it's only two minutes), and Reed's closing line ("There's
only one good thing about a small town: you hate it, and you know you'll
have to leave") should be required listening for any three-chord rock
group to emerge from the American hinterland. A great intro.
Things then progress to "Open House", chronicling Warhol's early days
in New York City. Cale is again musically dominant, as Reed sings about
Warhol's experience from a first-person perspective (playing characters in
song is hardly new for him, of course, and it works in this context). The
song's title refers to Warhol's housekeeping practices in NYC, in
accordance with "a Czechoslovakian custom" passed on to him. The music is
very sparse here -- there's not much excitement in the track, but there's
narrative drama all the same.
"Style It Takes" is a virtual Warholian anthem to the cult of the
image, sung by Cale with exquisite viola accompaniment. Reed gets in a
few good guitar licks along the way.
Up until this point on the album, the background music was been
fairly polite, "conversional" if you will. This changes on "Work",
wherein Reed more-or-less challenges Max Weber's legacy by singing of
Warhol's Catholic work ethic -- the music is dominated by Reed's heavy
guitar presence. It's unlikely that this sudden musical switch was
accidental; the track stands as a counter-anthem to "Style It Takes", and
focuses on the more serious side of Warhol's artistic legacy.
"Trouble With Classicists" is a really interesting track, as John
Cale sings about the limitations of various professional artistic
movements ("The trouble with a classicist, he looks at the sky/He doesn't
know why, he just paints a sky" -- "The trouble with an impressionist, he
looks at a log/And he doesn't know who he is, standing, staring at this
log"). These lyrics are fund in a breezy manner, over some gentle guitar
work from Reed; they do nothing to prepare the listener for the chorus
(wherein Cale sings an amazing number of syllables in breathtaking time)
nor the instrumental bridge (wherein Reed actually plays a *transcendently*
good guitar solo, perhaps for the first time in 20 years). An album
highlight, easily.
"Starlight" is a depiction of Warhol's early shock film work, and is
extremely dark (and troubled) in both its musical and lyrical bases. Reed
sings of real human suffering captured on film, leaving Warhol's role in
the exchange rather ambiguous (and he also sings with more passion than ...
well, than most people probably thought he *had*.)
"Faces And Names" is probably the least interesting track on the
album, as Cale sings another paean to Warhol's image-culture over a tepid
accompaniment. There are a few good lines here, but the arrangement seems
largely written off.
"Images", appropriately enough, recaptures some of the dangerous
atmosphere featured on "Starlight". The lead-off riff to this track is
truly disturbing, with Cale playing a minimalist lead (akin to John
Adams's "Shaker Loops") over Reed's heavy rhythm-guitar riffing. The
lyrics, too, are profoundly disturbing -- Warhol's moral apathy towards
the content of his images comes to the foreground in his work on Maoist
communism, for instance. Reed's lyrics suggest that Warhol denied being a
genius. The setting for this revelation probably couldn't have been more
appropriate.
"Slip Away (A Warning)" features Reed singing of troubles at Warhol's
factory, as well as the fragile nature of Warhol's sanity. Reed's voice
sounds convincingly fragile at times. This track is then leads to its
counterpart, "It Wasn't Me", a passioned denial of responsibility for the
(mostly drug-related) tragedies of the Factory life. The latter track
features another memorable Reed guitar lead.
"I Believe" is probably the most controversial track on the album.
As John Cale provides a perversely bouncy lead riff, Reed sings the
details of Valerie Solanis's near-fatal attack on Warhol in the late
1960s ... and then claims that he "would have pulled the switch on her
[him]self" as a means of redemption. Viewed from purely musical grounds,
the track is fairly enjoyable; listeners might not be entirely comfortable
with Reed's attacks on someone who was quite obviously suffering from a
mental imbalance, though (Reed himself argues that "being sick is no
excuse" in mid-track). "Something's wrong if she's alive today", Reed
sings towards the end. Solanis had died in obscurity and poverty in 1988.
Just as "Faces And Names" stands as the weakest of the album's Cale
tracks, "Nobody But You" comes off as a half-hearted Reed number. The
lyrics concern Warhol's life after the shooting incident, which may
explain why the music appears as rather tepid and restrained compared to
the previous number -- the disillusion in Reed's voice is obviously a
reflection of Warhol's disappointments through the 1970s and 80s. And so
it makes sense that the track wouldn't be as interesting as those
surrounding it ... which isn't to say that this conscious irony makes the
track itself into anything truly stellar. (Curiously, Cale's viola line
seems to foreshadow "In The Backroom", released on the _Wrong Way Up_
album with Brian Eno a few months later).
The next two tracks feature John Cale at his strongest on the album,
and address Warhol's death in a very direct manner. "A Dream" features a
narration from Cale over a gothic musical background -- the source
material appears to be from Warhol's diaries. The selection chosen
presents Warhol in a way that's both accurate and sympathetic -- Warhol
rambles on about various non-essentials towards the opening passages,
before eventually dealing with his own mortality at the end ("Wouldn't it
be funny if I died in this dream, before I could make up another.") The
passage also mentioned both Cale and Reed directly -- Warhol's resentment
towards the latter appearing like that of a neglected father. A very
haunting piece.
"Forever Changed" is another enigma. As based on the lyrics, the
track deals with Warhol's tour of Southeast Asia, escaping from the narrow
bounds of his public image -- it doesn't take a profound leap in logic,
however, to realize that a more permanent escape is being alluded to in
this setting. As Warhol's train carries him into unknown territory, he
finds solace in his labours and artistic perspective -- an oddly confidant
figure bracing for a new journey. The music is more developed here than
on most other tracks on the album.
"Forever Changed" might have been a appropriate ending to the album,
but Reed's "Hello It's Me" returns the perspective to the earthly present
for its final conclusion. Reed provides a simple requiem for Warhol
here, with a reference to their strained relationship in Andy's final
years. Cale's accompaniment is pleasantly understated, allowing the album
to end in a tasteful manner.
*
Both Lou Reed and John Cale were in a state of artistic upswing by
1990, and this album furthered that process for both of them. Reed had
released the topical _New York_ album one year earlier, and in the process
regained some of the critical acclaim that he had squandered in the
mid-'80s. Cale, for his part, had just completed _Words For The Dying_,
and would issue _Wrong Way Up_ before the calendar year was over.
Of these four releases, _Songs For Drella_ is probably the best of
the lot -- capturing Cale at his best, and Reed at his most creatively
ambitious.
Even if you hate Andy Warhol (or Lou Reed, for that matter), you
might find something to appreciate here.
The Christopher Currie
VISIT THE TENTATIVE REVIEWS HOMEPAGE NOW!!!
http://www.lodz.pdi.net/~eristic/yes
Christopher J Currie
> In article <9v64mt$fga$1...@knot.queensu.ca> 8c...@qlink.queensu.ca wrote...
>> Even if you hate Andy Warhol (or Lou Reed, for that matter), you
>> might find something to appreciate here.
> Reed and Cale performed and filmed a 'live' studio rendition of this
> album which received extensive screening that coincided with the album's
> release. Having heard this first, I was struck with how much weaker the
> actual album was.
This is the first I've heard of this. Was it ever released commercially?
And were there any notable changes in the song arrangements, between the
live rendition and the album?
> The live version is also replete with all manner of fluffed notes,
> finger strays on the piano and fret buzzes, none of which detract from
> the music and nearly all of which make it a more 'human' tribute to the
> man to whom both probably owe their fame. The pity of it all is that
> their new-found good relationship propelled them into reforming the
> Velvets, going on a tour that produced a very dodgy live album (and
> maybe the biggest pay packt Cale has ever seen) and caused them both to
> fall out, this time perhaps forever.
> It would have been wiser for them to continue on the path set by
> 'Drella', I say.
I doubt that this would have been possible. _Songs For Drella_ was
clearly a one-off project, and I'd have a hard time imagining either Reed
or Cale wanting to do anything similar once the "Warhol tribute"
aspect of it all was taken away. (Though Cale probably could've made a
decent guest appearance on _Magic And Loss_).
It's probably for the best that _Songs For Drella_ was a standalone
release, IMO.
Christopher
Christopher J Currie
Track Rating
Personnel:
Credits:
Comments:
had become rigidly bureaucratized, even to the extent of eliminating the
character of the "royal fool" -- a figure who could freely mock the
pretensions of the surrounding aristocracy. Perhaps Saul's ideological
blinkers prevented him from finding this very figure within the American
modern art scene.
In the final judgement, Andy Warhol probably filled this role as well
as anyone else. A man lacking in profound insight and critical discretion,
Warhol nevertheless managed to capture the absurdities of an image-based
culture in their full dress and glory. He was in every way the antithesis
of a glamorous celebrity, and yet he managed to travel freely between the
underground and the glitzy world of celebrity parties. His works may not
be remembered in fifty years; the public role he created for himself
probably will.
Along the way, of course, Warhol dabbled in the music industry. He
created cover art for a variety of musicians, and gained a fleeting bit of
MTV notoriety by directing The Cars's "Hello Again" video. He's probably
best remembered, though, for introducing the Velvet Underground to the
world. When the avant-garde foursome teamed up with Warhol, they suddenly
received considerable attention from New York's most connected critics
(albeit that this never translated into album sales). Warhol even
"produced" their first album, after a fashion, and maintained ties to
Lou Reed and John Cale until his death in 1987.
It's understandable, then, that Reed and Cale would have been willing
to collaborate on a tribute to Warhol. It's also understandable that
their collaboration would be a *genuinely* private affair between the two,
without any musical accompaniment from outside figures. (Drums? Bass? You
won't find only on this record.)
_Songs For Drella_ marked the first time that the two musicians had
worked together since Cale's departure from the VU in 1968. The album is
designed as a song cycle, chronicling Warhol's rise to fame, and his
personal decline after being shot by Valerie Solanis. Reed and Cale dig
below the surface to present Warhol as being driven by a powerful work
ethic, determined to create art and outrage through an unbreakable sense
of personal integrity. They don't present him as possessing unheralded
reservoirs of thought, of course, but they nevertheless manage to tap into
the motivation and despair behind his public image. (Perversely, Reed
claims that the song cycle is entirely fictitious.)
The album begins with "Small Town", a more-or-less perfect
counterpoint to John Mellencamp's rootsy song of the same name. As Cale
pounds out the lead keyboard riff, Reed's laconic vocals focus on Warhol's
early frustrations in the repressive culture of working-class Pittsburgh
[which isn't really a small town, but never mind ...]. It doesn't get
boring (mind you, it's only two minutes), and Reed's closing line ("There's
only one good thing about a small town: you hate it, and you know you'll
have to leave") should be required listening for any three-chord rock
group to emerge from the American hinterland. A great intro.
Things then progress to "Open House", chronicling Warhol's early days
in New York City. Cale is again musically dominant, as Reed sings about
Warhol's experience from a first-person perspective (playing characters in
song is hardly new for him, of course, and it works in this context). The
song's title refers to Warhol's housekeeping practices in NYC, in
accordance with "a Czechoslovakian custom" passed on to him. The music is
very sparse here -- there's not much excitement in the track, but there's
narrative drama all the same.
"Style It Takes" is a virtual Warholian anthem to the cult of the
image, sung by Cale with exquisite viola accompaniment. Reed gets in a
few good guitar licks along the way.
Up until this point on the album, the background music has been
fairly polite -- "conversional", if you will. This changes on "Work",
wherein Reed more-or-less challenges Max Weber's legacy by singing of
Warhol's Catholic work ethic -- the music is dominated by Reed's heavy
guitar presence. It's unlikely that this sudden musical switch was
accidental; the track stands as a counter-anthem to "Style It Takes", and
addresses the more serious side of Warhol's artistic legacy.
"Trouble With Classicists" is a really interesting track, as John
Cale sings about the limitations of various professional artistic
movements ("The trouble with a classicist, he looks at the sky/He doesn't
know why, he just paints a sky" -- "The trouble with an impressionist, he
looks at a log/And he doesn't know who he is, standing, staring at this
log"). These lyrics are sung in a breezy manner, over some gentle guitar
work from Reed; they do nothing to prepare the listener for the chorus
(wherein Cale sings an amazing number of syllables in breathtaking time)
nor the instrumental bridge (wherein Reed actually plays a *transcendently*
good guitar solo, perhaps for the first time in 20 years). An album
highlight, easily.
"Starlight" is a depiction of Warhol's early shock film work, and is
extremely dark (and troubled) in both its musical and lyrical bases. Reed
sings of real human suffering captured on film, leaving Warhol's role in
the exchange rather ambiguous (and he also sings with more passion than ...
well, than most people probably thought he *had*.)
"Faces And Names" is probably the least interesting track on the
album, as Cale sings another paean to Warhol's image-culture over a tepid
accompaniment. There are a few good lines here, but the arrangement seems
largely written off.
"Images", appropriately enough, recaptures some of the dangerous
atmosphere featured on "Starlight". The lead-off riff to this track is
truly disturbing, with Cale playing a minimalist lead (akin to John
Adams's "Shaker Loops") over Reed's heavy rhythm-guitar riffing. The
lyrics, too, are profoundly disturbing -- Warhol's moral apathy towards
the content of his images comes to the foreground in his work on Maoist
communism, for instance. Reed's lyrics suggest that Warhol denied being a
genius. The setting for this revelation probably couldn't have been more
appropriate.
"Slip Away (A Warning)" features Reed singing of the troubles at
Warhol's factory, as well as of the fragile nature of Warhol's sanity.
His voice sounds convincing frail, at times. Said track then leads to
its counterpart, "It Wasn't Me", a passioned denial of responsibility
for the (mostly drug-related) tragedies of the Factory life. The latter
track features another memorable Reed guitar lead.
"I Believe" is probably the most controversial track on the album.
As John Cale provides a perversely bouncy lead riff, Reed sings the
details of Valerie Solanis's near-fatal attack on Warhol in the late
1960s ... and then claims that he "would have pulled the switch on her
[him]self" as a means of retribution. Viewed from purely musical grounds,
the track is fairly enjoyable; listeners might not be entirely comfortable
with Reed's attacks on someone who was quite obviously suffering from a
mental imbalance, though (Reed himself argues that "being sick is no
excuse" in mid-track). "Something's wrong if she's alive today", Reed
sings towards the end. Solanis had died in obscurity and poverty in 1988.
Just as "Faces And Names" stands as the weakest of the album's Cale
tracks, "Nobody But You" comes off as a half-hearted Reed number. The
lyrics concern Warhol's life after the shooting incident, which may
explain why the music appears as rather tepid and restrained compared to
the previous number -- the disillusion in Reed's voice is obviously a
reflection of Warhol's disappointments through the 1970s and 80s. And so
it makes sense that the track wouldn't be as interesting as those
surrounding it ... which isn't to say that this conscious irony makes the
track itself into anything truly stellar. (Curiously, Cale's viola line
seems to foreshadow "In The Backroom", released on the _Wrong Way Up_
album with Brian Eno a few months later).
The next two tracks feature John Cale at his strongest on the album,
and address Warhol's death in a very direct manner. "A Dream" features a
narration from Cale over a gothic musical background -- the source
material appears to be from Warhol's diaries. The selection chosen
presents Warhol in a way that's both accurate and sympathetic -- Warhol
rambles on about various non-essentials towards the opening passages,
before eventually dealing with his own mortality at the end ("Wouldn't it
be funny if I died in this dream, before I could make up another.") The
passage also mentions both Cale and Reed directly, with Warhol's resentment
towards the latter appearing like that of a neglected father. A very
haunting piece.
"Forever Changed" is another enigma. As based on the lyrics, the
track deals with Warhol's tour of Southeast Asia, escaping from the narrow
bounds of his public image -- it doesn't take a profound leap in logic,
however, to realize that a more permanent escape is being alluded to in
this setting. As Warhol's train carries him into unknown territory, he
finds solace in his labours and artistic perspective -- an oddly confidant
figure bracing for a new journey. The music is more developed here than
on most other tracks on the album.
"Forever Changed" might have been an appropriate ending to the album,
but Reed's "Hello It's Me" returns the perspective to the earthly present
for its final conclusion. Reed provides a simple requiem for Warhol
here, with a reference to their strained relationship in Andy's final
years. Cale's accompaniment is pleasantly understated, allowing the album
to end in a tasteful manner.
*
Both Lou Reed and John Cale were in a state of artistic upswing by
1990, and this album furthered that process for both of them. Reed had
released the topical _New York_ album one year earlier, and in so doing
The Lord Thy God
> _Songs For Drella_ marked the first time that the two musicians had
> worked together since Cale's departure from the VU in 1968.
*ahem* January 1972, Paris.
--
"Everything sounds better with ring-modulation! Or at least worse."
- Tony Elka
Christopher J Currie
> In article <9vab3h$55c$1...@knot.queensu.ca> 8c...@qlink.queensu.ca wrote...
>> > Reed and Cale performed and filmed a 'live' studio rendition of this
>> > album which received extensive screening that coincided with the album's
>> > release. Having heard this first, I was struck with how much weaker the
>> > actual album was.
>> And were there any notable changes in the song arrangements, between the
>> live rendition and the album?
> Not really, although the 'live' sound is harsher and more sparse, two
> things that really do the music several favours. Reed really lets it rip
> a couple of times. For some other unexplained reason the recording is in
> mono, as far as I can recall.
Does Reed actually do anything on "A Dream"? I *think* that I can hear a
few acoustic guitar strums on the studio version, but I've never been
certain.
Christopher
Christopher J Currie
> Christopher J Currie come on down:
>> _Songs For Drella_ marked the first time that the two musicians had
>> worked together since Cale's departure from the VU in 1968.
> *ahem* January 1972, Paris.
... which I'm not actually familiar with. What exactly happened at that
time/place.
Christopher
J. Mcglinchey
Cale and Reed worked together (with Nico, too, if I remember correctly).
;) I think it was a series of concerts, right? Don't think any of it saw
any legitimate release, though.
If one wanted to get extremely pedantic, one might also cite Cale playing
organ on "Ocean", a Doug Yule-era Velvet Underground track.
Joe M.
U of Washington
J. Mcglinchey
> > Does Reed actually do anything on "A Dream"? I *think* that I can hear a
> > few acoustic guitar strums on the studio version, but I've never been
> > certain.
> As far as I can recall, he makes the moody reverbed backdrop on the
> guitar. Of course, he also hits the big chords at the end.
Just checking (came into this thread a bit late), but someone did
mention already that Reed wrote the lyrics to this one, I hope? You can
find the complete monologue in his book "Between Thought and Expression"
(pg 140-2). The footnote says: "This is not an excerpt from Warhol's
diaries. I wrote this trying to capture the love of Andy I knew both
inside and out."
Christopher J Currie
>> > *ahem* January 1972, Paris.
... which I didn't realize, either. I normally associate Rick Wakeman
with that track -- since he plays on Reed's solo version, and since his
presence on a Lou Reed album is so profoundly bizarre to begin with.
Christopher
The Lord Thy God
>On 18 Dec 2001, Christopher J Currie wrote:
>
>> The Lord Thy God <rusho...@yahoo.com> wrote:
>> > Christopher J Currie come on down:
>>
>> >> _Songs For Drella_ marked the first time that the two musicians had
>> >> worked together since Cale's departure from the VU in 1968.
>>
>> > *ahem* January 1972, Paris.
>>
>> ... which I'm not actually familiar with. What exactly happened at that
>> time/place.
>
>Cale and Reed worked together (with Nico, too, if I remember correctly).
>;) I think it was a series of concerts, right? Don't think any of it saw
>any legitimate release, though.
Yeah, with Nico. One concert, actually. No, I don't think any of it was ever
released, but it's certainly pretty widely bootlegged.
>If one wanted to get extremely pedantic, one might also cite Cale playing
>organ on "Ocean", a Doug Yule-era Velvet Underground track.
This is heavily disputed, however.