Dusting ‘Em Off is a rotating, free-form feature that revisits a classic album, film, or moment in pop-culture history. This week, Collin Brennan asks contemporary artists about the timeless appeal of The Velvet Underground’s debut.
If The Velvet Underground & Nico taught us anything, it’s that perfection in rock and roll is actually the inverse of perfection. There are no golden ratios to be found in Sterling Morrison’s spiraling guitar work on “Heroin”, no sublime sense of symmetry to glean from John Cale’s noisy electric viola on “Venus in Furs”. There is only a vast collection of sounds that shouldn’t work but somehow do. To a classically trained ear, a song like “Run Run Run” is a disaster masquerading as pop music. Lou Reed’s lead guitar lurches left and right with drunken imprecision, Moe Tucker’s drums play hide-and-seek inside the fuzzy production, and producer Andy Warhol — yes, that Andy Warhol — refuses to step in and color the scene with even the slightest hint of professionalism. It’s messy and chaotic and prone to sadomasochism in both concept and fact. It’s also, 50 years after its initial release, widely considered to be one of the greatest rock and roll albums of all time.
Isn’t it funny how that works? Back in 1966, when punk was still just a vague urge to piss people off and New York City wasn’t yet a theme-park version of itself, a mismatched group of artsy types teamed up with a German fashion model and a world-famous pop artist and — boom! — the sound of a generation was born. If the mass-market rock and roll peddled by groups like The Beatles and The Rolling Stones was considered subversive for its time, this stuff was downright scandalous, barely even attempting to stay in key as its visions of drug abuse and licentious sex danced across the vinyl.
Brian Eno once famously remarked that while The Velvet Underground & Nico only sold 30,000 copies, “everyone who bought one of those 30,000 copies started a band.” With this in mind, we thought it appropriate to ask a group of modern musicians about how the album has affected their own lives and musical careers. In some of their cases — Bleached, for example — The Velvet Underground & Nico eventually did lead to them starting a band. Other artists, like How to Dress Well and Kevin Morby and The Bug, continue to reference The Velvet Underground’s example as they shape music that’s geared toward today.
We hope you enjoy the following collection of mini-essays and off-the-cuff ruminations. Better yet, we hope it makes you go back and revisit the music that started it all.
The Sounds and Textures
Tom Krell of How to Dress Well
This record taught me more than I could possibly explain in just a few words. In a way, I’ve been trying to explain what this record sounds like and means across my whole career. From song to song, the lyrics move from pure and tender love to twisted and exciting and devastating desire; they move in turn from a description of objects in the world and people in cities to pure autobiographical phenomenology of affect and intoxication.
They appear as pure pop, formally speaking (thanks to Reed’s conciseness and Nico’s beautiful voice), yet always underpinned and sometimes even completely blown apart by textures and sound qua physical reality (Cale’s contributions are so damn amazing). Some journalist recently told me that my dream of making pop music that is not merely populist was just that — a dream, something that could never exist in reality. Luckily, I could just point to this record and tell them to go back to their desk while I keep trying to make music the right way.
How to Dress Well (Photo by Killian Young)
Kevin Martin, a.k.a. The Bug
The combination of Cale’s wonderful din and Reed’s gutter tales added the friction I’ve subsequently come to covet in most areas of music and art. At that time, I was all about noise, antagonism, and the post-punk “fuck you” so beloved of PiL, The Fall, and The Birthday Party, all of whom probably also worshiped at the same altar of VU. But as time passed and I finally accepted an opening for melody in my life, I came to realize the most perversely brilliant music of all combines sugar and spice, noise and harmony, sick sonics and earworm hooks. The Velvet Underground & Nico epitomizes that swoon and crash.
James Hoare of Ultimate Painting
I first heard The Velvet Underground & Nico when I was a teenager. Immediately, I knew it was something special, some kind of connection. Over the next few years, I subconsciously based my whole guitar style on the intro of “I’ll Be Your Mirror” and the rhythm playing on “Run Run Run”. From a recording standpoint, I still attempt to get my guitar to sound like Sterling Morrison and Lou Reed’s on that LP. And it never quite does.
The Musical Arrangements
Tabor Allen of Cherry Glazerr
I was raised on the ‘roided-up drum sounds of ‘90s commercial rock production, so hearing Moe Tucker’s minimalist pitter-patter for the first time in 8th grade when a friend threw on The Velvet Underground & Nico was both a shock and a revelation. “Does this count as drumming? Are they even drums? Why are they so quiet?” Needless to say, the sublimity and directness of her approach won me over and introduced me to the idea that there could be as much power in what you didn’t play as what you did.
The VU’s highly stylized version of fairly straightforward rock and roll has proved so timeless and influential in part because of the elegance of understatement. It just leaves so much to the imagination. What’s really happening in those songs? What’s lurking in those spaces left open by the unplayed drum fills and the missing cymbals? Tucker’s tasteful sensibility plays a huge role in the mystique and beauty and endurance of the VU’s best material and shows dumb punk drummers like me that it’s not always about playing loud and fast and with as many fills as possible.
I don’t know if the VU were a particularly devout bunch, but in their songs they definitely knew how to, as Quincy Jones famously put it, “leave space for God to walk through the room.” I think all of us drummers could benefit from leaving space for Moe Tucker to walk through the room, as well.
Cherry Glazerr (Photo by Philip Cosores)
Emmett Kelly of The Cairo Gang
The Velvet Underground & Nico is one of my favorite albums. For me, it began a new relationship to recorded music. My ears were so sheltered before I heard this, having previously been tuned by Kevin and Bean and MTV as a young teenager. It didn’t come like a revelation, though. I was entirely confused. Why would someone make something like this? And I didn’t like it. It was recorded badly, it was out of tune, sung flat, and out of time. But I couldn’t stop listening to it. I needed to know more about it. I became obsessed with it, realizing at some indistinct point that it was in tune and in time and that I had no idea about tuning or time. Most of the music that has been important to me was definitely primed by this lesson I got from The Velvet Underground.
Alex Chappo of CHAPPO
I’m constantly inspired by how much of a vibe and atmosphere they inject into their songs with minimal musical ingredients and simple arrangements. A simple two-chord progression that’s meditative, sexy, and gives you a sense of nostalgia at the same time.
Jacob Summers of Avid Dancer
Summers also plays in After Hours, an LA-based Velvet Underground tribute band.
I remember relating strongly to several things. The simple and repetitious chord progressions in “What Goes On” and “Heroin”, where it seemed the band had no intentions of ever ending a song. I connected to the carefree up-down, up-down guitar strumming, zero-fill drumming, soundscape-esque droned-out guitars, and unapologetic stories of life as Lou. I loved the pairing of moments of chaos along with lighthearted and caressing songs like “Sunday Morning” and “Candy Says”. VU is one of those bands that has a song for every mood, time, and place.
The Cultural Impact
Jessica Clavin of Bleached
I was about 11 when my parents moved my sister and I to the San Fernando Valley and a neighbor handed me a cassette tape and said, “This is better than what’s playing on the radio.” The tape read The Velvet Underground in thick, white, bold caps.
I went home and immediately played it through my little jambox I used to make homemade tapes on … I sat there and listened to “I’m Waiting for the Man” over and over again. I felt I had discovered a hidden gem. When I heard its driving rhythms, I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to make music that hits people the same way “I’m Waiting for the Man” was hitting me in that moment. I didn’t have a band at the time, but I did have a bass guitar and a garage to start one with my sister. Since then, my sister and I are still playing together, touring, and now hearing our own music on the radio.
The Velvet Underground is the best and most influential American band of all time. When “Sunday Morning” comes on, it’s as if someone is opening the door for you and saying, “Come on in, friend, and step into one of the greatest albums of all time. Stay a while, won’t you?” “Femme Fatale” alone inspired most all of the songwriting of my old band, The Babies. The call and response between Lou and Nico is for-ev-er.
Eric Egan of Heart Attack Man
I first bought a CD copy of The Velvet Underground & Nico in my early teenage years from a local record store because I liked the cover and I had heard their name before. Years later, I would come to find out that The Velvet Underground was a huge influence on the first wave of Cleveland punk bands. The album has stuck with me over the years. It was one of the first albums that made me feel like it creates its own world.
Brian Eno’s famous quote on VU sort of serves as an important reminder that impact and relevance are not about numbers. In a time when so many things are measured in clicks and likes, it’s nice to be reminded that Lou Reed still worked as a typist after VU.
The Freewheeling Spirit
My ultimate dream time in history would be to have been around in 1969. To be that eternally stoned, happy hippy girl, with flowers in her flowing hair, spinning around at all the parties. The Velvet Underground is the soundtrack of this imagining. Pure Psychedelia.
I actually did some backing singing for John Cale … Damn, I forgot about that experience. Think I must have been exceedingly stoned! All I can remember is a very dark rehearsal room, minimal desk-lamp lighting, lots of keyboards, and the warning of drunken behavior. Whisky, I think it was.
Kevin Martin, a.k.a. The Bug
As a lost teenager desperate to immerse myself in as many no-go zones as possible, The Velvet Underground & Nico provided the purrrfect soundtrack to my dreams, aspirations, and, in those years, the rare reality of sex, drugs, and violence. At that time, it seemed like a passport into immorality and dissonance. And I wanted to explore the freak show badly. Everything about the album seemed so strategically planned, and brilliantly executed, from the name to the Warhol link to the dark angel Nico at its forefront. Yet, unlike so many music biz contrivances, this short-lived coming together of mavericks delivered the goods gloriously.
Photo of The Bug vs. Earth, Kevin Martin’s new collaborative project with Dylan Carlson
Jack Cooper of Ultimate Painting
I bought the album on CD when I was about 14 because I’d heard it was one of those records you should own. I wasn’t really prepared for it in lots of ways, but it was something I knew I had to figure out. More than anything, it was a gateway into the unknown and the counterculture. Before then, I’d only heard records where people had good voices, where the players were proficient on their instruments, and where they sang about love.
Peter Darlington of Spring King
I was introduced to The Velvet Underground through Belle and Sebastian. In their song “Expectations”, Stuart Murdoch sings about a girl in art class who made “life-size models of The Velvet Underground in clay.” As a floppy-haired indie kid from a smallish town in the north of England, Stuart was a messiah and every word or reference I would pick apart and unravel.
I had never heard of The VU before, and at first I thought they might have been some kind of gang rather than a band. When I eventually heard their debut record, it was definitely a defining moment for me creatively. Besides the lyrical content and the experimental approach to recording, it’s the spirit of the record that hit me and has stuck with me ever since. It feels so free, on the edge of falling apart at any moment.
The Big Banana
The Velvet Underground & Nico is an album I rejected for years. I would see its iconic cover in every record store and always figured it was some fine-art, holier-than-thou music that would be above me. But, come to find out, it was the most immediately relatable and life-changing music to ever come my way.
Blake Stokes of TEST
It’s sex, isn’t it? Who would disagree that the banana simultaneously holds the top spot for both the most phallic and the funniest food around? Bananas can be a phone, a gun, or a cock. This one is probably a cock; you can peel back the outer layer and beneath is a flesh-colored, cock-shaped fruit. It’s a dick and it’s also art — it’s interactive — and sounds like it was extremely expensive to manufacture at the time. There’s something pretty ballsy about just throwing a piece of food on the cover of your album and calling it a day. No other “single piece of food on the cover” artwork has reached such iconic status (sorry, Pearl Jam).
Tanner Dean of The Family Doom
Dead also plays in After Hours, an LA-based Velvet Underground tribute band.
My first memory I have of Rhe Velvet Underground is being a freshman in high school and seeing the cover of The Velvet Underground & Nico album with Andy Warhol’s banana and thinking, “What the hell is this?” It threw me off, and I thought it was weird, but there was something about it that drew me to it, and I knew I had to hear it.
Bridgette Moody of Haunted Summer
Moody also plays in After Hours, an LA-based Velvet Underground tribute band.
My parents love to tell me how they went to see Lou Reed when my mom was nine months pregnant with me. They danced and laughed and cried and hoped I felt the whole thing. Maybe it’s all in my head, but every time I hear “Perfect Day”, I swear I am transported back to the womb. I spent my life working backwards through Lou’s catalogue, reaching The Velvet Underground when finally emotionally capable of bearing the weight of such raw beauty.
VU’s specific brand of perfect imperfection is something that I carry with me in all my musical endeavors … Their music is transcendent and intuitive, wrapping you up in your own questions and affirmations of self-existence. That’s why I mourned deeply when we lost Lou. Not because I knew him, but because he helped me know myself.
Photo of Ryan Fuller, lead singer of VU cover band After Hours
John Season of Haunted Summer
Season also plays in After Hours, an LA-based Velvet Underground tribute band.
I’ll never forget the last time I saw Lou Reed live at The Queen Mary for All Tomorrow’s Parties, many moons ago. He came out in a leather jacket smoking a cigarette. The band started with “Ecstasy” and at one point did a version of “Venus in Furs” with what felt like an incredible three- to five-minute cello solo. Lou Reed and VU will always embody rock and roll, with songwriting that was not only intimate and unapologetic but brutally honest.
Alex Chappo of CHAPPO
Putting on this record is like the definition of a lazy Sunday for me, with a coffee and newspaper and vinyl blaring. Lou Reed’s voice reminded me of Bob Dylan. I had an obsession with Dylan in high school, and Lou Reed reminded me of him with his rhythmic style, but he had this solemn, effortless swagger that was really cool. We all have that one friend that’s way cooler than us. Lou Reed was like your cool friend sharing wild adventures with you, but in a chill way.
The New York Sound
Alex Chappo of CHAPPO
I remember getting inspired by The Velvet Underground when I was living in the East Village. My roommate had a huge vinyl collection and was constantly introducing me to different stuff. I knew a few songs but never sat and listened to the whole album. When I stumbled on the Peel Slowly and See box collection, I remember immediately being struck by that famous cover. But this time you could peel off the banana and see a xeroxed one underneath. I loved the interactive quality. Inside were all these great photos and art that immediately transported me to that mysterious time. I wanted to be running around in the Chelsea art district getting into trouble with this group of weirdo outcasts. I wanted to live in that New York.
Kevin Morby (Photo by Philip Cosores)
Recently, I was in New York with a day off and wasn’t sure what to do with myself. I lived in New York for many years, so when I go back to visit, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed on how to spend my free time. Anyways, on a whim — while in route to the Met, which I’ve been to so many times before — I decided to go see the new Lou Reed mural at the new subway stop on 82nd and 2nd Avenue instead.
I take the train up there to the new station and stand before the mural of the late, great king and realize I am wearing my Velvet Underground shirt, the only band t-shirt I’ve bought in the past 15 years. Perfect. I ask a stranger to take my photo by the mural, and then after checking out the map to see exactly where I was, I realized I was only two blocks away from the Guggenheim, which happens to be the only museum I never went to in seven years of living in the city.
So I go to the “Goog,” and it’s wonderful, of course. “I am blessed to be here today,” I think to myself; the city is so alive and ever-changing. From there, I made my way into the park. It was cold, it was January, but a very electric cold and the sun was setting. Everything felt very alive despite being frozen. I went sliding around the sidewalks by myself, admiring the lake that reflected the sky. “Thank you for today, Lou,” I thought to myself. “You still are and have always been my guide to the city.”