soundstreamsunday: “I Can’t Stand It” by the Velvet Underground

392585-velvet-undergroundOutside the fact both groups employed players of a violin/viola in their lineups at one time or another, and possessed songwriters of legend, you’d be hard pressed to find common ground for Fairport Convention, last week’s soundstreamsunday feature, and the Velvet Underground.  But in an imaginary Venn diagram of live rock jams from otherwise non-jammy groups circa ’68-’72, Fairport’s scratchy, chugging take on “Matty Groves” would share a noisy, electric segment of that interlocking circle with V.U.’s live work during the same period.  In 1969 the Velvets, with aforesaid violist/bassist John Cale one year gone and a third album released (The Velvet Underground), recorded a handful of shows in Texas and San Francisco, showing an energetic, touring rock outfit whose songs of hustlers, dopers, and beloved Factory freaks worked even without Cale’s avant-garde contributions.  Indeed, Cale’s replacement Doug Yule, doubling on organ, more than adequately filled in Cale’s creeped-out carnival viola drone. The tapes — unreleased until 1974’s 1969: Velvet Underground Live with Lou Reed (the full two-night run at San Francisco’s Matrix was released in 2015 in pristine glory and it is mind-blowing) — like the rest of their music, hold the seeds of punk.  But beyond that, the jams they insert, not part of the studio versions, have a live inventiveness and melodic sensibility that rank among the finest of their long-haired time.  On “I Can’t Stand It” — in its studio incarnation a proto pop-punk nugget of the variety the band could so effortlessly summon — the band opens up space for an extended guitar section that takes cues from Jim McGuinn’s intro to “Eight Miles High” and pushes its Coltrane-inspired riffing into the stratosphere. Mo Tucker’s relentless pounding and Yule’s bass background the song, never allowing the guitars of Lou Reed and Sterling Morrison to disintegrate into wandering exploration.  This is a lean-and-mean live band unharried by the legend they would become (Tucker has even noted that on this tour audience members would tell her they couldn’t even find the band’s albums for sale), at a time when rock-n-roll was meant to be rough around the edges, and maybe even exact a toll.

*Above image, Doug Yule, Lou Reed, Sterling Morrison, Mo Tucker, 1969.

soundstreamsunday presents one song or live set by an artist each week, and in theory wants to be an infinite linear mix tape where the songs relate and progress as a whole. For the complete playlist, go here: soundstreamsunday archive and playlist, or check related articles by clicking on”soundstreamsunday” in the tags section above.

 

Lou Reed

I’m probably not alone on Progarchy in feeling the loss of Lou Reed.  His death reminds me that there was a time when the wider world considered rock’n’roll the domain of the artless, or that its limits were Dylan’s increasingly obscure folk-based lyrical flights over standard electric blues workouts.  Lou Reed changed this, and along with others like Jim Morrison, Iggy Pop, and Arthur Lee virtually created the idea of rock music as a postmodern art form, a concept so outrageous it was called punk.  His band, the Velvet Underground, harnessed both an essential primitivism and a cultivated, even academic, new music approach, backboning lyrics of doper despair, sun-drenched love odes with dark clouds hanging ‘round, and downtown cool cruelty. His solo work, hit and miss as it is, never smacks of giving up.  He was an uncomfortable icon, combative with fans and critics, yet his humanity had a profound impact on his words, his music, and the countless musicians who followed him.  He was inspired, and an inspiration.

If his wasn’t an art, I don’t know what is.