"Voodoo"... a fine title, indeed. It is a stew of influences, this record: a smooth blend of Sly Stone horns, Marvin Gaye voices, Prince rhythms, Al Green come-ons, and, err, Method Man and Redman. But the way it works on you, the listener, is a kind of Voodoo, too: it takes a while, but once it gets you, it fucking absolutely fucking POSSESSES you.
I remember the first time I listened to it. It didn't seem like much, then; in fact, it struck me as a record that would be fairly easy to dismiss. The drum tracks all seemed identical, and you could probably count to ten in the space between any two snare hits. The bass grooves were deep, but also simple, mostly based around a couple notes repeated to infinity. And D'Angelo himself was charming, but not too original-sounding: a guy who had a million voices, none of which he could truly call his own.
So I let the CD sit there and I composed little invectives against all the samey-sounding tracks on the record... The way "Playa Playa" started the record off weakly, the jarring inclusion of Method and Red, the general lyrical corniness, the go-nowhere-ness of "The Root," etc.
Imagine my surprise when I sorta started to like "Spanish Joint," and started to see it as a weird detour on a record that was otherwise very monotonous. The speed of the groove got me into it... The near zaniness of D'Angelo's vocal arrangement kept me there.
In being kept there, I gradually got invested in "Feel Like Makin Love," the album's next track, as well. Not D'Angelo's song, but still: that goddamn drum sound. That huge drum-and-clap-and-organ beat that just could not be denied. And the horn break, which was straight out of "There's A Riot Goin On"...But did even Sly ever come up with a groove so irresistibly groovy?
Can you see where this is going? Next came the single, "How Does It Feel?," which sports one of the all-time great soul guitar licks. After that, "Chicken Grease," bolstered by, again, an infectious guitar line and a seemingly bottomless groove. Then "The Line," with its incredible chorus, so full of innuendo but still smooth and sly as fuck. "Playa Playa" soon became a GREAT way to start a record-- both an epic brag and utter proof of the boast-- just as "Africa" became a perfect closer-- hushed, intimate, and utterly beautiful.
I still haven't gotten into "One Mo Gin." Gimme some time... I'm sure I'll come around. "Voodoo" is an immaculately written and conceived record, through and through. I still cannot tell you exactly why. At a certain point, though, songs that begin by sounding identical all develop unique identities, from the Sam Cookey balladry of "Send it On" to the gritty social commentary of "Devil's Pie." D'Angelo finds that special place that Stevie Wonder once occupied, a musical zone where everything feels both intensely personal and appealingly universal, and he keeps it up for SEVENTY minutes. It's an incredible achievement.
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
The Velvet Underground: White Light, White Heat
It seems safe to say that the Velvet Underground are one of the most overrated bands of all time. Yes, everything they did was very, very, oh-so important, and all the album covers are iconic, and Lou Reed, and Nico, and feedback, and Warhol, yes, yes, so influential. But have you listened to their records lately?
"White Light, White Heat" has a reputation as one of the first and best "noise rock" or "proto punk" records. Noisy, it unquestionably is. The thing is drenched in feedback, and not of the stylized, great-sounding Hendrix variety: we're talking raw explosions of guitar dissonance. We're talking "Sister Ray," which is seventeen minutes of the same, distorted-ass three-chord guitar riff. We're talking "The Gift," which is eight minutes of sludgy jamming underneath a stupid story that you probably thought was clever in high school but is actually kind of overwrought and meaningless.
"The Gift" could stand for the entire record, in fact. Like much of the Velvets career, the whole thing is just so damn surface level. It's goal is not to make you dance, and certainly not to MOVE you: it's to shock you. It's to make you think, "Wow, these guys are so smart and clever!" The first time you hear the super HILARIOUS IRONICAL ending of "The Gift"-- O. Henry lite, if ya ask me-- you think, "Wow." But once you're over that initial state of shock, there's not much else to do. It's hard to latch onto the actual music of "The Gift," which is based around TWO chords for, again, EIGHT minutes. TWO chords, EIGHT minutes, no variation, no sub-riffs, no melodic ideas. Yeah, important. But good?
"The Gift" is an art project. The Velvet Underground is an art project. They had talent. Lou Reed and Sterling Morrison were great guitar players when they wanted to be-- check out the riffs and solos on the band's excellent self-titled release for evidence. They seemed capable of terrific rock and roll, but "White Light White Heat" is, by and large, NOT rock and roll. It is arty noise, or noisy art. And not even great art, because, once more, there ain't much depth to it. It's all about visceral thrills.
Course, "visceral thrills" do work in rock and roll, and quite well, if done right. "Fun House" by the Stooges doesn't have a great deal of variety or philosophical weight, but it is tremendous rock and roll, because the Stooges seem to believe in it, and the invest a time and effort into their music that seems to be too passe for super-cool New Yorkers. The tracks on "White Light White Heat" that COULD be as exciting as, say, "Down on the Street"-- "I Heard Her Call My Name" and "Sister Ray" in particular-- are sabotaged by poor production and poor songwriting decisions. The two-chord (see a pattern?) groove that occupies most of the space of "Call My Name" could have been masterful, like the band's later "What Goes On," but they spoil it with muddy drums and endless guitar noodling. (How come it's cool when Lou does it, but lame when Yes does it, by the way?)
The two songs here that I'd say work as both great rock and possible art are, surprise, the two shortest and most "conventional." The title track is a Phil-Spector-by-way-of-hell masterpiece-- everything seems pushed up to the front, and Lou Reed is in full-on bad-ass don't-give-a-fuck mode. And "Here She Comes Now" is pretty! (Though Nirvana would later turn it into the sort of "actually rocking" rock song that the Velvets were always too pretentious to attempt.)
The rest are just so terribly flawed. Is is supposed to sound this way, i.e. shitty? I don't care. You can be lo-fi and still write engaging melodies (see Guided by Voices). You can be noisy and still dynamic (see "Let it Bloom" by the Black Lips). You can be arty and still FUN (see... shit... Richard Hell?).
Time to stop sucking up to the New York press, rockers. A "knowingness" about rock does not indicate a "rockingness" about music.
"White Light, White Heat" has a reputation as one of the first and best "noise rock" or "proto punk" records. Noisy, it unquestionably is. The thing is drenched in feedback, and not of the stylized, great-sounding Hendrix variety: we're talking raw explosions of guitar dissonance. We're talking "Sister Ray," which is seventeen minutes of the same, distorted-ass three-chord guitar riff. We're talking "The Gift," which is eight minutes of sludgy jamming underneath a stupid story that you probably thought was clever in high school but is actually kind of overwrought and meaningless.
"The Gift" could stand for the entire record, in fact. Like much of the Velvets career, the whole thing is just so damn surface level. It's goal is not to make you dance, and certainly not to MOVE you: it's to shock you. It's to make you think, "Wow, these guys are so smart and clever!" The first time you hear the super HILARIOUS IRONICAL ending of "The Gift"-- O. Henry lite, if ya ask me-- you think, "Wow." But once you're over that initial state of shock, there's not much else to do. It's hard to latch onto the actual music of "The Gift," which is based around TWO chords for, again, EIGHT minutes. TWO chords, EIGHT minutes, no variation, no sub-riffs, no melodic ideas. Yeah, important. But good?
"The Gift" is an art project. The Velvet Underground is an art project. They had talent. Lou Reed and Sterling Morrison were great guitar players when they wanted to be-- check out the riffs and solos on the band's excellent self-titled release for evidence. They seemed capable of terrific rock and roll, but "White Light White Heat" is, by and large, NOT rock and roll. It is arty noise, or noisy art. And not even great art, because, once more, there ain't much depth to it. It's all about visceral thrills.
Course, "visceral thrills" do work in rock and roll, and quite well, if done right. "Fun House" by the Stooges doesn't have a great deal of variety or philosophical weight, but it is tremendous rock and roll, because the Stooges seem to believe in it, and the invest a time and effort into their music that seems to be too passe for super-cool New Yorkers. The tracks on "White Light White Heat" that COULD be as exciting as, say, "Down on the Street"-- "I Heard Her Call My Name" and "Sister Ray" in particular-- are sabotaged by poor production and poor songwriting decisions. The two-chord (see a pattern?) groove that occupies most of the space of "Call My Name" could have been masterful, like the band's later "What Goes On," but they spoil it with muddy drums and endless guitar noodling. (How come it's cool when Lou does it, but lame when Yes does it, by the way?)
The two songs here that I'd say work as both great rock and possible art are, surprise, the two shortest and most "conventional." The title track is a Phil-Spector-by-way-of-hell masterpiece-- everything seems pushed up to the front, and Lou Reed is in full-on bad-ass don't-give-a-fuck mode. And "Here She Comes Now" is pretty! (Though Nirvana would later turn it into the sort of "actually rocking" rock song that the Velvets were always too pretentious to attempt.)
The rest are just so terribly flawed. Is is supposed to sound this way, i.e. shitty? I don't care. You can be lo-fi and still write engaging melodies (see Guided by Voices). You can be noisy and still dynamic (see "Let it Bloom" by the Black Lips). You can be arty and still FUN (see... shit... Richard Hell?).
Time to stop sucking up to the New York press, rockers. A "knowingness" about rock does not indicate a "rockingness" about music.
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