Oz, May 1969
THE VELVET UNDERGROUND HAVE ALWAYS BEEN A GROUP WHO TURNED AS many stomachs as they blew minds: not everyone can groove on them. Their attraction (or repulsion) lies in the extreme areas in which they operate: insistent, relentless rhythms . . . hysterical organ and guitar . . . wrecked vocals. A cut like “Sister Ray” on their last album makes a direct bid on the metabolism, you either escape or surrender. Their music is always unsettling and disturbing: their heads adrift in Burroughs-land, a sickly sweet, rotten smell in the air . . . songs of Strange Pleasures, subversive and corrupt. Yet here we are with “Jesus,” a long way from “Heroin” in the space of one LP. Have they really hung up their spurs and the whip of shiny, shiny leather with the sailor’s suit and cap? Have the Flowers of Evil started to bloom?
Perhaps they haven’t gone through changes so much as modification; the wolf and the lamb walk hand in hand. For the first time Velvet shares top billing with Underground. They’ve stopped rushing on their run and slowed the pace to a processional dawdle. But though everything has been toned in low key it’s still unmistakably them. It’s got “feel” alright, but it’s a kind of ghoulish corpse-like feel. Gone are the walls of sound and vast textural contrasts, in comes a sad liturgical droning, the wailing of the converted sinner (but with his tongue slyly in his cheek). One doesn’t really have faith in their faith, and it’s probably wisest to give up very early trying. Cop out of value judgements, write it off as some variation on camp (which VU have always been strong on anyway) and you can relax and enjoy it.
Songs on this album are divided between heaven and hell, and the casual listener will be forgiven if he doesn’t notice the difference. “Jesus” is pure, simple, moving and undeniably sincere. But then there’s “Some Kinda Love” which is another thing altogether . . . shall we say “hard core necrophilia”? The lyrics are the filthiest. “Put jelly on your shoulders and lie down upon the carpet . . . ” or, “In some kinds of love the possibilities are endless—and for me to miss one would be groundless. . . .” “Murder Mystery,” in which chick drummer Maureen Tucker takes to song, is a cross between the Mothers and the Billy Cotton Band Show, and reminiscent of the saga of Walter Jeffries on White Light/White Heat. Maureen also takes the honors on “Afterhours” and gets into a nice Vera Lynn bag . . . in fact she warbles delightfully.
Velvet Underground don’t really sound together on this album, either as a group or individuals, which I have a sneaking suspicion was what they might have been aiming at. Luckily too, for if they made it they would lose their quality as a group . . . fragmentation is more their scene. The style of this album is the antithesis of their style before. By replacing blatant freak value with subtler means they end up sounding more bizarre than ever. Tired cliche, but this album really does grow on you . . . like a malignant tumor.