john cale - music for a new society (and other things)

For some reason I woke up recently with John Cale's "Chinese Envoy" rattling around my brain. 

 

So I played Music For A New Society. Which is equal parts beautiful and scary. Some of the pieces are positively unhinged ("Sanities" and "In The Library Of Force" are especially worrying), but the simple rework of "Close Watch" is stunning (though I could do without the bagpipes at the end…) and "Chinese Envoy" is perfectly lovely. Incidentally the track "Sanities" was actually called "Sanctus" but the people doing the record sleeve couldn't read Cale's writing and somehow it ended up being called "Sanities" - which Cale then thought was a better title, despite not actually being a word! 

 

The full band rock song "Changes Made" probably shouldn't be here - it's a fine song, but was included only at the insistence of the record label who wondered if Cale could at least include just one a 'proper' song. Cale actually felt sorry for them, and so, as the rest of New Society was so uncompromising, he agreed to record one regular song... It would fit far better on the previous album Honi Soit or the following record Caribbean Sunset.

 

Anyway, New Society remains a favourite Cale album of mine, despite it being the work of a paranoid raving loony and being generally unlikeable, scary, depressing and eerie... 

 

Then, a few weeks ago Cale released M:FANS - a brand new reworking of Music For A New Society and it's (mostly) very good. Extremely different from the original album - which I suppose is rather the point. 

 

Some of the tracks are perhaps a little overladen with electronics and effects - "Sanctus" and "Library Of Force" for example, and I'm really not sure about the new "Close Watch". But the best tracks are a little cleaner and more direct - "Chinese Envoy" has become a sort of Talking Heads-ish dance track, which is really excellent and is, for me, the highlight of the album, and "Broken Bird" is now a straightforward piano ballad. There are two versions of "If You Were Still Around" one of which was recorded a couple of years ago after Lou Reed's death (and was the catalyst which suggested to Cale that reworking the whole album might be viable). I prefer the second one with the choir, the first is perhaps a little too overwrought for me. 

 

It'll need a few more listens, but this has always been a dark and slightly worrisome album, and these new versions don't dispel that feeling at all. Cale's voice is still very strong, and his desire to push the boundaries shows no sign of easing up. Thank goodness.

 

After the original New Society Cale stepped back from the abyss and delivered two more albums (and a throwaway live record) before he totally cleaned up. 1983's Caribbean Sunset  is still fairly paranoid, but at least Cale sounds like he's actually having a bit of fun on this album, not on the verge of blowing his brains out... It's got an oddly commercial sheen to it, some of the songs really rock, hard, and the title track is so delicately pretty. Oddly, this album has never received a CD release as Cale obviously has some issues with it. Yet, even more oddly, some of the songs (like "Model Beirut Recital" and "Magazines") have cropped up numerous times in Cale live sets over the years, so he must like some it, at least...

 

In 1985 he issued the somewhat unloved Artificial Intelligence. It's actually rather poorly recorded and produced, which is quite unusual for a John Cale record - the whole thing seems weirdly lop sided and astonishingly clunky, but the bulk of this songs are very good. 

 

In fact, once you get past the lumpy production "Dying On The Vine" is surely one of Cale's best ever songs. The lyrics are wonderful, hinting at some sort of spy drama in a hot foreign land. "Meet me when all the shooting's over… you can bring all your friends along for protection…the authorities say my papers are all in order, and if I wasn't such a coward I would run", but as ever with Cale's songs, the lyrics are vividly evocative, of something or other, but delightfully unspecific when it comes to details. 

 

Elsewhere, tracks like "Fadeaway Tomorrow" and "Satellite Walk" represent Cale's attempt at a top forty type song (though no-one bought it, possibly because no-one knew what "I took my tomahawk for a satellite walk" meant - the 12" 'dance' mix isn't noticeably any dancier either…), but "Black Rose" is lovely (and was the title song until Cale changed his mind at the very last minute requiring a total rethink to the cover - hence the horrid drawing we ended up with, which was really looks like it was done at the 11th hour). And the marvellous opening track "Everytime The Dogs Bark" hints at the paranoid ranting Cale of yesteryear. 

 

During the recording of this album (done at the same time and with the same musicians as Nico's Camera Obscura, fact fans) Cale's daughter Eden was born. Seemingly overnight Cale cleaned himself up. Gone were the frightening number of whisky bottles, gone were the narcotics that kept him up for days at a time while he scoured the news for evidence to back up his paranoid political conspiracy theories. Now sober, he took up squash and tennis (with the same fanatical devotion as he once given to his drinking), and once his live commitments were over in 1985 he took the next four years off, to be with his wife and daughter. He only emerged from his retirement in 1989 when Brian Eno suggested recording the Falklands Suite (which Cale had written in 1982 soon after the War) with a Russian orchestra - that then lead to Wrong Way Up and, fortunately, loads more Cale albums. 

legendary gigs - bataclan 1972

There are some gigs that have attained legendary status, and not always for musical reasons. The final Ziggy Stardust gig, the Sex Pistols at the 100 Club etc etc. Shows that are frequently talked about, written about, and are thus given a reputation that perhaps they don't always deserve.

 

In January 1972, Lou Reed, John Cale and Nico gave a joint performance at the Bataclan club in Paris. At the time none of these musicians were terribly well known, especially in Europe, and it's only with hindsight that this partial reunion of the Velvet Underground has gathered almost mythical status.

 

Oddly no-one seems very sure as to why this gig actually happened. It was Lou's first live performance since he left the Velvets at Max's Kansas City in the summer of 1970. And it was John Cale's first performance since he'd left the Velvets two years before that! 

 

With Lou sporting a big afro and playing acoustic guitar, John on viola, piano or 12 string acoustic, and Nico on her trusty harmonium, someone had the sense to film this show (though I've never seen the footage), and the audio has been bootlegged for years before a semi official release about 10 years ago.

 

Trouble is, the semi official CD runs too slow. Way too slow. Some time ago I created my own corrected version by increasing the speed by about 10%. Now it's a decent listen. The slow CD sounded like all three were doped up to the eyeballs - and while that was quite possibly the case, even Nico never normally sounded quite that sllllooowww…

 

The show opens with just Lou and John on a sprightly "Waiting For The Man" with John playing a rather jaunty piano. He stays at the piano for the first ever performance of "Berlin", which Lou would record later that spring for his first solo album. Then we get "The Black Angel's Death Song", not as scary as the original, a bit slower too, but the required scratchy, maddening viola is well to the front. "Wild Child" follows, another premiere, with both Lou and John on guitars.  Then "Heroin" - the viola is back, droning menacingly throughout the song, just as it should be. A really good version. 

 

Then it's John's turn to take centre stage. "Ghost Story" is a cracking song, and this solo performance is excellent. Then two oddities "The Biggest Loudest Hairiest Group Of All" is a funny look at the misfortunes of a rock band, quite possibly the VU… Cale rarely does strum along folky songs but that's basically what this is. The audience even claps along good-naturedly - you never got that happening at VU shows! Then "Empty Bottles" which he wrote for Jennifer Warnes. A nice Paris 1919 style ballad, but not terribly remarkable. 

 

Finally, here's Nico. The boys strum and sing backing vocals on "Femme Fatale" - lovely performance. Then Lou sits himself down on a stool at the side of the stage to watch Nico at the harmonium while John accompanies on the viola - "Frozen Warnings", "No-One Is There" and a stunning, as always, "Janitor Of Lunacy". They wrap up the show with all three on a delightfully sweet "I'll Be Your Mirror" and an oddly ragged encore of "All Tomorrow's Parties". 

 

It's all very interesting, but overall it's not the most satisfying of gigs. At times it's clearly badly under-rehearsed, and occasionally rather lacklustre. This may be a little surprising considering who's playing, but perhaps not so surprising given that this was the first gig for many years for both Lou and John. It may be a legendary show, that wonderful near Velvets reunion, but as is frequently the case with legends, the truth of the matter is sadly rather less exciting. I've not listened to this gig for a good many years, and I doubt it'll get played again for a good many more. 

 

It's a bit daft really, but I'd never get rid of this recording as it's yet another one of those that I'm really glad I've got. Even if I don't play it much.

nico - live 1979 and more

I've been playing a lot of Nico's music recently. Can't explain why, really.

I listened to the marvellously icy wastelands of The Marble Index and Desertshore the other week - it's not really music in the commonly accepted sense. And the songs are only songs in a fairly loose sense. I don't know what it is really. But I genuinely do actually like it. So many of the lyrics are just that little bit skewed. As English wasn't her first language you get disconcertingly odd phrases, like in "Lawns Of Dawns": 'having thrown a joke on you and me' - throwing a joke? For that matter, I wonder what Lawns Of Dawns actually are?

The other day I dug out a couple of excellent gigs from CBGB's in 1979.

These represented Nico's first shows in the USA for about 8 years, and her first anywhere since about 1975. The period between 1974's The End… and this reappearance wasn't a good one for Nico. Lost in a deepening narcotic fog there's precious little information about her life for about five years of the 1970s. No gigs, no records, nothing. She even sold her harmonium in order to fuel her habit. She was living in Paris in 1978 and met Patti Smith at a concert. Patti was stunned to discover that Nico had no money, no home, nothing at all. Upon her return to New York Patti spoke to John Cale who was similarly shocked that Nico's life had sunk so low, and both agreed that the CBGB's crowd would be a good audience for Nico. So she was brought to New York and in early 1979 Nico played a series of shows at the famously scuzzy club. And, as Cale and Patti had predicted, went down a storm. 

I have two, very well recorded, audience recordings, two sets from one night in February, and Cale and guitarist Lutz Ulbrich accompany Nico on a number of songs. At later New York gigs the Dead Boys' Cheetah Chrome would sometimes play guitar, and at a couple of shows Roland Young, the saxophonist from the Sun Ra Arkestra, apparently accompanied Nico. Goodness knows what that sounded like!

Anyway, back to February - Cale adds viola to songs like "No-One Is There" and Lutz and Cale try to Velvet up "Femme Fatale" a bit. But mostly it was simply Nico and a harmonium, a new one bought for her by Patti Smith. Interestingly at least half the set is previously unrecorded songs, tracks that would later be recorded in radically different form on Drama Of Exile. Songs like "Genghis Khan" and "Henry Hudson" are simple harmonium pieces here, and never sounded sadder. "Purple Lips" had actually been debuted on French tv far back in 1975, but was still new to the Bowery audience. Nico sounds pleasantly surprised by the response of the crowd, and she delivers a cracking performance. During the second show she gets stuck during "Frozen Warnings" and plays the same part over and over whilst clearly rummaging around in her mind for the next verse, then some kind soul shouts it out for her, and she thanks him and continues with the song. But it's the only blip in an otherwise excellent gig. 

After she'd recorded Drama Of Exile in the UK in 1981 Nico went out on the road in earnest. Between 1981 and 1984 she was often supported by various combinations of Manchester musicians. Then, after the recording of Camera Obscura in 1985 the band was pared down to percussion and keyboards, as heard on Live In Tokyo, Behind the Iron Curtain and loads of other semi legit albums.

I recently got hold of a Nico gig from Basel in December 1986. Here the band is Eric Random's Bedlamites. I was surprised when I first heard this recording as I'd been under the impression that the Bedlamites were a percussion ensemble, frequently playing found instruments, banging bin lids and iron bars etc. Almost like a Mancunian pound shop version of Einstürzende Neubauten (and yes I did have to look up how to spell that!). This could have made for a fascinating experience. Well, maybe the Bedlamites did do that sometimes, but when backing Nico they're far more like a slick lounge band. Which is very, very odd. So tracks like "Purple Lips" are graced with a smoochy saxophone and a polite shuffle, more suited to a Sinatra type late night bar. "I'll Be Your Mirror" starts with a gently swinging beat and bouncy bass, then utterly falls apart when Nico starts singing and is totally at odds with the band. Different speed, timing, phrasing, everything! They do rally and try their best to match the rhythm section to Nico's own peculiar idea of rhythm but it never quite recovers to be honest. Which is a shame as "Mirror" was very rarely played live by Nico. 

Another rarity from this show is the "Eulogy To Lenny Bruce" ('I've lost a friend, and I don't know why…') which, as far as I can tell, was only ever played live during this short European run of shows in late 1986. This is far better than "I'll Be Your Mirror" as Nico sings her sad song accompanied only by some appropriately sparse guitar notes. Unsurprisingly the best part of the show is the middle section when the band leave the stage entirely and Nico mournfully plays "Frozen Warnings" and "The Falconer" all alone.  

No matter how they tried to dress up Nico's stage shows, with whatever musicians and instruments, she was always at her most compelling and commanding when sat at the harmonium, alone in the candlelight.   

white light / white heat - velvet undergound

Well, the new White Light / White Heat remaster. What a noise!

 

As expected, it's a mixed bag. With very little previously unheard material to work with the surprises are few and far between. 

 

I'll start off with the live set from the Gymnasium in April 1967. Most dedicated VU fans will already have this, as it's been bootlegged for years. The sound quality, to these ears, isn't noticeably any different from my existing bootleg, so it's ok sound for 1967, but is still rather harsh. Sadly there are still a number of minor volume fluctuations - these must've been on the original tapes, but it’s odd that these haven't been smoothed out. It's not much, I'll probably do it myself in CoolEdit, so it's a little annoying that they've not been dealt with properly. And the new version also misses out some of the between song tuning and silences, which makes the Velvets sound a little more polished on stage due to the lack of protracted gaps. The only real difference between the boots and the new version is the inclusion of "The Gift", which to my knowledge has never appeared on any of the boots. Sadly, it's just the instrumental, and isn't actually all that interesting on it's own… 

 

The Stereo version of WL/WH sounds, to me, to be the same as the master prepared in the mid 1990s for the Peel Slowly And See set, which is the one used on subsequent issues. To be honest, there's so little to work with in terms of polishing the sound that it must be virtually impossible to make any sonic improvements to the murk and distortion that was laid down in 1967. And to do so, kind of misses the point. But the stereo disc offers some nice surprises towards the end. 

 

The bonus tracks, those remaining Cale-era tracks familiar from Another View and VU in the 1980s are much better than on previous releases. These are all labelled 'original mix' and this confirms what many had long suspected - that the VU and Another View tracks had been quite extensively remixed to prepare them for release back then. You can immediately hear the difference on "Guess I'm Falling In Love". Still only an instrumental, but the version here is now obviously part of the WL/WH sessions, rather than the much cleaner, bouncier mix that we have on Another View. The 80s mix gave it that drum heavy 80s plastic sheen. Not here - it's all scuzzy and sweaty and far more exciting. And how good is that fuzzed up guitar! The differences on the two versions of "Hey Mr Rain" are less obvious, the viola is a bit higher in the mix, and "Temptation Inside Your Heart" sounds pretty much the same as before to me, but "Stephanie Says" is remarkably different. Some of the viola work sounds different and some of the backing vocals are very different, not as sweet, with different lines and harmonies, to the extent that I wonder if the VU version had received some fresh overdubs in 1985? There's an alternative mix of "I Heard Her Call My Name" which has differences in the instrumentation levels, but nothing too significant. It's labelled as a different take, but it's clearly just the same version that we're all used to, albeit with the rhythm track boosted and the skull splitting guitar a little less lethal. Finally we get a 1968 Cale version of "Beginning To See The Light" which is interesting, though it's a bit lacklustre and nowhere near as good as the finished version recorded at the end of the year with Doug Yule. 

 

The Mono disc contains the mono single mixes of the title track and it's b-side "Here She Comes Now", and you'd have to have better ears than mine to identify what makes them different from the mono albums mixes. We have the vocal version and the instrumental version of "The Gift" which are simply the discrete tracks mixed to mono. The story on it's own sounds very strange, and it really misses the music track. But it's good to hear the grinding backing track on it's own (though I had the story running in my head the whole time!). But the album itself in mono is terrific. I really didn't think this would be so good. I like the weird stereo effects on the original album, the way that voices fly in and out, the split on "The Gift" etc etc. But there are vagaries in the mix, and some elements get a bit lost over there or over here. In mono there's none of that. It hits you between the eyes and like Marsha's sheet metal cutter, it goes right through the centre of your head. There's not much in the way of different instrumentation like you sometimes get between stereo / mono mixes. But the sheer power of the band comes through loud and clear - well not that clear, it's a horrible mess of noise, but you know what I mean. The initial rush of the title track has never sounded better. "The Gift" works better than I thought it would too. The vocals on "Lady Godiva" aren't quite as distracting in mono - I seemed to focus more on the music, and what a mesmerizingly dreamlike track it is. "Here She Comes Now" - here's an odd thing. The percussion is much clearer in mono - to be honest I'd never noticed the percussion before - it's there on the stereo mix of course, but I'd never paid it any attention. Here, it's much clearer, and it's very good. Mo was a much better drummer than people ever gave her credit for. Side two though is the absolute bizniz. "I Heard Her Call My Name" is an amazing track anyway, but in mono it seems so much more relentless than ever with That Guitar firing out of the speakers to decimate your ears. In stereo you can hear where it's coming from, in mono there's nowhere to hide, it just attacks you from everywhere, all at the same time. If you look up the word relentless in the dictionary then you ought to be pointed towards "Sister Ray". My goodness, what a song. Again, as with "I Heard Her Call My Name", it's absolutely vicious. The song almost collapses under the strain of  Cale's organ slugging it out with Lou's guitar in sort of Godzilla v King Kong battle to the death. But, astoundingly, "Sister Ray" staggers on to survive 17 solid minutes of distortion and utter hell. The fearsome crackling that underpins much of the music on the this album points to the sheer amount of volume that the band were using, and it genuinely gives the impression that the equipment was actually on fire and burning up! 

 

So, the box set is good, but it's very expensive for just 3 cds, and I wouldn't say it was really worth the money. There is a two disc version, the stereo disc plus the live set - not the mono disc, which in my opinion, is probably the best part. 

 

Finally, some random thoughts about the creation of "The Gift". Stick with me on this and see what you think. Since the very beginning it's been acknowledged that "The Gift" came about when Lou's story was married to an instrumental called "Booker T". All Velvets fans know this. In 1990 John Cale issued the album Paris S'Eveille which contained a track recorded at the Gymnasium in April 1967. This was the first time this tape was known about, and came from Cale's personal archive. All very exciting, except that the track, called "Booker T" by Cale, is clearly not the same tune as on "The Gift". With this new issue of the whole Gymnasium gig we can see for the first time that the show begins and ends with two longish instrumentals. The end track IS clearly the same tune as on "The Gift" and the opening one is the one called "Booker T". But, perhaps, when Cale was preparing Paris S'Eveille he dug out his old tape and used the wrong instrumental - ie: perhaps the track now labelled "The Gift" on the live show was in fact referred to as "Booker T" by the Velvets at the time, and the opening jam was actually called something else. Certainly the closing instrumental would not have been called "The Gift" at this early stage as we are months ahead of Lou's story being attached to this music. So could the confusion actually all be down to Cale mislabelling or misremembering the title of an instrumental jam? 

 

This was the last release that Lou Reed had a hand in creating. Seems somehow fitting that it's such a stunning mess of noise, distortion and leakage. And that's stunning in its most literal definition ie, it actually stuns you. There's very little else you can do while WL/WH is playing. Although having said that - the instrumental track for "The Gift" is great for walking to - perfect tempo for a decent stroll. 

 

But on the whole it's an overwhelming album, hard and harsh and nasty and unpleasant and violent - it has a similar effect to the Stooges' Raw Power as it basically grabs you by the throat and pins you to the wall. It's also very very loud. WL/WH is an assault on the senses. This is rock music, or whatever you want to call it, at it's most violent and most extreme. By quite some distance.

 

 I hope that we get a 45th anniversary issue of the third VU album. There is already the regular mix and the 'closet' mix, plus I'm sure there's a mono version out there. It would be great if all the VU / Another View tracks could be included too, especially if they are as sympathetically restored as the ones here. I would guess that the 45th anniversary releases would end there as Loaded was on another label, and anyway, is there anything else that wasn't already on the Fully Loaded reissue from a few years ago? 

 

What I would love would be a decent reworking of the VU 1969 Live double album. I wonder if the masters could be found? Even back in 1974, when this set was first compiled, a large number of the tracks were taken from acetate discs, which had been created some years earlier as back ups, rather than from the actual tapes. So maybe the original tapes had been lost 40 years ago? Who knows, but it would be superb if a decent reissue could be created from this stuff. If only, if only, if only... 

white light / white heat - the velvet underground

White Light / White Heat is one noisy album. I remember first hearing it around 30 years ago and it was the very definition of 'mind blowing'. It was recorded around the same time as Sgt Pepper, but is the polar opposite of the Beatles' magnum opus.

Annie Nightingale played “The Gift” on her Sunday evening show, in stereo, (the spoken word story coming entirely from one speaker, the grind of the music entirely from the other) and I was enthralled.

But even with the bizarre introduction of “The Gift” I doubt I was ready for the whole album. The first side was weird enough – I knew the title track from the straight-ahead rock versions that Bowie did in the early 70’s, but the Velvet’s original is nothing like that. It’s just under three minutes of distortion and a brilliant mess of speed influenced madness and truly dreadful acoustics. The track creates a heavy oppressive mood, mainly via the compressed and distorted recording itself.

“The Gift” - that bizarre story of Waldo Jeffers mailing himself to his girlfriend totally captivated me and the grunging music powering along on it’s own in the other channel was amazing. John Cale's laconic delivery only adds to the otherworldliness of it all.

“Lady Godiva’s Operation” – a sinister song containing some bizarre vocal effects. The plan was to have Lou, Sterling and John take turns with alternating lines, but to have each line dovetail smoothly with the next. However, technical difficulties meant that each vocal ended up differing and jarring weirdly with the others - it's these disquieting changes in tone and volume that actually give the song its unique edge, but it was purely accidental.

Side one with the lovely “Here She Comes Now” – a thankfully peaceful and dreamy two minutes which does nothing to prepare the listener for side two.

“I Heard Her Call My Name”. the frantic but basic rock'n'roll strum of the verses is trampled to death by the frightening wall of noise that Lou's guitar creates! After the comment ‘And then my mind split open’ the shrieks and squeals of Lou Reed’s ‘solo’ are surely some of the most incredible and totally 'out there' sounds ever recorded. It's tremendously exciting, utterly terrifying, deafeningly hideous and brilliantly played - all at the same time.

And then you get 17 minutes of “Sister Ray” - the word relentless is by far the best one to describe "Sister Ray". It powers along like an unstoppable locomotive, instruments rise and fall depending on the who turned their amps up the most, Cale's organ actually burns itself out at one point as if utterly exhausted by trying to keep up. At the root of it all is Mo Tucker's rock solid drumming. She had such an assured sense of rhythm and an unerring ability to keep an absolute beat. This makes "Sister Ray" a great song for listening to on an iPod - the relentless beat makes you march along at quite a pace (which has surely got to be good for you). All that distortion and leakage and organs burning up and screams of feedback are just a fabulous bonus.

There’s a great story about the recording of this song. The Velvets plugged in and the engineer tried to set the levels. Lou told him -

“Turn everything right up to the max.”

“OK,” was the doubtful answer from the engineer, “but how long is the song?”

“No idea, we’ll just play until we’ve had enough.”

So they did. 17 minutes later one of the most distorted songs ever recorded was done. And it brings to a close an album that is quite unlike any other album, before or since.

wrong way up - brian eno & john cale

Their paths had crossed for many years. After performing together with Nico and Kevin Ayers on June 1^st 1974, Brian Eno worked on John Cale’s 1974 masterpiece Fear. Eno also appeared on 1975’s Slow Dazzle and Helen Of Troy and 1984’s Caribbean Sunset. In 1988 Eno set up his own label, Land, and one of his first signings was Cale.

After becoming a father in 1985 Cale had radically overhauled his life, eschewing his heavy drinking in favour of exercise and family stability. Cale had recently set a number of Dylan Thomas poems to music, a project that was recorded as “The Falklands Suite” in 1988 with a full Russian orchestra and Welsh choir. Eno produced the sessions and as the suite wasn’t long enough for a full album, suggested recording some additional songs. “The Soul Of Carmen Miranda” was the charming first result, which married Eno’s skewed pop sensibilities to Cale’s classical stylings and closed Cale’s 1989 Words For The Dying album on a pleasingly optimistic note. So delighted were the pair that a full-length album of grown-up pop songs was suggested. 

Cale spent a couple of months in the spring of 1990 in Woodbridge, Suffolk as Eno’s houseguest. They worked office hours at Eno’s Wilderness home studio and at the end of each day Cale would take himself off to the squash court while Eno tinkered into the night. At first excellent progress was made. They wrote lyrics together by shouting out random words resulting in some interesting phrases (plus a fair amount of nonsense - what exactly is a ‘crow of desperation’?), and an enthused Cale encouraged Eno to sing on record for the first time in over a decade. ‘We were recording in a well-lit, comfortable upstairs room filled with equipment,’ Cale later wrote. ‘The sun shone in and the birds were singing. I thought - this is how records should be made.’

Sadly the idyllic start didn’t last. It soon became clear that the duo’s working practices created an awful amount of tension. Eno’s methodical, painstaking approach saw him spending hours perfecting a single drum sound or treatment, sharply at odds with Cale’s sometimes haphazard and chaotic methods. Despite claiming that ‘part of the charm of collaboration is to feel out of control’ Cale was bitterly disappointed to discover that Eno had been surreptitiously erasing sections of the music without his consent. Although many songs were still unfinished, an unhappy Cale returned to New York in July where he reworked a number of his vocals and posted the tapes back to Eno.

This falling out is clear from the finished album as some tracks are full-blown collaborations (“One Word” is a prime example), but others, recorded later, are performed almost exclusively by one or the other (Eno’s “The River” doesn’t feature Cale at all). The guiding force is mainly Eno – the complex rhythm tracks he created before Cale’s arrival demonstrate his love of unorthodox drum sounds which in turn gave rise to typically Enoid tunes. Cale dominates only on “In The Backroom” and “Cordoba” though both contain shimmering Eno arrangements. Working at Eno’s own studio also allowed Brian to utilise his choice of musicians. Many of them (notably Robert Ahwai and Nell Catchpole) continued to work with Eno on the abortive My Squelchy Life and 1992’s Nerve Net. 

Nonetheless, Wrong Way Up was undoubtedly an artistic success. By not pandering to any current trends the album avoids becoming dated and today seems oddly timeless. Although some of the programming may seem a little clunky, the keyboard washes and gently chattering rhythm beds are superb. Cale and Eno’s voices complement each other harmoniously to the extent that on “One Word” it is appropriately impossible to tell them apart. “One Word” was also issued as single backed with a number of out-takes, including Cale’s emotional “Grandfather’s House.”

Other tunes range from the staccato opener “Lay My Love” via the engaging “Empty Frame” (basically an old-fashioned sea shanty, with telling lyrics about trying to turn a ship around) through the happy singalong “Been There Done That” to Eno’s beautiful song for his newborn daughter Irial, “The River.” It closes the album on a delicately positive note as some of Eno’s warmest vocals mesh with another heartrending Nell Catchpole string arrangement.

The highlight of Wrong Way Up is arguably “Spinning Away” – a gorgeously melodic adult pop song.  As Eno whiles away the day sketching (deftly described as ‘my pencil turning moments into lines’), stirring strings and Cale’s mournful viola gradually work their way to a climax. The song takes an age to fade out, perfectly encapsulating the dreamy mood of a warm summer’s afternoon.  

The cover, inspired by the royal playing cards, amusingly highlighted the personal tensions between Cale and Eno by inserting daggers between their photos. Even before the album was released Eno was asked if he would work with Cale again. ‘No way,’ was the succinct reply and, apart from a small Eno guest spot on a recent Cale album, they haven’t, which is a pity as Wrong Way Up is something of a creative highpoint for both. Eno hasn’t written such archly romantic or darkly catchy songs since and Cale’s careworn vocals have rarely had such sympathetic settings.

A few years back Eno’s label, now called All Saints, reissued Wrong Way Up (though intriguingly the revised cover has lost the daggers, implying a thaw in their relationship perhaps) with a couple of bonus tracks originally used on the “One Word” single, so it’s a good time to explore this overlooked gem.

nico

I still miss Nico, the foghorned voiced fraulein who I first heard singing with the Velvet Underground. Really weird that I should miss her, because I didn’t know her at all. I'd never even seen her in concert. I’d only ever heard her music, but when she died in July 1988 I felt terribly sad. Can't really explain why, but it felt almost like a personal loss. I played her records repeatedly in the weeks after she died and probably got very morbid... One song that seemed really pertinent was the “Eulogy to Lenny Bruce”, the last track on Chelsea Girl with it's opening line 'I've lost a friend, and I don't know why'.

In retrospect it seems odd that I missed her so much, as by all accounts she could be a deeply unpleasant individual - selfish and spoilt, a desperate junkie for most of her adult life until only a year or so before she died, either utterly lazy or genuinely virtually incapable of looking after herself. Yet for some unaccountable reason she inspired something approaching devotion from her band members, managers and friends.

Born in Cologne just before the Second World War Christa Paffgen grew up a solitary, lonely child. She adopted the name of a male friend when she started modelling in the 1950s. By the mid sixties she was to be found in New York hanging out with the Andy Warhol art set. Andy loved her striking features and Nico appeared in a number of Warhol films. It was his idea to introduce her to the Velvet Underground, a new band he had started managing. Such was Andy's persuasiveness that the Velvets somehow found themsleves agreeing to Nico fronting the band, despite her limited vocal range and inability to keep time. Lou Reed wrote three of his most beautiful songs for Nico to sing, and she would continue to play these songs throughout her career - "All Tomorrow's Parties, "I'll Be Your Mirror" and the song that became indelibly Nico's - "Femme Fatale".

Of course the Velvets soon tired of Nico's lack of contribution to the band and by 1967 she was recording a solo album although she was helped by Lou, John and Sterling. The original Chelsea Girl recordings were simple acoustic guitar songs. The record label, fearing that Nico's limited vocals were too exposed in such bare arrangements, added strings and flutes in order to sweeten the album. Nico was devastated. She vowed to write and perform only her own material from then on and with a surprising amount of self discipline taught herself how to play the harmonium, an instrument that required no outside power source (and was thus perfect for her candlelit existence), yet it could create crashing waves of sound. The constantly shifting rhythmic base provided by the harmonium suited her vocal style which seemed to have its own idiosyncratic sense of timing. Band members, especially drummers, would always have problems trying to play along with Nico's singing as she utterly disregarded any conventional idea of a steady beat. Yet her songs were highly structured and would fall apart if her skewed structure was not adhered to.

The Marble Index was the first album that Nico had written and performed herself. Issued in 1968 TMI is characterised by John Cale's musique concrete arrangements. Wind howls through some pieces, the whole album seems to inhabit some arctic wasteland; it's cold to the point of freezing; it's like no other album ever made. Underpinning every song is the powerful rise and fall of the harmonium, and piercing the gloom and the fog is Nico's lugubrious croon. It was a total flop of course, even the record label boss said that 'no-one wants to buy suicide', not exactly a ringing endorsement... It was so wonderfully out of step with sixties fashions and trends, an album as far removed from the hippy love-ins as it was possible to be. Even today it still sounds like music from another world entirely. And I love it.

Nico followed The Marble Index with Desertshore in 1971, which offered slightly more conventionally arranged songs and then The End in 1974, which didn't. Both contain some stunning, outre arrangements from John Cale, and on The End some synth and guitar work from Roxy Music's Eno and Phil Manzanera. 

By then, however, Nico was a junkie. She had no possessions, no home, she even sold her harmonium. Between 1974 and 1978 she drifted, in a heroin induced fog. No one seems to know where she lived, who she hung out with, what she did. Then she appeared backstage at a Patti Smith gig and poured out such a tale of woe that Patti immediately found her a place to stay and bought her a new harmonium in order that Nico might get her career going again. Perhaps surprisingly, she did, and Nico would always remember Patti's act of kindness. 1979 and 1980 would see Nico frequently performing in New York clubs playing a large number of new songs, sometimes backed by her old friend John Cale.

Then, and for no obvious reason, Nico relocated to Britain. She first recorded what can only be described as an arabic infused rock album. Many of her new songs had been radically reimagined by her new Turkish and French musician friends and the resulting album Drama Of Exile is a true one off in Nico's bizarre catalogue. In fact the album was recorded twice, as the original mastertapes were stolen or something - the true facts are somewhat obscure... Both versions are now available. But some of the songs are stunning - the mysterious "Purple Lips", the miltary "Sixty / Forty", the powerful "One More Chance".

In order to more easily source heroin Nico then moved to Manchester, in the early 1980s a haven for addicts. But despite her drug dependency Nico got herself a new manager and decided to hit the road. backed by various Manchester musicians in various configurations - sometimes she'd play solo, sometimes with a conventional drums, bass, guitar set up, sometimes with three or four drummers only, Nico toured with a vengeance. Not only the UK but all across Europe, venturing behind the Iron Curtain, across the Mediterranean islands, and sometimes criss-crossing the USA too.

Another new album, Camera Obscura, was once again produced by John Cale and showcases a percussion heavy sound that was a feature of Nico's live show at the time. It contains one of my favourite Nico songs, the devastating "My Heart Is Empty". There are numerous live albums, mainly from the 1980s, and most show that Nico could be a spellbinding performer - not always; some concerts display a somewhat indifferent or forgetful Nico. But when she put on a good show, often only with the harmonium for accompaniment, she could be incredible. There is a phenomenal version of “Janitor Of Lunacy” from 1983 on Do Or Die, in which the song is invested with a huge power that is actually very frightening.

Tours across Australasia and Japan in 1986 and 1987 coincided with Nico finally kicking her heroin habit for good. And things were really looking up when when she was chosen to headline a festival at the Berlin Planetarium. She worked hard on a new set of songs. Unfinished and partly improvised though they may be, the new material debuted at the Planetarium displays an improving mastery of dynamics and composition. After this triumphant performance Nico returned to Ibiza where she held a small apartment. 

  

In order to improve her fitness Nico had taken up cycling around the island. No-one actually knows what happened, but on 18th July 1988 Nico was found unconscious at the side of the country road, having apparently fallen off her bike. With proper medical attention she may well have survived, but the first hospital to which she was taken proved to be woefully primitive and due to the slightly bizarre attire in which she was found (heavy black motorbike boots, black clothing and a black shawl - in August - in Ibiza) she was assumed to be some sort of gypsy woman or a homeless beggar. Typically, she carried no ID. Partly because no-one could identify her she was left for hours on a trolley before being given any treatment. When a brain haemorrhage was diagnosed she was moved to a better hospital but by then the bleeding was too severe and there was nothing that could be done. Whether she suffered the haemorrhage and then fell off the bike, or the fall caused the bleeding is something that was never identified. In any case, the result was the same.

She was just 49, and after years of drug abuse and living in utter poverty it seems that simply riding a bicycle killed Nico. She would have found the irony very amusing.