By the time the Velvet Underground recorded their eponymous third album, they had evolved from the Andy Warhol curiosity of their debut album to the visceral molten primacy of the follow up White Light/White Heat to record an introspective album that begged for a double take. It was street-level poetry redefined as art.
The Velvet Underground 45th Anniversary Super Deluxe Edition collects three different mixes of the album plus three additional discs of live material, outtakes and everything else a record company will package these days to make a four-and-a-half-decade album relevant. In this case it is worth every penny.
Gone was bassist/violist John Cale, who seemingly took the edge with him. Yet, for many listeners the band’s third album is a favorite. Accessible, introspective and even quiet at times, it defines a facet of the band shorthand descriptions often overlook.
Long stretches on the road left Lou Reed’s vocal cords in rough shape. Enter innocent-voiced Doug Yule, Cale’s replacement on bass and the perfect alter-ego for a number of Reed’s songs. Ironically, with Yule singing half the songs here, Reed would not allow listeners this honest a view into his psyche until 1982’s The Blue Mask.
It has been suggested the songs on this album can be seen as a series of chapters. Listening to the “Closet Mix” version of the record, it is easy to connect the dots.
Opening with “Candy Says,” Reed via Yule offers a transsexual’s heartache that overflows in humanity from the outset. Veering headlong into confusion (“What Goes On”) Reed and his foil, the underrated guitarist Sterling Morrison, deliver guitar solos that pick up where the mind-bending previous album left off. “Some Kinda Love” wobbles along in late-night non-judgmentalism just to make a U-tune at the very next song.
In a word “Pale Blue Eyes” is perfect. The tender ballad is antithetical to the band’s previous legacy. If Reed had retired after delivering this song his mark would have been made. Here, the Velvets balance the bleakness of reality that perches where a night without sleep greets the dawn and, in the process, create a template bands will chase, for better or worse. Yule’s choirboy vocals of yearning on “Jesus” must have had hippies and radio programmers alike scratching their heads.
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The ride continues as Reed straddles the subjective nature of reality. “Beginning to See the Light” hints at rebirth and enlightenment as the band takes a driving rhythm down to a dynamic shift then blasts back again for emphasis. Maureen Tucker’s thumping tom-toms frame the elegiac “I’m Set Free” in the band’s cathedral of sound as Reed does his best Doug Yule impression.
With a title like “That’s the Story of My Life” you might expect more than a light-hearted romp buoyed by a sprightly melody, yet that tune quickly segues into “The Murder Mystery.” An experiment that features two prose poems running at the same time in either channel it reflects Reed’s literary ambitions. It also gives Morrison a rare vocal opportunity.
In an album of subdued surprises, how would the Velvet Underground tie things up? “Afterhours” features an even rarer vocal by drummer Tucker. If Yule’s voice was a more innocent version of Reed’s, then Tucker’s lacked any guile whatsoever. Delivering the line, “If you close the door, the night could last forever,” she can’t even imagine the decadence she conveys. Instead we are treated to a band that delivers on its promise.
