'Words and Music, May 1965' by Lou Reed
The critic Greil Marcus has never been shy about sending readers (like me) scurrying for the dictionary. In the liner notes for Lou Reed’s archival album, Words & Music, May 1965, Marcus uses the term bildungsroman in reference to a letter Reed sent to his mentor, the poet Delmore Schwartz, in 1965. The moral and psychological growth (bildungsroman) of Reed as a songwriter and the characters that wound populate his songs—some of the most compelling and multi-dimensional to fall under the umbrella of rock and roll—is reason enough for Marcus to drop that 25-cent word.
The way Reed depicts himself and his experiences in the letter may simply be a young adult looking to impress. Yet it also is a clear roadmap to the landscape Reed, beginning with the Velvet Underground, would populate with people who were brave enough to live their lives apart from the mainstream. Today, this sense of genuineness is referred to as “living my best life.” In 1965 it was a more than a challenge.
Reed had long expressed his desire for his songs to be taken as seriously as literature and film. Ultimately, his New York demimonde can be seen as an analog to William Faulkner’s Yoknapatawpha County. And why not?
On Tuesday May 11, 1965, Reed had mailed the recordings to himself to prove authorship. The small reel-to-reel tape was found near his desk at Reed’s Sister Ray Enterprises office after his death in 2013. A “poor man’s copyright,” the sealed and notarized package was unopened. The album also includes a clutch of home recordings from 1963/64. Like an insect trapped in amber, it is a time capsule offering insight into a young artist whose influence would be massive.
Reed and John Cale are the musicians who appear on these recordings, with Reed introducing each song crediting himself for posterity. Their group, The Velvet Underground would not release its debut album until 1967 and this tape only hints at the groundbreaking work they would do in a few short years.
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While much of the music is of its time—folk music had taken hold—the songs are highlighted by proto-VU versions of “I’m Waiting for the Man” and “Heroin” (this is believed to be the earliest recorded version of that song). What we learn is just how much the group’s dynamic is owed to the insistent tribal drumming of Mo Tucker and Sterling Morrison’s incisive guitar playing. “Pale Blue Eyes,” one of Reed’s masterpieces, shows up here with only the first verse intact from the version that would be officially released on the band’s 1969 eponymous album. This take could easily be heard as chapters from the same diary. It is a work in progress that would officially see the light of day after Cale had left the group.
Reed’s love of doo wop music is evident throughout and surprisingly, so is a sense of humor. “The Buttercup Song” seems like a jokey toss-off. He sings:
Oh! Never get emotionally involved
With a man or a woman or a beast or a child
With cobblestone streets or subway turnstiles
eventually revealing love poems were writ for a flower.
At the time of these recordings Reed was working for Pickwick Records, a budget label known for capitalizing on teenage trends and quickly releasing records in attempts to cash in. The record business could be a sleazy one and it is not beyond reason to imagine the young songwriter establishing ownership to avoid being ripped off down the road. “Too Late,” “Stockpile” and “Walk Alone” demonstrate a sly innocence and could easily be songs he would pitch to Pickwick.
The influence of Chuck Berry hovers over Reed’s ode to telephone frustration. “Buzz, Buzz, Buzz” also foreshadows the songs teenage VU uber-fan Jonathan Richman would become known for. In fact, Richman would record a different song by the same name on his 1979 album. (For those keeping score, Richman’s song is a cover of the Hollywood Flames tune released in 1957.)
Reed was no doubt familiar with Delmore Schwartz’ short story In Dreams Begin Responsibilities. The song “Wrap Your Troubles in Dreams” moves the spotlight over to Cale. Sung in his Welsh baritone, the stark, repetitive percussive slams hint at the arty, European sensibility that would become part of the VU’s experimental side.
