Oh right, and there's also Nico. Andy Warhol, the band's manager at the time, decided it would be a good idea for Nico, a minor celebrity from a career in modeling and acting, to join the band as a singer (and an on-stage "personality"), but it was definitely more for her image than for her musical abilities. To say the least, she's not a talented singer (especially for the world of rock) in any regular sense of the word: she has a thick German accent, as close to a baritone as a woman can have, and a seeming allergy to varying her tone or approach at all. People who dislike this album tend to cite her as one of the main reasons, and it's hard for me to say they're clearly in the wrong. That said, just because I can see where somebody's coming from regarding her doesn't mean I have to agree with them. She may sound out of place in the world of rock, but she makes this album stand out more than it otherwise would, and besides, all of the songs where she takes part are made better from her voice. I would never take a Reed-sung version of "Femme Fatale" over this one, and Nico-less versions of "All Tomorrow's Parties" (where she helps make it one of the best songs on the album) or "I'll Be Your Mirror" (which wouldn't have anywhere near the same cool vibe) would be much worse for her absence. Far from being a detriment to the album, she's one of its strongest positives.

Beyond Nico, this album is just fascinating, full of contradiction and unity all at once. The opening is as deceptive as can be: "Sunday Morning" is a gorgeous pop ballad, one that would fit better on the 1969 album than here in terms of mood, but which overall is different from anything the band would ever do again (mostly because of the lighthearted vibe and the pleasant glockenspiel). Past that point, though, the band mixes raw elements of rock and roll with interesting arrangements and weird experiments, with lyrics depicting a part of the social fabric that wasn't commonly discussed in the open back then. "I'm Waiting for the Man" and "Run Run Run" both just seem like slightly tweaked garage rockers on the surface, but the combination of the frantically peppy yet simplistic rhythms and arrangements with the lyrical allusions to drug use and other things make these songs really fascinating. If nothing else, they sure break the stereotype of what druggy songs are "supposed" to sound like.

Aside from the three Nico songs (highlighted by "All Tomorrow's Parties," an awesome drone about socializing with the kinds of people in the VU social scene, and which features a fascinating guitar tuning and some other neat tricks), the album's remaining highlights present the band's takes on sex and drugs, and do so with aplomb. Look, I have no intention of ever taking part in any sort of group S&M/bondage/whatever, so I'll never be able to confirm this, but everything about "Venus in Furs" depicts with frightening exactness what I would expect the mood of such a place to be. The combination of electrified strings and Reed's decadent (I kinda hate to keep using that word to describe this album, but I don't think any word would do better here) vocals and singing creates an atmosphere that I may not find immediately appealing, but that is definitely completely unforgettable. It's a good song, anyway. "Heroin," then, is one of the band's most noted accomplishments, and while I can understand disliking it (it's based around two chords, it's seven minutes long, it's monotonous as hell, etc), I definitely find myself appreciating what's going on here. I don't have any emotional investment in the band taking drug use away from the typically cartoonish manner in which it's usually depicted (a lot of cartoonish portrayals of drug use are a lot of fun), and creating a more accurately hellish portrayal of it, but I have a soft spot for any song that can create solid imagery and atmosphere without me feeling like it's a total put-on. The tempo, volume and intensity changes are all gradual but noticable, and they do a good job of creating the hazy vibe that comes from any activity that creates detachment from those around oneself. Yup, this track is a success.

Two of the remaining tracks aren't especially remarkable ("There She Goes Again" almost sounds like a lumbering parody of 60's rock, with a common riff from that decade, and "The Black Angel's Death Song" is a cute experiment in violin-based dissonance but nothing special), but the closing "European Son" is definitely a standout, for better or worse. It's easy to call the song an unlistenable mess; after the brief song portion, the band proceeds to spend the last six-and-a-half minutes of the album doing an improvisational feedback experiment, and it's not pleasant in the least. On the other hand, though, I do think it's neat that the two channels are doing completely different things from each other: the track is kinda fascinating to listen to if you position yourself between your speakers, with them a good distance apart, and then proceed to concentrate on one speaker at a time. It sounds ridiculous and primitive and dated today, but I can't bring myself to hate it, and it's definitely not enough to drive the album down from the rating I give it.

I don't worship this album, and it's rare that I find myself in the mood to listen to it, but when I do listen to it I find that I admire and enjoy many things about it, and that's enough to give it a very high rating. I may not appreciate all the things about it that so many critics do, but that doesn't mean I don't see them there to be appreciated. A rock collection without this album, love it or hate it, is incomplete.

The opening title track is a classic, building on the same basic idea of "I'm Waiting for the Man" (aggressive up-tempo guitar-rocker, with old-school piano, with lyrics related to drugs), but doing it in a much muddier way that somehow makes it more effective. The individual instruments are very difficult to pick apart from one another (even the drums), and this muted the song's effect for me at first, but the song definitely strikes me as a classic at this point. The next song, though, isn't really a classic, even though it's good for a couple of "huh, that's kinda amusing" chuckles the first few times it's heard. "The Gift" is really two tracks at once, with the two tracks cleanly split (at least on CD, supposedly this was less successful on LP) between the left and right channels. The right channel is an 8-minute okayish blues-rock (sorta) jam, with Maureen Tucker on bass guitar, and apart from some feedback noises here and there it doesn't do much to stand out. The left channel is John Cale reciting a short story Lou Reed had written in college, about a guy who mails himself to his girlfriend and gets killed when she opens the package containing him. Combined, the effect is kinda amusing, but the novelty wears thin pretty quickly. I could see enjoying the track a bunch if I only heard it once in a while, but I sure wouldn't want to hear it regularly.

"Lady Godiva's Operation," the closest this album comes to actual beauty, features a lovely droning melody, with lyrics that start out related to a lovely lady (at least, I'm assuming it's about a lady) and that shift into something about a lobotomy. Aside from the melody, the most fascinating aspect of the song is the way it starts off with just Cale singing, and in the middle starts to have clearly overdubbed Reed vocals shove their way into the mix. For whatever reason, it amuses me to no end that the band would seem to try to emphasize how out of place Reed's parts are; it fits right in with the rest of the album's tendency to make things as difficult for the listener as possible.

The next two tracks are extremely different from one another. "Here She Comes Now," with some better production, could have fit in on the first album, as it's just a short poppy song with ambiguous lyrics. "I Heard Her Call My Name," on the other hand, is a song that's basically built around noise and frantic rhythms, making it (I guess) a precursor to hardcore punk. These songs are essentially enjoyable (I actually find this somewhat surprising for the latter), but they're far less interesting than what comes next. "Sister Ray" is the biggest controversy in the band's catalogue, and with good cause: it's a 17-minute (here; live it often went longer) improvisational jam initially built around an interesting groove before devolving into noisy oblivion, with all of the instruments and amplifiers jacked up to provide as much noise as possible, while Reed intermittently riffs on a story about orgies and drugs and transvestites. The first couple of times I listened to this, I thought it was one of the worst things I'd ever heard, and I wondered how on earth any person could enjoy what sounded like such an amateurish jam. Eventually, though, I started giving the track and its relation to rock music a little more thought. I'm not a proponent of the idea that basic rock and roll is better than other kinds of rock music, but that doesn't mean I don't have a great appreciation for basic rock and roll. And when you come down to it, what are some of the fundamental elements of basic rock and roll? Among other things, they are: noise, rhythm and dangerous, smutty-sounding lyrics. Well, when you come down to it, "Sister Ray" is just these raw elements, presented in one of the most grotesque and bizarre manners possible. The song almost comes across as a senior research project, a reinterpretation of the very definition of rock and roll; obviously the band didn't intend it exactly that way, but it gives a certain weight to what could otherwise be considered an unlistenable experience, and I end up enjoying it quite a bit.

Even more so than its predecessor, this isn't an album I find myself hankering to listen to on a regular basis, and the intentionally difficult aspects of the album keep me from loving it. I sure do like the album, though, and I'm glad when any of its tracks (yes, even "The Gift") pop up at random when I'm shuffling my music collection. Don't make it your first VU purchase (if you like it, you'd probably like the other albums, but if you hate it, you still might like the other albums but be discouraged from getting them), but definitely buy it.

"Candy Says," sung by Doug Yule, would have been a complete and utter shock for a fan hearing this album for this first time upon release, but hopefully they'd get over it soon. It features lyrics about a famous transvestite, but this doesn't jump out right away; on the surface, this is just a top-notch soft pop ballad, with an amazing set of melodies and those great quiet "oooooh, doo doo waaah" vocals near the end. "What Goes On" brings the band into "rock" territory, but in a totally different way from what had come before. Rather than being built around noise, this one's built around lightning-fast guitar strumming, simplistic (meant in a good way) drumming, a great set of vocal lines, and a majestic organ in the back that gives a lot of power to the song. This song definitely strikes me as a direct ancestor of a lot of "rockers" that would later come from various post-punk (and later) bands, and I like it more than most of its descendants.

"Some Kinda Love" is one of the album's lesser tracks, a moody countryish song with lyrics alluding to unconventional kinds of expressions of love, but it's still a fun enough song. After this slight dip comes two of the massive highlights of the album. "Pale Blue Eyes" is the best "pure" love song in the band's catalogue, even if the song is technically about sleeping with the wife of the singer's best friend. Say what you will, but there's just something so enduringly charming about lines like "Thought of you as my mountain top/thought of you as my peak/thought of you as my everything/I've had but couldn't keep," and the song gets lovelier with each listen. "Jesus," then, manages to be lovely while having nothing untowards or smutty about it at all. It's just a quiet, gospelish ballad, betraying no signs of irony in its lyrics or vocals, and it's as beautiful as can be.

"Beginning to See the Light" is the only other "rocker" on this album aside from "What Goes On," but it too doesn't rock in any way that resembles what had come before. It's a mid-tempo, gospelish, somewhat sluggish song, but it's as catchy as a cold, and I enjoy it lots. It's especially a lot of fun to realize that this one is definitely tongue in cheek; hearing Reed sing, "There are problems in these times/but, woo! None of them are mine!" is a total crack-up. And the final song of this great seven song stretch, "I'm Set Free," is just a great soulful anthem. The lyrics are moving yet disturbing in the way that only the Velvets can do, and the majestic way in which Lou sings the line, "I'm set freeeee," is enough to make the song a classic.

The album has a slight letdown over the next two tracks: "That's the Story of My Life" is a total throwaway, and "The Murder Mystery" is a 9-minute throwback to the band's experimentation which feels slightly like a self-parody. It's kinda cool to have the multiple narratives going on at once, and the melodies and instrumentation at least have some variety and development, but ehn, I could do without it for the most part. Fortunately, the album ends on a high note, with "After Hours," sung by Tucker in her little girl voice. It supposedly has an undertext about something dark (I think I heard it's suicide, though I don't know for sure), but it's hard to tell from the way the song is done. It's just a two-minute acoustic number with some light bass in the background, with lyrics and vocals that are as charming and innocent as can be, and it strangely feels like the perfect way to finish things off.

So ok, maybe one could argue that this album isn't representative of the "real" Velvet Underground, but when you're dealing with a band with only four albums, all of them different from one another, is it possible to say any of those albums show who the band "really" was? I'm more interested in picking out which of those albums were better than the others, and this one is just top-notch. This is as good a place as any to start, but make sure that you don't get the idea that all of their albums are like this.

Look, this isn't the kind of live album where there are a lot interesting insights to be uncovered. These aren't complex songs, and except for a couple of instances, they're not especially atmospheric. All you get with this album is a bunch of good songs, performed well, making a strong case that the band was really good. And really, it's hard to be disappointed with that.

Personally, I'm not quite as in love with all of these songs as most everybody else seems to be. I don't hate the stripped-down, half-finished nature of the songs in principle, but I find that it wears on me a bit. Apparently over half of these songs later made it onto Lou Reed's solo albums in a more finished manner, and while I've only heard one of them ("Andy's Chest") in its solo Reed context, the difference in quality between that version of the track and this album's version is enough to give me pause. I mean, the song isn't a masterpiece on Transformer, but it has a slight bit of darkness and danger and mood and good stuff like that. Here, I half expect to hear Reed break out into some variation on, "and that's the way the teddy bears have their picnic," and it's a little disconcerting.

Still, good songs are good songs. I'd rather hear the Live 1969 versions of "I Can't Stand It" (rather than this one with re-recorded, electronically enhanced drums) and "Lisa Says," but these are nice versions nonetheless. "Lisa" is a nice upbeat ballad, and "I Can't Stand It" is a solid rocker nearly on par with "What Goes On" (trailing that one only in anthemic power). Another great song, one that sounds as close to done as it's going to get, is "Foggy Notion" (including a Cale writing credit but recorded after he left), which sounds like a perfect bridge between "What Goes On" and the rockers found on Loaded. The guitar work is energetic, the groove is undeniable, and the lyrics are a delightfully glib take on S&M (I guess). It's almost 7 minutes, but I'd never think it listening to it.

Aside from the lovely ballad "Stephanie Says" and the ultra-charming closer, "I'm Sticking with You" (featuring another fun Tucker vocal), the other songs are nice on the whole, but not really great. One song that keeps disappointing me is "Ocean:" I want to consider it a nice piece of hypnotic atmosphere, but I find myself getting bored with it pretty easily, and it's not even pretty enough to make up for its overall dull nature. The quiet vocals in the second half are a pretty nice touch, but they're not enough to save the song. Aside from that, though, the songs seem as already described: decent, but undercooked.

Still, there's a good amount of really good stuff on here, and that's enough to bring the album up to a solid 7. With a little more work, this could have been on par with any of the "real" albums the band did. As is, don't buy it before the others, but if you like what you hear from the band, get this.

Of the ten songs on here, three don't strike me as too great. "Cool it Down" has some amusing intonations in Lou's double-tracked vocals, and there's a nice piano part in the middle, but those are pretty much the only things I find notable in the song, and the song seems to me like just a moderately fun throwaway. "Lonesome Cowboy Bill" largely sounds like the band decided, "hey, let's make a dumb county-rocker," and then proceeded on autopilot (it doesn't even have a funny Reed vocal; this one features Yule singing). It's a nice diversion, but nothing great. And finally, "I Found a Reason" just seems like the band decided, "hey, let's make an ultra-sappy soft ballad," and while I sometimes have tolerance for such things, this gets a little ridiculous right around the time of the mid-song spoken interlude. I don't hate the song, but I don't seek it out either.

The rest of the album is great, though! The opening "Who Loves the Sun," an upbeat cheerful pop song (with slightly sad lyrics) with a fun Yule vocal, is an enormous departure from everything the band had done to that point, but I don't mind that at all. It's just a great little pop song, and I could put that "pah pah pah paaaa, who loves the sun, pah pah pah paaa, not everyone" chorus on an endless loop in my mind and not grow to hate it for a long time. "Sweet Jane," past the weirdly fascinating guitar-chiming at the beginning, is a neat combination of Lou's semi-singing and his simple guitar sequence, and while it does indeed remind me more than a bit of "Queen Jane Approximately" in the chorus, I can look past this without too much difficulty. And then there's the immortal classic "Rock & Roll," one of the best songs ever written on the subject. I like Led Zeppelin's "Rock and Roll" plenty and all, but I find it strangely refreshing that a great song about rock music could be made without having to venture into the world of hard rock. This is a fairly understated song in terms of volume and heaviness, but there's plenty of great energy and groove and all sorts of fundamental building blocks of solid rock music, and I like hearing it come out in this context. Plus, of course, the lyrics are just terrific, and Reed gives an effective and varied delivery that makes me happy each time I hear it.

"New Age" is one of two songs on here that could have fit in cleanly on The Velvet Underground, and its similarity in style to the ballads on that album is matched by its similarity in quality to the ballads on that album. It passed me by the first few times I listened to it, but the sad nostalgia in the verses is pretty hard to ignore forever, as is the weirdly intriguing climax of, "it's the beginning of a new age." The following "Head Held High," in contrast, is clearly modeled after "Beginning to See the Light," only a little gruffer and more aggressive, and the anger in the groove and Reed's vocals is just irresistable.

After the lull of "Lonesome Cowboy Bill" and "I Found a Reason," the last two tracks end the album on a very high note. "Train Round the Bend" does a great job in its rhythm section of imitating a slowly chugging train, and it's one of the best examples I know of a "rocker" that's better served by being mid-tempo (usually not the optimal tempo for a good rock song) rather than faster or slower. Finally, "Oh! Sweet Nuthin'," kind of serves as this album's version of "Hey Jude," as it starts as a good pop song and ends with a lengthy, anthemic, oft-repeated chorus (along with a fantastic rousing guitar solo). I'm not really sure why I should find it especially memorable or moving, and it may well be that this was a case like with other songs on this album: the band saying, "hey, let's make an anthemic fade-out kind of song," and proceeding to go through the motions. But while it may not actually go out of its way to do much, it manages to suck me in as much as anything else on the album, and I really wouldn't end the album in any other way. It does seem a little weird to think that the Reed's career with the band ended on a Yule-sung "Hey Jude"-like song, but hey, what can you do.

I could never consider this a near-masterpiece, seeing as I don't really like about a quarter of the album, but the rest of the album makes me understand why so many people today tend to go ga-ga for this album. Everybody should own at least one Velvet Underground album, and if you're somebody who doesn't like weird experimentation in their rock music, this is probably the place to go.