In Which I Am A Man of Wealth And Taste

Love of Velvet

by HANSON O'HAVER

When I was in eighth grade, I really liked a girl who was into a boy who was into the Velvet Underground. In an attempt to impress her, I bought the Velvet Underground's box set, Peel Slowly and See. The set, which I got used for $45, contains basically the entire Velvet Underground discography.

The girl, of course, did not care that I now had access to all four of the Velvet Underground's studio albums, as well as several alternative mixes and live outtakes. For whatever reason, I was never able to convince her that I was the one. I don't know what she's up to now; last I heard, she was offering sex acts for money on Craigslist under an alias (Cherri), but Craig has since shut down that portion of his site. What all this means, besides that attractiveness in eighth grade is not necessarily correlated with future success, is that for seven years I have been familiar with almost everything the Velvet Underground put out. I say almost everything, because until three weeks ago I had never heard Squeeze.

To understand why most Velvet Underground fans have never listened to Squeeze, a short biography of the band: The Velvet Underground formed in 1965, with Lou Reed on vocals, John Cale on bass and viola, Sterling Morrison on guitar, and, a little while later, Maureen Tucker at the drums. Singer/model/ alleged Jim Morrison blood-sharer Nico joined for their 1967 debut, The Velvet Underground and Nico.

Nico left, and they released White Light/White Heat, inventing both punk rock and the practice of putting "a long and annoying song" that everyone claims to like but always skips over in the middle of a great album. Cale then left the band and was replaced by Doug Yule on their eponymous 1969 album. In 1970, they released what is generally regarded as their final album, Loaded. At this point, the band fell apart. Maureen Tucker left to have a kid and Sterling Morrison went to Texas to study medieval history. More importantly, Lou Reed left (I'm assuming) to take speed and have sex with David Bowie and Iggy Pop.

By 1971, the only member left was Yule, who began playing under the Velvet Underground name with Deep Purple member Ian Paice. Squeeze, recorded in 1972 and released the following year, is largely a solo effort by Yule. He wrote all the lyrics and played most of the instruments on the record. To everyone, with the possible exception of John Cale, Lou Reed was the Velvet Underground, and the Velvet Underground was Lou Reed. Thus, essentially, Squeeze is comparable to if David Bryan released an album under the name Bon Jovi.

This is why I had never listened to Squeeze-- because Lou Reed is not on it. Like many teens who get into music, I used to take bands . I would worry about bands selling out, or have pointless debates with my friends over questions like, "Was Raw Power the first punk album?" It's not that I didn't know Squeeze existed. It's just that, when I first heard about the album, I didn't want to hear the legacy of the most important band ever get ruined by some guy who wasn't even an original member. Eventually, I forgot about the album. I no longer give a shit about artistic integrity, selling out, or anything like that.

When I read something about Squeeze a few weeks ago, I began to wonder what I was missing out on. The album was a commercial failure and nearly universally panned. It has been out of print for decades. Finding a torrent for it took like ten seconds. I downloaded it, and hoped that it would be a lost classic. I felt like an archeologist, or the 21st century version of people trading bootlegs of the Beach Boys Smile sessions, before Brian Wilson finally released the album under his own name.

The songs on Squeeze fall into three categories. The best songs sound like a bad version of late-70s Lou Reed. "Caroline" and "Jack and Jane" would fit in as Coney Island Baby b-sides. There are standard rock tunes, which could be filler on any generic classic rock album. The worst songs are intensely happy, rhyme too much, and could best be described as ditties. They make me a little nauseous. After hearing them, I have to listen to something like Black Flag to cleanse my palate. "Crash," the worst of these, has the following chorus: "Crash McBean/ Ya shoulda seen/ Poor ol' mommy's face go green." It's about a tricycle racer who is fueled by peanut butter. Amazingly, the music is even worse than the lyrics.

I wanted Squeeze to be decades ahead of its time, some experimental masterpiece that would eventually be seen as incredibly influential. I started playing it with the hope that I would love it. I wanted to be able to say that Squeeze is my favorite Velvet Underground album. This did not happen. Halfway through the first song, I forgot I was listening to music at all. It took me several tries to listen to the whole album, because I would get so bored listening to it that I would inevitably put on something else. I've probably listened to the whole thing ten times, but I couldn't hum a tune or recite one of its lyrics to save my life.

Squeeze is the worst kind of bad album. There is nothing experimental, or even remotely ambitious about it. Which would be fine, if the songs were good. I mean, nothing's better than a well-written pop song. The problem is, the songs on Squeeze are nether bad nor good. They're just kind of there. On the Pitchfork ten-point scale, the album is a perfect 5.

At least with some bad albums there's something to justify their existence. Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music, for example, can be seen as an artistic statement, a fuck-you to his label, or the first noise LP. Even though I don't ever want to hear more than a minute of it, I feel good about the idea of a commercially viable artist making a double album entirely of guitar feedback.

If Squeeze was the musical equivalent of a car crash, that'd be great. Everyone loves a car crash. Unfortunately, it's not. Instead, Squeeze is something like an aural speed bump-- slow and annoying, unpleasant but quickly forgotten.

Hanson O'Haver is a contributor to This Recording. This is his first appearance in these pages. He writes here.

"European Sun" — The Velvet Underground (mp3)

"There She Goes Again" — The Velvet Underground (mp3)

"Little Jack" — The Velvet Underground (mp3)

"I'll Be Your Mirror" — The Velvet Underground (mp3)

"The Black Angel's Death Song" — The Velvet Underground (mp3)

"She'll Make You Cry" — The Velvet Underground (mp3)