For all of the music bloggery in which I've been participating lately, it seems like I've stayed away from album reviews and similar static assessments of a piece of music's effect on me and my mind and my ethos and my what-have-you; rather, I tend to stick to concert reviews and brief blurbs about songs that represent my temporal and visceral enjoyment of those pieces of music. However, I recently read the 33 1/3 series book on The Velvet Underground & Nico and it was fan-fucking-tastic. I've read some books in that series that were terribly boring and some that were absolutely fascinating, so I wasn't sure what to expect from this one and was pleasantly surprised. This is such an influential and seminal and important album and it would probably be so easy to fuck up writing about it, so I give mad props to the author for doing an awesome job with it. I actually read the whole damn book (it's only like 100 tiny pages) on the MegaBus ride from Pittsburgh to NYC earlier last week, and along the way, it reminded me of this thing I had written a few years ago, and I was only just able to refind the document now. I wrote this "essay" during college, when I was at home over summer break (I didn't remember when, exactly, just knew it was sometime at home). So yeah, long story short (or already short story even shorter), I smoked a bunch of weed and sat in my room listening to The Velvet Underground & Nico on my headphones and wrote a "poem" that was basically a stream-of-consciousness review of the album, in the sense that I just typed out what I was thinking at the time and what the music reminded me of, and how it made me feel, and all that jazz. Yeah, I know, it's a fucking hippie idea, but in retrospect, I'm really glad I did it; when I started to play the album, I had already heard it probably a hundred times, but I thought that I should record this listen, that I should commit to this time and think hard, and record my thoughts, and that's a hard thing to do. Seriously, I recommend that you do it for your favorite album: make yourself recognize why you love it and what about it makes you think (or not think, as the case may be). Anyhow, I caught all these words down on record, and thankfully saved them on my external hard drive for posterity's sake (or at least my own morbid retro-curiosity's sake). So here they are, those precise words I typed onto my laptop about 5.5 years ago when I listened to this fantastic album in the middle of the night in my room, stoned and carefree, letting the language flow freely and feeling the music. Or whatever. Just enjoy it. (I recommend listening to the album and reading along slowly, trying to fit the words to the moods of the songs; the paragraph "breaks" correspond to new tracks, so you can time it right via that.)
“experiment two: album review”
8/3/05
paranoia sets in right away
and in the sense more
literary
than figurative
it’s beautiful and slides right
through my ears and out my eyes
that close slightly
in wonderment
I’m watching out
for the world
the rising climb of heartbeats
settles in to rhythm
smoothly, with force
that calms the fingers
and now I know
the bangs are coming up next
a cadence rather
quick and controlling
that sways my eyes
and head
I see him dressed
in black
I see the man who strolls
and bounces, wild hair
flowing off the back
out from the straw hat
and I don’t seem to mind
the sense of time
that kills me
that I want to kill
that I can run away to
silence, muffled screams from
deep beneath the pillow
goodbye cruel father time
I’ll do you in with this here
jab
and sigh
here we go again
listen to both sides, the waves
of tangled melodies on
high
here she comes
back and forth they run
across the viewscape
watching where they step like
hawks that circle
vicious
dying prey
the men she sees are like that
to her, spent with life and needing
one quick pick me up
a tease, a fatal flick
of fingertips
that sets off bells
that ring and ring
but never wake you
fading away
shrieks
awake you now, from just
behind the blackened curtains
heavy with soot
and leather boot straps
what do you see?
I see her waiting you
fingering impatiently
while you humble
yourself on the rug
when is it time to pass out
like the homeless drunks
on the corner that spit
on the cats and expect
them to bow in return
to their majesties
taste this blood
this body
and drown me with
your sound
your voice
and plucking strings
and let us, weary, sick
and satisfied
play fool
to the devil’s snaring charm
shake me from my
sleep
quickly now
to the top of the mound
where we tumble back down
and right into the street
angels scream and battle
just above our heads for
recognition while the morons
in the alley just outside the bar
know nothing of the world-changing
minds that sit no more than
one hundred feet
from their sorry asses
the waitress wraps her toes
around the floorboards
flashing smiles that could
melt dark doorways with
the charm of sixty year old
birth marks
and pimples
why is it so much easier
to imagine the scum of
the earth
and the ones who threw it
all away
for fleeting passions
pity washes eyelids
from their tears
and plays with my emotions
now, approaching midnight
silky robes that float
behind the masques
of death will hold me
down no more
on Wednesday, Thursday
and Sunday’s doorsteps
where the friendless cry
and the bountiful
socialites
lie to the faces
of the very ones they think
they can believe in
and convince themselves of
every day
tomorrow will
be the same
no parties
here comes the genius
skating in on the wings
of a wavy tyrant
brandishing his fist
at the passers by mocking
his story, his written glory
of the kingdom
he never knew
and has been searching for
since he could ever know
what life was meant for him
the drops of white foam
dripping down the mouths
of the howling dogs will
not explain my desire
a thousand years pass
me by at sea
and here I sit capless,
clothes no longer
off my back but
rumpled staring back
at me from the closet space
like coughing flower buds
dying slowly
and reluctantly
thunder pounds the brain
now, smacking the rivers
of thought and pulling
at weeds and overgrown
patches of grass on the
lawn
I collapse on the front yard
and stare up at the sun
like a curious child
there it goes
all the time
around the sky
hit me, drop me to my feet
and clobber me
blue with the notion
of foggy minds and hazy
streets that call your name
over the passing clouds
flying away
and fly fly flying off
the lamp posts
like owls heading
for the moon
reflect me now
tangle me up in blue
and cross stitch the patterns
the jangles
and wind swept flower beds
into my eyes
twisting my mind
like the sunrise
choking on the mug
of hot coffee
that’s just too much
right now
I’ll be you tonight
you can be me
this time
ripping sunlight
off the roof tops
calling out loudly from
the dark, city streets
in the northern part of town
no one hears but the
gods
and the men who have seen
the darkness before
ugliness abounds
and there goes the dawn
running off
like a blindfolded horse
that will dash like
a madman for the white
picket fences
as grandma rings the triangle
for supper time
and the whistle calls out
goodbye to the lonely remains
in the fields
I choose to move on
I hitch-hike off the
dirt road leading to nowhere
but death
and dash to the airport
for a straight flight
to Paris
I feel green on the way
and vomit
like a sickened lover
in the metal bathroom
sky high
and ripped
torn by shards
of glass that scatter
from the circle
of rats that shiver and
scamper away
flying and landing
and resuming the journey again
no end in sight
for a weary traveler
of his forefathers’ lands
and glorified mountain passes
through the charted wilderness
the time has come
for the talk of endings
we sit calmly on the turbulent
cavalcade
as the other jet-lagged
passengers huddle in
the corner like beaten
dogs
I sip at a whiskey
and slowly melting ice
while you laugh and
flutter your eyes
but now we are gone
there is nothing
here anymore
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