John Cale, Band Member
As of the last few weeks, I've been listening to quite a bit of John Cale's work. Most specifically, I've found myself under the spell of Paris 1919 (1973), perhaps his most acclaimed solo effort. I had intended to write on this album, but found myself with something of a dilemma. Part of my appreciation for Paris 1919 comes from my understanding of Cale's diverse output as a whole. To reduce the man's work to one track from one record, I figured, would cheapen it. How could I possibly convey the depth and breadth of Cale's influence? My solution: John Cale Appreciation Week. Conveniently, Mr. Cale was born in March, so I can use his 66th birthday as an excuse for such an endeavor. For the next week, I'll be examining the range of John Cale's work from 1967 - 1973 - a narrow span of time, to be sure, but a very productive period nonetheless.
The beginning of John Cale as a popular figure begins with his formation of the Velvet Underground, though he had been respected as a musician for years before. Born in Wales, Cale would take up the viola at a young age and eventually major in music at the University of London. He came to the States in 1963 after receiving a scholarship to study at Tanglewood with famed American composer Aaron Copland. Eventually, Cale fell into the New York avant garde scene with John Cage and La Monte Young, among others. It was through his connections to the New York underground that he met Lou Reed, with whom he formed the Velvet Underground in 1965.
Cale's contributions to the Velvets were numerous. He was most obviously an instrumentalist, playing everything from bass to viola and organ. He would also bring with him a number of avant garde ideals from his classical days - most notably his love of drones and noise. Such influences would show on both the band's debut, The Velvet Underground and Nico (1967) and White Light/White Heat (1968). The former would showcase a balanced approach, vacillating between Lou Reed's pop influences and Cale's experimentalism. The latter record, on the other hand, would be a study of the avant garde, culminating in the 17 minute noise jam of "Sister Ray" (on which Cale played a distorted electric organ). Both records, though hopeless flops from a commercial standpoint, are now considered among the most influential records in history. Brian Eno would later famously comment that while The Velvet Underground and Nico sold horribly, everyone who did hear the record ended up starting a band.
Following the experimental impulses (and horrid sales) of the band's first two records, Lou Reed began to gravitate towards a more pop oriented approach in his songwriting. The tension between he and Cale that had fueled the band's first two records was becoming less productive and more of a nuisance. Before embarking on sessions for the their third record, the Velvets gradually pushed John Cale out of the mix, replacing him with Doug Yule. This would mark the end of the band's most fervently experimental period. Cale's final recording sessions with the Velvet Underground occurred in February of 1968. During these sessions, the band cut "Hey Mr. Rain," a track that smacks of his influence. Prominently featuring the droning viola that was one of Cale's signatures with the Velvets, the song was not released until it was included on the outtakes retrospective VU in 1985. It is provided for you today.
In addition, I am including a video of the band writing "Sunday Morning," the opening track on The Velvet Underground and Nico. The film is accompanied by the final version of the song, which was co-written by Reed and Cale.
Is it just me, or does the mustached Cale look like Dave Navarro?
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