What Costume Shall The Poor Girl Wear?

Three Nico and The Velvet Underground coincidences came to me recently and I don't ignore these things when it comes to writing posts for the blog. First, the latest issue of Mojo (the music magazine for middle aged men) has a feature on the 50 Best Lou Reed and Velvet Underground songs in it, in which the song below features (as you'd expect). Second, the day after reading this countdown I played a clip to my GCSE History class about opposition to the Vietnam War. As the footage of students demonstrating, soldiers fixing bayonets and tear gas blowing about played the familiar and thrilling sounds of All Tomorrow's Parties came into earshot, John Cale's treated piano powering its way into my classroom as Moe Tucker's drums bashed away. Nico's deadpan, monotone vocal just about started as the clip finished. I had a little moment quietly to myself in front of a class of fifteen and sixteen year olds, a small shudder of 'fuck me, that was good', almost like hearing it for the first time again.

All Tomorrow's Parties

It is by any standards an amazing song, discordant and adrenaline filled, with nagging, off key guitar lines (Lou's famous ostrich guitar tuning) and claustrophobic production. The song is about Andy Warhol's clique at The Factory, a place where everyone said the 'most astonishing things, the craziest things, the funniest things, the saddest things', while Andy just watched. Cale later said it was about a girl called Darryl, 'a beautiful, petite blonde with three kids, two of whom were taken away from her'. Which is one of the saddest things as an observation on its own. 

Lou Reed and the others didn't want Nico in the band. Andy pushed her in, believing she could be a star. All Tomorrow's Parties was written partly to give her something to do on stage. But she makes it- her flat, accented, dead eyed, double tracked vocals are as important to this song as any other element of it. 

The third part of the triptych of coincidences was that not long ago I finished reading Nico, Songs They Never Play On The Radio, an account of Nico and her life from 1982- 1988, by James Young, the pianist in her touring band in the 80s. It's really well written recreation of the demi- world of Manchester musicians, hangers on and promoters who orbited around her, while she existed on heroin, red wine and cigarettes. There's no money, few gigs, no seems to enjoy themselves apart from occasionally very briefly, Nico hates everyone she's stuck with, especially the musicians- sometimes she appears on stage on her own with her harmonium, reluctant to let her ban join her. Occasionally they play a gig somewhere in Europe and an uber- fan appears which pisses her off as much as no one turning up. Touring is the only way to make any money but it disrupts her drug habit. James witnesses it all, participates in the gigs and recordings, writing sympathetically and making it clear there's little romance in this world (somehow though, even the absolute lack of romance has its own grimly romantic appeal). The book finishes with Nico's sad death in Ibiza in 1988 and her funeral in Germany, the mystery of her father and what happened to him and what he did during the war all wrapped up as part of Nico's allure. Highly recommended if you're after something to read.