The Velvet Underground & Nico: The beautiful, the bizarre, and the brutal

The world wasn't ready for The Velvet Underground & Nico in 1967. It's debatable whether it's ready now. There are albums that break the mold, and then there's this - a record that obliterated it entirely. Forget flower-power optimism, forget radio-friendly hooks. This is the underbelly of the '60s, smeared in amphetamine haze and urban decay.

They say only a few thousand people bought this album when it came out, but everyone who did started a band. There's a reason for that. Lou Reed and company weren't making music so much as they were sculpting an aesthetic - one that was ugly, raw, transgressive, and, in its own strange way, beautiful.

Sunday Morning: a mellow fake-out

The album opens with the delicate lull of Sunday Morning, a track that - if you didn't know better - might trick you into thinking you're in for something gentle. Reed's voice is hushed, almost childlike, drifting over celeste chimes and a sleepy bassline. But there's a creeping paranoia lurking under the surface. The lyrics suggest something darker: regret, wasted time, that early-morning clarity when the night's sins are still fresh in your head. It's a false sense of comfort before the storm hits.

And hit, it does.

Venus in Furs: leather, whips, and droning hypnosis

Venus in Furs is where the album stops playing nice. It drags you into a hypnotic swirl of John Cale's screeching viola and Reed's detached, half-spoken incantations about masochism and submission. This wasn't rock 'n' roll as people knew it; this was something else - something that felt illicit, like peeking through a keyhole into a world you weren't supposed to see.

It's a track that still feels dangerous. Even now, when the shock factor of sadomasochistic imagery has faded, there's something unsettling about the way Reed delivers his lines: cool, unaffected, voyeuristic. He's not singing about the scene - he's in it, and so are you.

Nico's alien presence: unearthly or unnecessary?

Nico's inclusion in the band was Andy Warhol's idea, and her contributions remain divisive. Her deep, ghostly vocals on tracks like Femme Fatale and All Tomorrow's Parties add a certain European detachment - like Marlene Dietrich fronting a garage band. Some find her haunting. Others find her jarring.

But love her or not, there's no denying that her presence made The Velvet Underground & Nico even weirder. Imagine this record without her - it might still be great, but it wouldn't feel quite as otherworldly.

The nastiness of Heroin

If one track encapsulates everything that makes this album both legendary and deeply uncomfortable, it's Heroin. Structurally, it's simple - just two chords, endlessly repeating - but emotionally, it's a car crash in slow motion. The song builds and builds, from dreamy resignation to chaotic, nerve-shredding frenzy. Moe Tucker's drumming speeds up like a racing pulse, Reed's vocals grow more frantic, the guitars start to screech, and then - collapse.

Somehow, it's neither pro- nor anti-drug. It's just... there. A brutally honest depiction of addiction, with no moralizing attached. That's what makes it so powerful - and why it still unnerves people today.

The influence: why this still matters

Here's the thing: The Velvet Underground & Nico isn't an easy album. It's not the kind of record you throw on at a party (unless it's a very specific kind of party). It's jagged and strange, full of abrupt noise bursts, off-key singing, and lyrics that wouldn't be out of place in a seedy crime novel. But that's also why it's endured.

This album laid the groundwork for punk, post-punk, indie rock, shoegaze - basically anything that ever embraced imperfection as an aesthetic choice. Everyone from David Bowie to Sonic Youth to Nirvana took notes from this record, whether they admit it or not.

So, is it a perfect album?

Nope.

There are rough edges - some intentional, some just clumsy. The production is thin and brittle at times. A couple of songs feel like they could've used a bit more polish. But that's also part of its magic. Perfection wasn't the goal here. This was about capturing something raw and unfiltered, and on that front, it succeeds spectacularly.

Some records hold up because they're timeless. The Velvet Underground & Nico holds up because it's outside of time. It still sounds like the future, even as it drags you through the past.

Final verdict? Not flawless, but essential. If you haven't heard it, go fix that. Just don't expect it to go down easy.

FINAL SCORE: 8.5/10