Customer Reviews

White Light/White Heat (180 Gram Vinyl)

5 star:		(120)
4 star:		(24)
3 star:		(16)
2 star:		(3)
1 star:		(13)

 

 

Having been a precocious kid I had the distinct pleasure (yes, I said pleasure) of seeing this band at the original Tea Party in the South End of Boston shortly after the release of "White Light/White Heat". Moe Tucker was still playing her drums standing like a mad majorette. Cale's electric voila was so loud plaster dust fell from the ceiling, literally.

With all the peace and love nonsense cluttering what little media was free enough to experiment this album cut like a knife through to the truth of what city life was really about.

When my sons asked me if I was a hippie I gave them the first MC5 and Stooges' albums - and "White Light/White Heat". They now play in a Punk band. I'm glad they got the point...

Once you tame this wild, noisy, amphetamine-fueled, out-of-control beast of an album, it will be your best friend for a lifetime. Few albums are as off-putting on initial hearing; fewer still will reward you more after hundreds of spins. Inexplicably, its chaos, noise, and howling confusion will become comforting. But it takes awhile...

For example, I doubt anyone ever thought they'd play side two (for those who remember vinyl) a second time after weathering the "I Heard Her Call My Name"/"Sister Ray" barrage...but if you can brave Lou Reed's paint-stripping lead guitar and John Cale's shrieking organ a second and then third time, slowly the initial repulsion will turn to compulsion. And the mysteries will unfold...20 or 30 years later, you'll still be trying to figure out "Lady Godiva's Operation" or "Sister Ray"...or at least basking in their glorious noise.

Songwise, it's not the best music the Velvets, Reed, or Cale ever made, but it's probably the most influential--would Sonic Youth, Yo La Tengo, Jesus & Mary Chain, Pavement, My Bloody Valentine, the lo-fi movement, etc., ever have happened without it?

"White Light/White Heat" is the sound of smart, cool, frustrated, and heavily amped (in all senses of the word) people coming apart and making as loud a noise as possible while they still could. And it's timeless because to this day it still irritates and scares people even after we've all been numbed by decades of hardcore, shock rock, and death metal.

Finally--the louder you play it, the clearer it gets. Volume is the key to this swamp creature of an album emerging from the murk...and the creature wants to be your friend despite its initially scary face.

Okay, so many years ago, I can't remember the exact year, but I was a teenager so it seems like a few billion, I was visiting a friend of mine in upstate New York. This friend was schizophrenic, although at the time I knew little about such things; I only knew he was freakin' out of his mind. (apologies to mental health and disabilities rights advocates, whom I think do good and valuable work, but this guy was loopy!) At the time, my musical obsessions were the Beatles and Pink Floyd, and I loathed anything having to do with "heavy" or otherwise abrasive sounds. This friend, who was afraid to approach a mailbox because he thought they were government spying devices, had a somewhat different take. First he played for me the Sex Pistols, a group that I had never heard of. I thought it sounded like two wolverines tied up inside a burlap sack being smashed against large rocks. I hated it. (of course, later on I would end up loving the thing for exactly the reason I just noted) Undeterred, and dare I say a little emboldened by offending my sensibilities so thoroughly, he got out a worn copy of the Velvet Underground's second album, "White Light/White Heat" and slapped it on the turntable. (hey, I said it was a long time ago) I have never been the same ever since.

The opening title track to me sounded like an old Jerry Lee Lewis song being ripped to shreds by the aforementioned wolverines. Right away, I was, to put it mildly, skeptical. I believe my exact comments were "put this &%#@!!! away and let me play you side one of "Wish You Were Here" already" He didn't budge. Next came "The Gift" which was John Cale reciting a short story by Lou Reed over a stormy sea of guitars and Maureen Tucker's primal drumming. As the recitation was in one channel and the music in the opposite, I could at least focus on the words, which were surreal enough to soothe my little hippie brain. The next track, "Lady Godiva's Operation," got me hooked even more. "This sounds like "I Am The Walrus!" I declared, "or even something from the first Floyd album!" There was something far darker and sinister to this song, though. "Here She Comes Now" confused me even more. A soft melodic love song with sweetly strummed guitars, it didn't sound like the same group that was thrashing ole Jerry Lee. "Just wait 'til side two" my friend snickered.

"I Heard Her Call My Name" is the nastiest barroom brawl of a song I had ever heard, and even today it has few equals. Lou sounds like he's having an ugly physical confrontatiion with his guitar; the instrument is alive and boy is it not happy. Even the sainted Jimi Hendrix would be scared. It was anathema to me, yet it maintained an almost atavistic hold on my senses. At this point I couldn't shut off the record if I tried. Also, it's not wise to alarm a manic schizophrenic. Anyway, then comes "Sister Ray." If you've ever uttered the cliche "over the top" and you haven't heard this song, you don't know what you're talking about, Pedro. Seventeen minutes and twenty-seven seconds of relentless primitivistic howling scree, a black hole of misery and degradation, heck, a mother-lovin' celebration of misery and degradation. The guitars sound like machines in a huge factory breaking down and headed for oblivion, but never getting there. John Cale's organ, which was practically all I noticed the first few times I heard it, is demented, distorted, monolithic and utterly obsessive. Tucker's drumming is the heartbeat of a transvestite shot up with so much smack that heshe would kill a cop after a round of, um, oral delights, which of course are what the lyrics describe. In an uncharacteristic display of decorum that actually adds to the pervisity, Reed uses the phrase "suckin' on my ding-dong" instead of a more NC-17 wording! Then, after at least one false ending, perhaps deciding that after a long day of metaphorically splitting minds open, they just, well, stop. Just like that. No grand Wagnerian Ragnarok gestures, just goodbye and don't forget to turn off the lights on your way out, thanks.

I sat there, glassy eyed and slackjawed for a full minute afterward. Then I slowly turned my head to my friend, who was grinning maniacally, and I said, "that was the worst piece of garbage I have ever heard! I'm sick to my stomach!" Part of me still wanted to hear some Floyd, but I just couldn't. I was seething. I was violated.

Naturally, the next week I went out and bought the album and listened to it so many times that if sweat could make a sound, it would sound like "Sister Ray."

"approach with caution"?? Ha! Approach with caution my... Approach this record with wild, reckless abandon and nothing less. Tear open the cellophane wrapping with a large sheet metal cutter, throw it in the cd player and rotate the volume knob clockwise. You have just purchased a rock n roll masterpiece, and by God you need to share it with your neighbors. Let them experience the crunchy guitars crashing over the drowning piano in the title track, take them to the apartment where Waldo Jeffers meets his untimely demise inside a shipping container, and let them experience the nightmare of Lady Godiva and her operation. Tempt them with the haunting beauty of Here She Comes Now just to set them up for the frantic I Heard Her Call My Name. And just when they think that their neighbor has completely flipped and that it can't possibly get any crazier, finish them with the incindiary Sister Ray. When it's finished, you're sure to be tops on everyone's Christmas card list come December.

This album is not background music. This isn't cuddle with your girlfriend music, or sing your toddler to sleep music. If you're looking for mellow, skip this album and buy something safe. This album is like an armed robbery. Give it all your attention and hopefully no one will get hurt. If youre looking for an album so obnoxiously loud and demanding that you're scared to give it anything less than what it wants, buy it. If you're not afraid of music that challenges you on all possible fronts, you have found an album that will keep you coming back for years. It will also clear your house of any lingering guests after Thanksgiving dinner to boot.

White Light/White Heat is one of the great, ugly nihilistic trash heaps functioning as a rock and roll record, rivaling the Stooges' albums in maliciousness and, in the terrifying second half, surpassing them in cacophony. The air conditioning in my car has gone out recently, and so I've been forced to drive around with the windows lowered. I've been blasting this album at full volume out of my open windows for the past two weeks and passer-bys generally tend to look a bit put-upon.

The Velvet Underground had already infused an unprecedented social realism in their lyrics and experimented with drones and abrasive textures on their first album, but on White Light/White Heat they pushed these innovations to the extreme. The lyrics evolved from the gritty to the outrageous, and the band created a self-consciously alienating (but occasionally hypnotic and beautiful) racket.

The album is comprised of a meager six tracks, the last of which, the infamous "Sister Ray," is a monstrous 17 minute long jam, taking up most of Side B, and seemingly designed to weed out the faint of heart. However, its shortness on actual songs merely gives the album a more concentrated impact.

The Velvet Underground usually painted a relatively ambivalent picture of drug-use, at least compared to some of their west-coast contemporaries such as the Grateful Dead. In "Heroin" and "I'm Waiting For the Man," both from their first album, the narrator pays at least somewhat of a price for his highs. The exception to this rule is the album-leading title track, a virtual commercial jingle for amphetamines so unqualified and enthusiastic it's almost as shocking as the much more abrasive material that follows. A simple rock and roll ditty, it features a call and response chorus with Lou Reed enthusing about his drug of choice echoed by the band shouting the title of the song.

Next comes "The Gift," a Reed-penned short story read by John Cale over a gritty, slithery instrumental. It's a mostly successful experiment, despite its length.

"Lady Godiva's Operation" is, upon first listening, one of the scariest tracks on the album, but further listens reveal it as a darkly beautiful song, even when it begins describing what sounds like a surgical operation gone wrong. Slinking along on a weird John Cale bass line, it has a sultry and menacing power.

"Here She Comes Now" is the lone 'pop' song on the album. Despite its balladic qualities, it's still a little unsettling due to its spectral guitars and vaguely unnerving lyrics. ("If she ever comes now, now" Physically? Sexually? "It looks so good/she's made out of wood"? I'm a bit afraid to go there.)

None of the preceding tracks can quite prepare the listener for "I Heard Her Call My Name." A driving rock song with lyrics hinting at necrophilia, it's set apart by Lou Reed's psychotic guitar-mangling. It sounds like the aural equivalent of a barbed-wire factory exploding, creating some sort of precedent for the Jesus and Mary Chain.

The most famous track on the album is probably the crushing final jam, "Sister Ray". The song is built around a brutal, simple, and memorable riff and features repeated lyrics about murder, transvestitism and drugs. ("I'm just searching for my mainline/I couldn't hit it sideways.") The first six minutes feature the band at their most violently riveting and effective. Cale foreswears the bass for the organ. The tone of the instrument is so loud and abrasive that at times it almost buries the rest of the band, and his seemingly classically influenced and thunderous soloing is one of the most exciting parts of the track. The band slowly descends into chaos and regroups into a hypnotic drone, Reed and Morrison's guitars slashing wildly, Cale's keyboard meandering around the scale and sometimes punctuating the song with atonal bursts of organ noise. Reportedly the sound engineer only made it through part of the recording before excusing himself.

The length of this track is somewhat effective in the context as an album closer, but it is also one of the few things keeping the album from being perfect; if you're not completely on the band's wavelength at this point, it can seem to go on awhile.

John Cale would leave due to comepeting egos shortly after this album, taking with him much of the band's experimental edge. The band didn't really suffer for it, they were too good for that. However, they (or almost anyone else) would never record an album this cathartic, visceral or bloody-minded again.

i first heard about this cd form my boyfriend. he loves pretty much any band that started out on a record so i initially blew them off as another beatles like band. awesome, but ill give em a listen later if he brings the cd over himself. he was tlaking about buying white light/white heat or sum other cd that i cant rember the name of anymore. something about the name of the album grabbed my attention and i insisted that he buy that cd. a few weeks ago i had sum money on my hands and i remembered him mentioning that i should give them a try so i decided to look at the different VU cds and just buy the least expensive.
when i realized white light/white heat was the more expensive one of them all by about three dollars, i was immediately turned off and almost just clicked on another VU album. but then the reviews caught my eye. they all had 4 or 5 stars yet the titles suggested the reviewers hated the album. i started reading the reviews; the horrible things these people had to say about the cd shocked me. i believe one even said the album was one of the worst things you could force your ears to hear, but he still insisted it was the best. when one of the reveiwers informed me that only those crazy enought to buy an album with no expectation of it being any good would actually be those to enjoy the album, i realised i was completely hooked.
the album definately exceeded my expectations by far. john cale and lou reed's voices have a certain sarcastic and somehow (as the hippie reviewer stated) soothing voices. i actually started to fall asleep towards the end of the album and i hadnt been able to sleep for days. that of course was before sister ray came on.
white light/white heat is an amazing song. i really like that one. its one of those songs that if your one of those people who have to listen to a song 3 times before you like it, youll be shocked to find that youll love it the first time you hear it.
then comes the gift. wow. the first time i heard it wow. its pretty happy and niave in the beginning. its sarcastic tone kinda draws you to it even though its baiscally 8 minutes of story time with a cool guitar in the background. the ending is definately twisted. i could guess it by about 6 and a half minutes of it, but i nonetheless found myself sitting on the egde of my bed with my hand on my mouth listening to it dripping in anticipation as if i watching the season finale of the oc (yes im guilty of watching that show which probably shocks you even more that i really liked this album).
lady godiva is a really catchy song with a really cool rhyming pattern and i love the vocals. as far as the lyrics go..well, its probably as twisted as the gift. the next two songs go together as two love songs about the infamous "she". very happy feel and pretty catchy as well. repetive but still good.
sister ray. listen to it and if u have any sence at all ull listen to it more than once and all the way the through. this band deserves a complete listen for this song. its actually now my favorite song on the album. its definately long as hell, but worth the listen. the length will grow on you and the album isnt complete without it.
this is the only time ive ever atcually done one of these review thigns for amazon so that should tell you how much i liked this cd. buy it. even if you dont like, youll have the satisfaction of knowing you own probably the most interesting album there is and youll never find one like it again.

I Have Been a fan of the Velvet Underground ever since I've heard their debut album,"The Velvet Underground & Nico", but nothing could prepare me for this. White Light/White Heat is without a doubt one of,"if not", the most loudest and out of control record ever produced. As Soon as you here the opening title track you know the group has left the halfway secured environment of the debut album and have entered the world of abrasive proto-punk and raunchy experimental rock. The second track is like an evil explicit version of a Bob Dylan folk song, telling the dark story of a man who ships himself to his exlover in a cardboard box. I don't want to spoil the demented ending to that song. The next two tracks actually have somewhat of a melody. There're two of the shorter tracks on the album but are still very memorable. Then comes side two. Things explode with the track,"I Heard Her Call My Name", with it's audible assualt and featuring some of Lou Reed's best guitar playing. Then comes one of the biggest climaxes in rock history," Sister Ray". I've heard songs such as The Doors,"The End", and Pink Floyd's,"Interstellar Overdrive", and I thought those were crazy and out of control but this tops them all. The song tells a story of drugs, explicit sex images and images of crime and murder in a epic seventeen minute jam featuring some of the most unbelievable and insane guitar and organ work ever featured on a record. To dimiss this as just noise is a usual and understandable conception. This album is not for everybody. You need to be prepared for the assualt not just on your ears but on your whole idea of music. If your looking for something new and thrilling, track down this record and buy it. You will be treated to some of the most incredible sounds in the history of music.

Originally released in early 1968, the album still blows minds on a regular basis. Right from the beginning with the wild title track White Light/White Heat to the even wilder 17 minute epic jam that is Sister Ray. The sound of the recording can be distorted and mucky, but I find that just adds on to the experience. My two favorite tracks are Sister Ray (as I just mentioned before) and I Heard Her Call My Name. I Heard Her Call My Name is a blood pumping song with probably the nastiest sounding guitar I've ever heard (so far at least). The Gift is also a great track, with a hypnotic groove on one speaker and John Cale telling an intriguing and thrilling story on the other speaker. Here She Comes Now, while being a great song on its own, is probably the weakest song on the album (compared to the power and style of the other songs). But as in terms of personal and general opinion, I personally love noisy rough music. If you want to get into Velvet Underground without blowing your ears right off, I suggest taking a listen to Loaded or Velvet Underground & Nico first (though VU & Nico has its moment of chaos as well). But if you like the rough sound of VU & Nico, get White Light/White Heat immediately. Most likely, you won't regret it.

Writing for Rolling Stone about The Velvet Underground, Julian Casablancas, the ineloquent lead singer of The Strokes called White Light/ White Heat a "real f***-the-world album." I don't know if I could possibly disagree with him more. White Light/ White Heat is one of the most experimental mainstream releases ever, it's brazenly atonal, and in its attempt, is subversively entertaining and influential. What it's not is angry, not in the traditional sense. Instead, it's a knowing, even joyful mockery of bourgeoisie morality - a morality that includes certain tropes of musicianship. So the title song that opens the record feels the "white light goin', messin' up my mind," and the result is a sort of ingestion and through-the-looking-glass capitulation of what culture really is. The centerpiece, strangely, is "The Gift," an 8 minute spoken tale of a bland, spoiled couple (Waldo! And Marsha!) that turns into a tail of accidental murder - a track that's so transfixing and barbed, it's hard to figure out whether it's a triumph of music or storytelling. The rest of the record is the epitome of the Velvets prickly difficulty, like the tune of "Lady Godiva's Operation" overtaken by outside voices, or the 17-minute opus "Sister Ray" - they're testaments to the brave specificity of the bands noisy compositions, presenting a countercultural assault on the coming faux-peppiness of the early 70's. Doing so wasn't f***ing the world at all, it was saving it, with a toothsome grin.

I read the criticisms of this album and my assumptions were right, they knew nothing of what they were talking about. They fail to understand the sonic brilliance and courage of the Velvet's masterpiece WHITE LIGHT WHITE HEAT. The last with the great John Cale and the first without Warhol or Nico. This album contains Lou Reed's most abrasive and finest songwriting and the musicianship, while not efficient, is downright deranged!!
This album contains six unforgettable Velvet Underground tunes, containing some of the heaviest work they ever produced. It kicks off with the title track, Lou Reed's upbeat ode to his two drugs of choice, amphetamenes (White Light) and heroin (White Heat). Unlike his previous drug songs (Heroin and Waiting for the man) this tune is like a poppy jingle celebrating and endorsing speed, and lead to many expansions when played live. The tempo is slowed down for a more ambitious, experimental piece, The Gift. Reed, Morrison and Tucker play tweaked out R&B while John Cale reads one of Lou Reed's tragic, but hilarious short Stories. A strange tale of a man named Waldo who so misses his ex lover that he decides to (literally) mail himself to her, only to lead to his own bloody death. The story is well written and Cale reads it with a good dramatic style which is sympathisized by the band's music. This is followed by a similar, but lyrically more shocking tune. Lady Godiva's Operation, Sung by Cale and Reed, is one of the sickest, most bizarre songs ever written. an adaptation of an old folk tale, the song tells the story of transexual who dies during his sex change, preceded by a leak in his ether tube, creating immense pain and suffering before he dies. This perverse tale is also complimented by an R&B flavor similar to that of The Gift. But the band quiets down considerably for the delicate beauty of the fourth track, Here She Comes Now. This lovely ballad can be interpreted as a straightforward love song, but the beauty lies in it's arpeggiated lines and Cale's Viola. This is the album's sole pretty song and marks the end of the more experimental side of the album.

The last two songs are pure sonic energy. I Heard Her Call My Name is definitely a precurser to Punk Rock, but has influences of freeform jazz in Reed's deranged guitar lines. Then, finally, the album is finished off with the 17 1/2 minute Jam session, Sister Ray. This is one of the most innovative songs of its time. Unlike most long jams, which incorporate patterns of improv and solos, Sister Ray is an all out war between the musicians. Reed and Morrison play driving, menacing rhythm chords on their guitars against John Cale's overdriven Organ while Moe Tucker holds the rhythm. The two forces battle each other, taking over from time to time, only for the other to take full force again. This generates massive feedback and more insanity is added through Reed's most menacing lyrics, telling a story of sex, drugs, violence and murder. This track has great courage and majesty. A great innovation. It's been said that this was the closest they came to reproducing the feedback improvisation of their lives shows from the 1967-68 period, which sadly, were never recorded.

I will say this, White Light White Heat is the least accessible of the VU's work and is very often misunderstood. But contrary to what a previous reviewer said, it is possible for some with a sophisticated understanding of music to enjoy this album. As a matter of fact it takes a sophisticated mind to really understand this work. WLWH is the Velvet Underground's undisputed masterpiece and if I had to guess, was probably the most satisfying to them, considering their avant-garde roots. Due to the absence of John Cale, The Velvets became somewhat deluted (not that they didn't still Rock!!) but the height of their energy, exhuberance, and style is all on these six numbers.