FROM WHITE LIGHT/WHITE HEAT: THE VELVET
UNDERGROUND DAY BY DAY
October 16, 2001
RECORD RELEASE
The Velvet Underground Bootleg Series
Volume 1: The Quine Tapes
Back in April 1985, shortly after the release of VU, Byron Coley wrote in the LA Weekly that Polydor’s Bill
Levenson was starting to be approached by people with “release-quality
live tapes” of The Velvet Underground. Robert Quine might have been one
such person, having taped the band copiously on his Sony cassette
recorder in 1969, notably during their San Francisco shows in November
and December. It’s taken a good 16 years or so, however, for any such
tapes from Quine or anyone else to be officially issued by Polydor,
except for the bits used on the Peel
Slowly And See boxed set.
We’re fortunate that the music has been preserved in
the first place. Quine transferred the cassettes to pre-used open
reels, dubbing over tapes of officially released albums by other
artists in several instances. Then, after discussions with archivist
Mitch Blank and Michael Carlucci at Carlucci’s Greenwich Village shop
Subterranean Records, it’s decided that the music needs to be preserved
in a format more conducive to guaranteeing its survival. Blank helps
arrange for fellow archivist Jeff Friedman to transfer the recordings
from the open reels to DAT, with Friedman also identifying the true
titles of the songs and documenting the dates of the performances. “I
only wish that I was given the opportunity to transfer the original
cassettes, because I probably could have done a better job,” Friedman
notes today. “The DATs that I made before they compressed the shit out
of them sound a lot better [than The
Quine Tapes CDs], in my opinion.”
The notes Friedman took while transferring the
recordings confirm that a couple of tracks – versions of ‘I’m Waiting
For The Man’ and ‘White Light/White Heat’ from November 11 1969 – are
transferred but don’t make it onto the boxed set. (‘White Light/White
Heat’ would not have been usable, however, because of volume-control
problems that result in the track fading in and out.)
Once Polydor finally decides to plunder Quine’s
holdings, the label opts to go whole-hog, issuing a three-CD set
containing nearly four hours of music. Those who treasure 1969 Velvet Underground Live as the
pinnacle of live rock recordings could hardly contain their excitement,
especially as Quine’s tapes are from almost exactly the same timeframe.
What’s more, the set presents quite a few songs that didn’t make it
onto 1969 Velvet Underground Live, including
classics such as ‘Sunday Morning’ and ‘The Black Angel’s Death Song’
and relatively obscure tunes such as ‘I Can’t Stand It,’ ‘I’m Sticking
With You,’ and ‘Ride Into The Sun.’ There are also no less than three
mega-long versions of ‘Sister Ray,’ plus a song never before released
by the Velvets in any form, ‘Follow The Leader.’
In the event, however, as much as enthusiasts might
hate to admit it, listening to the actual set is … okay, but not
overwhelming. There’s no getting around it: the sound quality isn’t as
good as that of 1969 Velvet
Underground Live, even if it is way above the average of most
other VU bootlegs from the period. Nor are the performances quite as
exciting, and a 38-minute version of ‘Sister Ray’ – as mouth-watering
as it might appear on paper – will challenge the attention span of even
the most adventurous VU fan. Polydor has already ratcheted expectations
down a notch or two by titling the package The Velvet Underground Bootleg Series Volume 1: The Quine Tapes,
all but spelling out its position as marginalia by comparison to the
group’s primary recordings.
Like many other champions of the group, Robert
Christgau seems to make an extra effort to give the set some leeway in
his Consumer Guide review, which generously awards it an ‘A-.’ “I was
cynical too, especially once I’d ascertained that the audio on these
three discs was as faint as I’d feared,” he writes. “Played loud,
though, the sound improves – not quite crisp or bright, but there. Note
that this trick doesn’t work with Live
At Max’s Kansas City and ask yourself if you wouldn’t maybe
like to hear the number three band of the 60s, after The Beatles and
James Brown & His Famous Flames, without wearing out its tiny
catalogue. No new songs, true. But over the two hours that aren’t
devoted to three long, distinct versions of ‘Sister Ray,’ no title is
repeated, even though every one
was recorded in a one-month span in San Francisco in 1969. That’s
pretty impressive. As is all the new guitar.”
According to Quine’s longtime friend Michael
Carlucci (whom he thanks in the liner notes as “my partner in this
project”), Quine makes the deal for the tapes’ release in rather
tragicomic fashion. “I guess the legal department called him and said,
‘We’re willing to make an offer,’“ he recalls. But that day, Quine kept
receiving calls from telemarketers, and by the third one had finally
had enough. “[So] he hangs up. The phone rings like two minutes later,
and he’s like, ‘I told you to stop fucking calling me!’ He’s yelling
into the phone. And it’s the woman from Universal, saying, ‘Uhh … we
just called to make an offer.’ They offered him
$10,000 for three CDs and he accepted it, because he felt so guilty
about what he had done.”
Later, Quine asks Carlucci if he made a mistake. “I
said, ‘You know what? They gave Brigid Polk [and Danny Fields] $10,000
in 1972 for Max’s. You probably could have got $25,000; it’s three CDs,
and they have it in per etuity,’” Carlucci recalls. “He just accepted
the first thing they gave him. But the cool thing was, his relationship
with Lou [Reed] was strained for a long time. The last time we went out
to lunch with Bill Levenson, Quine said, ‘I’m really concerned about
Lou, because I have a feeling once my name is associated with this,
he’s gonna say “no deal.”’ And Bill said, ‘I’ve already talked to Lou,
’cause I wanted him to okay this stuff before we put it out, and Lou’s
response was, ‘If Quine says those are the best versions, then I
believe they are, ’cause I trust Quine’s
ear.’ That made Quine’s year when he heard that. Not that it improved
their relationship any, but it certainly helped Quine get over some of
the sore spots that he had with Lou.”
Although Quine’s liner notes give a fine appraisal
of the tapes and how he came to record them, a tiff with the label
almost causes him to scrap his annotation altogether. “They asked Quine
to write the liner notes,” Carlucci continues. “They were really good,
except Quine almost pulled them, because he was trying to set an image
of what it was like. And he [wrote that] they would go off stage when
their set was over and then come back for an encore. When they came
back, they would have a bottle of Jack Daniels and a joint, pass the
bottle and the joint, and go into ‘Sister Ray.’ [A Universal Records
executive] had him take it out. Quine was saying, ‘This is a band that
wrote a song called “Heroin” in 1966, everyone knows about the drug
thing, and you’re telling me to take it out? You know what, I don’t
want to do the liner notes. Just scrap it.’ [Universal] talked to him a
little bit more, and made it seem like they could get into legal
troubles and all this other stuff. So it came out of the liner notes.”
According to Carlucci, there’s probably not much
unissued material left on Quine’s Velvet Underground tapes, and what is
there is very unlikely to see official release. “When I got Quine’s
record collection
[after his death], they were ready to throw out cassettes, so I grabbed
a bag,” he explains. “There was a lot of junk in there, [but] I found
one cassette that had more Velvets stuff. On it there were rehearsals,
soundchecks for ‘Lisa Says,’ ‘I Can’t Stand It.’ There’s nothing
documented, I can’t tell you what date it’s from. I offered it to [a
Universal executive] and he said, ‘There’s no more Velvets bootlegs
coming out. Lou doesn’t want it.’ [But] I heard that wasn’t true.”
As a multi-disc set of a cult band geared toward
collectors and completists, The
Velvet Underground Bootleg
Series Volume 1: The Quine Tapes
isn’t expected to chart,
and indeed it doesn’t. But while the Volume
1 in the title seems to indicate that Polydor might be planning
a multi-volume series, it’s possible that poor sales of this first set
are enough to dissuade the label from producing any more. Indeed,
Universal has not subsequently put out any other previously unissued VU
tapes, even though Quine was presumably not the only person to approach
Levenson with release-quality tapes back in 1985. If Quine himself had
any more releasable tapes from his cache, his death in May 2004 makes
it all the more doubtful than any others will surface.
It's fortuitous that the music is preserved in the
first place, Quine transferring the cassettes to pre-used open reels,
in at least some cases dubbing them over tapes of officially released
albums by other artists. In discussions he has with archivist Mitch
Blank and Michael Carlucci at the latter's Greenwich Village collector
shop Subterranean Records, it's decided it's necessary to ensure the
music's preserved in a format more conducive to guaranteeing its
survival. Blank helps arrange for fellow archivist Jeff Friedman to
transfer the recordings from the open reels to DAT, Friedman also
identifying the true titles of the songs and documenting the actual
dates of the performances. "I only wish that I was given the
opportunity to transfer the original cassettes, because I probably
could have done a better job," Jeff notes today, adding, "the DATs that
I made before they compressed the shit out of them sound a lot better
[than they do on the official The
Quine Tapes CD box], in my opinion."
The notes Friedman takes while doing the work
confirm that a couple recordings (of "I'm Waiting for the Man" and
"White Light/White Heat" at San Francisco's Matrix club on November 11,
1969) that don't make the final box set are transferred along with the
rest of the material. "White Light/White Heat" would have been
unusable, however, due to volume control problems that result in the
track fading in and out.
Once Polydor finally decides to plunder Quine's
holdings, they go whole-hog, issuing a three-CD set containing nearly
four hours of music. Those who treasure 1969 Velvet Underground Live as the
pinnacle of live rock recordings could hardly contain their excitement,
especially as Quine's tapes are from almost exactly the same time
frame. What's more, the set presents quite a few songs that didn't make
it onto 1969 Velvet Underground Live,
including not only such classics as "Sunday Morning" and "The Black
Angel's Death Song," but also such relatively obscure tunes as "I Can't
Stand It," "I'm Sticking with You," and "Ride into the Sun." There are
also no less than three mega-long versions of "Sister Ray," plus a song
never before released by the Velvets in any form, "Follow the Leader."
In the event, as much as enthusiasts might hate to
admit it, listening to the actual set is...okay, and interesting, but
not overwhelming. There's no getting around it: the sound quality isn't
as good as 1969 Velvet Underground
Live, though it's way above the average of most other VU
bootlegs from the period. Nor are the performances quite as exciting,
and a 38-minute version of "Sister Ray," as mouth-watering as it might
look on paper, can challenge the attention span of even the most
adventurous Velvets admirer. Polydor has already ratcheted expectations
down a notch or two by titling the package The Velvet Underground Bootleg Series
Volume 1: The Quine Tapes, all but spelling out its position as
marginalia relative to the group's primary recordings.
Robert Christgau, like many other champions of the
group, seems to be making an extra effort to give the set some leeway
in his Consumer Guide review, which generously awards it an "A-" grade.
"I was cynical too, especially once I'd ascertained that the audio on
these three discs was as faint as I'd feared," he confesses. "Played
loud, though, the sound improves—not quite crisp or bright, but there.
Note that this trick doesn't work with Live at Max's Kansas City and ask
yourself if you wouldn't maybe like to hear the number three band of
the '60s, after the Beatles and James Brown and His Famous Flames,
without wearing out its tiny catalogue. No new songs, true. But over
the two hours that aren't devoted to three long, distinct versions of
'Sister Ray,' no title is repeated, even though every one was recorded
in a one-month span in San Francisco in 1969. That's pretty impressive.
As is all the new guitar."
According to Quine's longtime friend Michael
Carlucci (thanked in Quine's liner notes as "my partner in this
project"), Robert makes the deal for the tapes' release in rather
tragicomic fashion. "I guess the legal department called him and said,
'We're willing to make an offer,'" he remembers. But that day, "Quine
kept getting telemarketing calls at his home, and he finally by the
third one had enough. He hangs up. The phone rings like two minutes
later, and he's like, 'I told you to stop fucking calling me!' He's
yelling into the phone. And it's the woman from Universal, saying,
'Uhhhh...we just called to make an offer.' They offered him $10,000 for
three CDs and he accepted it, because he felt so guilty about what he
had done."
Later Quine asks Carlucci if he made a mistake, "and
I said, 'You know what? They gave Brigid Polk [and Danny Fields]
$10,000 in 1972 for Max's.
You probably could have got $25,000; it's three CDs, and they have it
in perpetuity.' He just accepted the first thing they gave him. But the
cool thing was, his relationship with Lou [Reed] was strained for a
long time. The last time we went out to lunch with Bill Levenson, Quine
said, 'I'm really concerned about Lou, because I have a feeling once my
name is associated with this, he's gonna say "no deal."' And Bill said,
'I've already talked to Lou, 'cause I wanted him to okay this stuff
before we put it out, and Lou's response was, 'If Quine says those are
the best versions, then I believe they are, 'cause I trust Quine's
ear.' That made Quine's year when he heard that. Not that it improved
their relationship any, but it certainly helped Quine get over some of
the sore spots that he had with Lou."
Though Quine's liner notes give a fine appraisal of
the tapes and how he came to record them, a tiff with the label almost
causes him to scrap his annotation altogether. "They asked Quine to
write the liner notes," remembers Carlucci. "They were really good,
except Quine almost pulled them, because Quine was trying to set an
image of what it was like. And he [wrote that] they would go offstage
when their set was over and then come back for an encore. When they
came back, they would have a bottle of Jack Daniels and a joint, pass
the bottle and the joint, and go into 'Sister Ray.' [A Universal
Records executive] had him take it out. Quine was saying, 'This is a
band that wrote a song called "Heroin" in 1966, everyone knows about
the drug thing, and you're telling me to take it out?! You know what, I
don't want to do the liner notes. Just scrap it.' [Universal] talked to
him a little bit more, and made it seem like they could get into legal
troubles and all this other stuff. So it came out of the liner notes."
Also according to Carlucci, there's likely very
little unissued surviving material left from Quine's Velvet Underground
tapes, and it's also very unlikely to see official release. "When I got
Quine's record collection [after his death], they were ready to throw
out cassettes, so I grabbed a bag," he explains. "There was a lot of
junk in there, [but] I found one cassette that had more Velvets stuff.
On it there were rehearsals, soundchecks for 'Lisa Says,' 'I Can't
Stand It.' There's nothing documented, I can't tell you what date it's
from. I offered it to [a Universal executive] and he said, 'There's no
more Velvets bootlegs coming out. Lou doesn't want it.' [But] I heard
that wasn't true."
As a multi-disc set of a cult band geared toward
collectors and completists, The
Velvet Underground Bootleg Series Volume 1: The Quine Tapes
isn't the kind of release that anyone expects to chart, and it doesn't.
But while the "Volume 1" in its title seems to indicate that Polydor
envisions it as a multi-volume series, it might not sell well enough
for the label give the go-ahead for sequels, since no subsequent
editions have appeared as of this writing. Nor, indeed, has Universal
put out any other previously unissued VU tapes, though presumably it
wasn't only Quine who approached Levenson with release-quality tapes
back in 1985. And if Quine himself had any more releasable tapes from
his cache, his death in May 2004 makes it all the more doubtful than
any others will surface.
