Generally, it isn't common to herald the most accessible work by a musician as inventive and sweeping as John Cale as also probably the best. But, such is the truth (as I see it, at least) for his 1973 solo album PARIS 1919. The songs combine a literary lyricsm, avant folk, and the intense point of view that made him always the darkest, most interesting member of the Velvet Underground during his tenure in the group.
Of late, I've been thinking of the title track often - with it's brass, strings, and otherworldly etherialism - and that sweeping, amazing swell of a chorus. It was put on a mix tape for me a decade ago by a friend, without a word of heed, and had been long since lost to the shifts of technology. But on certain days, it still sticks in my head. Today's one of 'em.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment