‘Heroin’: the understated brilliance of the music in The Velvet Underground classic
Much has been said of what The Velvet Underground brought to the world in terms of music, but not as much has been stated about the shape of the music itself. They are the progenitors of indie rock: Lou Reed’s boldly bohemian lyrics pioneered a sense of daring street realism, and their cult sentiments symbolised an integral slacker spirit. But what of the arrangements? What of the musicology behind these Promethean leaps?
No song exemplifies this side of the band quite like ‘Heroin’. The classic 1967 anti-hit has possibly been the band’s most fussed-over effort, but this is largely down to the dark words that broke through an era of songs about holding hands like an assegai of gritty truth. They are words worthy of reverence, channelling the beat prose of the likes of William S Burroughs into the rock ‘n’ roll scene the writer helped to spawn, but they simply wouldn’t hit the same way without the ingenious music.
The song begins with a scratchy, almost-irritable guitar tone, matching the weariness of an addict itching for another dose. Reed’s airy voice, devoid of any gusto or strength, further builds on this blustered disposition. The whole song follows suit, musically mimicking the journey of the junky that the words entail.
It builds from a few rough notes to a cavalcade of roaring emotion and back again. It’s a cycle that many knew well on the streets of New York City as the first opioid crisis flooded in—though no musicians had broached the matter. The song’s music literally oscillates through the same highs and lows that permeated the days of many. Meanwhile, the erratic tone of the loose guitar, wailing viola and drudgery of the drums combine to provide the perfect texture for the tale.
The stark and manic anthem perfectly captures the hypnotic backwash of addiction. Therein lies the majesty of the band: You don’t have to have experienced heroin or even the underbelly of New York to get a feel for the tale that the song extolls. In brutal three dimensions, the band always brought Reed’s words into resonant life; the studied structure and sentiment of the staccato music behind ‘Heroin’ are the clearest examples of this in action.
“I don’t know just where I’m going,” the song begins, but the music that matches it knows exactly what to do—it is aimless and meandering to a fault by design from that moment on. It pulses and squirms in a heady mess of delirium and downfall, the likes of which the world had never previously dared to attempt.
First recorded as a solo demo in May 1965 while Reed was rattling off hits and instantly rejected passion pieces for Pickwick Records in equal measure, the development of the track from that moment on typifies what the rest of the group brought to his songwriting. The Velvet Underground really were a band in the truest sense, and here they marry melody with meta like the likes of Hoagy Carmichael and Johnny Mercer before them. Even the strumming pattern is a careless up-down, up-down variety.
In truth, the song might not necessarily be their greatest effort, but it set up every other track that competes for that crown in glowing, sui generis style.
