Why do people pretend to like this?

Why do people pretend to like this?

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indie cred and to impress art thots

Pretending a band's worst album is their best album is Yea Forums 101

But it's not s/t

>couldn't even finish it the first time
>mfw it clicked on the second listen

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Although less impressive, White Light White Heat (1967) contains Sister Ray, which probably remains the ultimate, definitive masterpiece of rock music, an epic piece that rivals Beethoven's symphonies and John Coltrane's metaphysical improvisations.

The second album, White Light White Heat (Verve, 1967), was realized without Nico, who had parted ways to follow Warhol, after a series of failed concerts in empty theaters.

The absence of Nico's tormented tone and the hazy atmosphere it helped create, left more space for Reed's delirious discourse and Cale's radical experiments. The cuts grew excessively long, overshadowed by a common monotone darkness, a sense of impotence and claustrophobia, torn by guitar distortions and abused by foul language. There are free-form feedback jams, hyper-disintegrating holocausts that collapse into the lowest level of emotionality.

The sense of solitude amidst the clamor of the city offers the emotional cue for the Velvet's macabre fantasies. Metropolitan chaos and mental chaos, desperation, paranoia, obsession with death, turbulence of the subconscious: the Velvet Underground were determined to pierce the most painful layers of psychedelia and psychoanalysis.

The opening title track of White Light White Heat, with its powerful intro and its rhythmic pace, is the piece that brings to perfection their hypnotic percussive boogie, the kind of frenzied bacchanal already experimented with in European Son. It's also the only cut on the album, except for the mantra Here She Comes Now, that's even reminiscent of formal song structure. In contrast, the devastating tribal dance I Heard Her Call My Name, an epileptic saraband, the claustrophobic The Gift, a colloquial discourse backed by amorphous improvised guitar distortions, and the mangled Indian-sounding Lady Godiva's Operation, are wild rides with neither head nor tail, broken up by Cale's monumental dissonance, their gloomy lullaby sustained by Tucker's maniacal beat.

I started my Sunday off listening to Sister ray 10/10
>S-S-seacrching for my mainline

Sister Ray is just a shitty unfinished version of Roadrunner

All these prelude to Sister Ray, a deafening black mass, an incantation of voices and instruments in a trance, perhaps the greatest masterpiece in all of rock music. This epic snake slithers for seventeen minutes without a moment's pause, with a throbbing beat (Maureen Tucker has every the right to list herself among the best drummers in rock history), with distorted and hissing guitar phrasing comprised of vehement assaults and soft whispers in counterpoint, with the continuous electric martyrdom of Cale, and with the acutely spirited voice of a stuttering Reed, epileptic and possessed. The tremendous accelerating beat and the spasms of emotional neurosis that shatter it from top to bottom reach sound levels and emotional intensity never before accomplished in music. The snake unfolds like a long sabbath, a ritualistic dance, a happening of collective self-destruction in a continuous eruption of gasps, psychopathic spasms, perverse violence, and obsessive delirium - a pulsating heap of sounds that explode in every direction, a dissonant hurricane of such violence as to uproot the entire civilization of music, a dramatic jubilation of enraged anguish, a mystical anarchic liberation of primordial instincts, a psychoanalytic session of automatic writing, an expansion of consciousness, an ode to the chaos of the metropolis, an anthem to universal insanity.

The success of the album was inversely proportional to its greatness. The reason is not attributable to Reed's vulgar lyrics - as such taboos had long been broken - but to Cale's heavy experimentation. As a consequence, in 1968 Reed asked Cale to leave the group.