Nico made a shocking about turn on her second album, trading jangly folk-pop for narcotic, caliginous harmonium drones, Wagner references and archaic church themes. It's still one of the most uncompromising statements in rock history, now remastered from the original tapes.
When Nico put together her debut album 'Chelsea Girl', the German singer wasn't given much creative freedom. She'd collaborated with New York legends The Velvet Underground on 'The Velvet Underground & Nico' in 1966, and had begun performing on the city's folk circuit, playing with Jackson Browne and Tim Hardin, as well as Lou Reed, Sterling Morrison and John Cale. So it was this crew who handled most of the songwriting on 'Chelsea Girl', with the production handed off to Tom Wilson, who notoriously padded out the songs with chintzy, Nashville-style arrangements that nauseated Nico. "Everything I wanted for that record, they took it away," she revealed in 1981. 'The Marble Index' was her chance to reclaim her artistic integrity, and she was ready to do things her way this time around. She took her harmonium to to the head of Elektra Records' office and played the music she wanted to release and, against all odds, it worked, and a modest budget was provided to dub an album that might not have sold well at the time, but still inspires listeners over a half century later.
Elektra tapped Frazier Mohawk to produce the album, but Nico wanted Cale, so her manager called him into the sessions where he was able to take control. It wasn't an easy recording process: Cale admits that the harmonium was hard (or impossible) to tune, so he had to find innovative ways to capture the sound and match it with Nico's idiosyncratic vocals. But the resulting songs - free-floating passages of heroin-and-peyote-saturated ambience shepherded by Nico's troubadour cries - benefit from Cale's obsessive tweaking. 'Lawns of Dawn' arrives quickly after a short prelude, and it's hard to place musically. For an introduction, it's steadfastly absurd, almost carnivalesque, with nauseous electric piano tones that gurgle underneath pitchy harmonium wheezes, angular guitar prangs and fairytale glockenspiel chimes. 'No One Is There' is completely different, open and empty compared with its predecessor's unventilated density; Nico's harmonium is gone, replaced with courtly baroque strings that skip and play while Nico wonders about emptiness.
She pinned photos of her son Ari to the wall when she recorded 'Ari's Song', and while it's the album's most touching moment, it's hard to think of it as merely sentimental. "Sail away, sail away my little boy," she laments over doomy chords, "sail away into a dream." She sounds possessed, singing to herself as much as she is to her son, lost in opiated oblivion. Elsewhere, she swerves acceptable structure altogether, almost spitting at the convention she'd been assumed to embrace up until this point. And 'Facing The Wind' is gleefully jumbled, all oddly tuned clangs, woody thumps and enhanced vocals. But she relents before the album closes, slipping into transcendence on the psychedelic 'Frozen Warnings' and concluding with the angelic 'Evening Of Light'. It's not easy listening - Nico herself described 'The Marble Index' as "suicidal", and Mohawk kept the length trimmed in lieu of this fact - but it's one of the most crucial, enduring and original statements of its era., and ours
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Nico made a shocking about turn on her second album, trading jangly folk-pop for narcotic, caliginous harmonium drones, Wagner references and archaic church themes. It's still one of the most uncompromising statements in rock history, now remastered from the original tapes.
When Nico put together her debut album 'Chelsea Girl', the German singer wasn't given much creative freedom. She'd collaborated with New York legends The Velvet Underground on 'The Velvet Underground & Nico' in 1966, and had begun performing on the city's folk circuit, playing with Jackson Browne and Tim Hardin, as well as Lou Reed, Sterling Morrison and John Cale. So it was this crew who handled most of the songwriting on 'Chelsea Girl', with the production handed off to Tom Wilson, who notoriously padded out the songs with chintzy, Nashville-style arrangements that nauseated Nico. "Everything I wanted for that record, they took it away," she revealed in 1981. 'The Marble Index' was her chance to reclaim her artistic integrity, and she was ready to do things her way this time around. She took her harmonium to to the head of Elektra Records' office and played the music she wanted to release and, against all odds, it worked, and a modest budget was provided to dub an album that might not have sold well at the time, but still inspires listeners over a half century later.
Elektra tapped Frazier Mohawk to produce the album, but Nico wanted Cale, so her manager called him into the sessions where he was able to take control. It wasn't an easy recording process: Cale admits that the harmonium was hard (or impossible) to tune, so he had to find innovative ways to capture the sound and match it with Nico's idiosyncratic vocals. But the resulting songs - free-floating passages of heroin-and-peyote-saturated ambience shepherded by Nico's troubadour cries - benefit from Cale's obsessive tweaking. 'Lawns of Dawn' arrives quickly after a short prelude, and it's hard to place musically. For an introduction, it's steadfastly absurd, almost carnivalesque, with nauseous electric piano tones that gurgle underneath pitchy harmonium wheezes, angular guitar prangs and fairytale glockenspiel chimes. 'No One Is There' is completely different, open and empty compared with its predecessor's unventilated density; Nico's harmonium is gone, replaced with courtly baroque strings that skip and play while Nico wonders about emptiness.
She pinned photos of her son Ari to the wall when she recorded 'Ari's Song', and while it's the album's most touching moment, it's hard to think of it as merely sentimental. "Sail away, sail away my little boy," she laments over doomy chords, "sail away into a dream." She sounds possessed, singing to herself as much as she is to her son, lost in opiated oblivion. Elsewhere, she swerves acceptable structure altogether, almost spitting at the convention she'd been assumed to embrace up until this point. And 'Facing The Wind' is gleefully jumbled, all oddly tuned clangs, woody thumps and enhanced vocals. But she relents before the album closes, slipping into transcendence on the psychedelic 'Frozen Warnings' and concluding with the angelic 'Evening Of Light'. It's not easy listening - Nico herself described 'The Marble Index' as "suicidal", and Mohawk kept the length trimmed in lieu of this fact - but it's one of the most crucial, enduring and original statements of its era., and ours
Nico made a shocking about turn on her second album, trading jangly folk-pop for narcotic, caliginous harmonium drones, Wagner references and archaic church themes. It's still one of the most uncompromising statements in rock history, now remastered from the original tapes.
When Nico put together her debut album 'Chelsea Girl', the German singer wasn't given much creative freedom. She'd collaborated with New York legends The Velvet Underground on 'The Velvet Underground & Nico' in 1966, and had begun performing on the city's folk circuit, playing with Jackson Browne and Tim Hardin, as well as Lou Reed, Sterling Morrison and John Cale. So it was this crew who handled most of the songwriting on 'Chelsea Girl', with the production handed off to Tom Wilson, who notoriously padded out the songs with chintzy, Nashville-style arrangements that nauseated Nico. "Everything I wanted for that record, they took it away," she revealed in 1981. 'The Marble Index' was her chance to reclaim her artistic integrity, and she was ready to do things her way this time around. She took her harmonium to to the head of Elektra Records' office and played the music she wanted to release and, against all odds, it worked, and a modest budget was provided to dub an album that might not have sold well at the time, but still inspires listeners over a half century later.
Elektra tapped Frazier Mohawk to produce the album, but Nico wanted Cale, so her manager called him into the sessions where he was able to take control. It wasn't an easy recording process: Cale admits that the harmonium was hard (or impossible) to tune, so he had to find innovative ways to capture the sound and match it with Nico's idiosyncratic vocals. But the resulting songs - free-floating passages of heroin-and-peyote-saturated ambience shepherded by Nico's troubadour cries - benefit from Cale's obsessive tweaking. 'Lawns of Dawn' arrives quickly after a short prelude, and it's hard to place musically. For an introduction, it's steadfastly absurd, almost carnivalesque, with nauseous electric piano tones that gurgle underneath pitchy harmonium wheezes, angular guitar prangs and fairytale glockenspiel chimes. 'No One Is There' is completely different, open and empty compared with its predecessor's unventilated density; Nico's harmonium is gone, replaced with courtly baroque strings that skip and play while Nico wonders about emptiness.
She pinned photos of her son Ari to the wall when she recorded 'Ari's Song', and while it's the album's most touching moment, it's hard to think of it as merely sentimental. "Sail away, sail away my little boy," she laments over doomy chords, "sail away into a dream." She sounds possessed, singing to herself as much as she is to her son, lost in opiated oblivion. Elsewhere, she swerves acceptable structure altogether, almost spitting at the convention she'd been assumed to embrace up until this point. And 'Facing The Wind' is gleefully jumbled, all oddly tuned clangs, woody thumps and enhanced vocals. But she relents before the album closes, slipping into transcendence on the psychedelic 'Frozen Warnings' and concluding with the angelic 'Evening Of Light'. It's not easy listening - Nico herself described 'The Marble Index' as "suicidal", and Mohawk kept the length trimmed in lieu of this fact - but it's one of the most crucial, enduring and original statements of its era., and ours
Nico made a shocking about turn on her second album, trading jangly folk-pop for narcotic, caliginous harmonium drones, Wagner references and archaic church themes. It's still one of the most uncompromising statements in rock history, now remastered from the original tapes.
When Nico put together her debut album 'Chelsea Girl', the German singer wasn't given much creative freedom. She'd collaborated with New York legends The Velvet Underground on 'The Velvet Underground & Nico' in 1966, and had begun performing on the city's folk circuit, playing with Jackson Browne and Tim Hardin, as well as Lou Reed, Sterling Morrison and John Cale. So it was this crew who handled most of the songwriting on 'Chelsea Girl', with the production handed off to Tom Wilson, who notoriously padded out the songs with chintzy, Nashville-style arrangements that nauseated Nico. "Everything I wanted for that record, they took it away," she revealed in 1981. 'The Marble Index' was her chance to reclaim her artistic integrity, and she was ready to do things her way this time around. She took her harmonium to to the head of Elektra Records' office and played the music she wanted to release and, against all odds, it worked, and a modest budget was provided to dub an album that might not have sold well at the time, but still inspires listeners over a half century later.
Elektra tapped Frazier Mohawk to produce the album, but Nico wanted Cale, so her manager called him into the sessions where he was able to take control. It wasn't an easy recording process: Cale admits that the harmonium was hard (or impossible) to tune, so he had to find innovative ways to capture the sound and match it with Nico's idiosyncratic vocals. But the resulting songs - free-floating passages of heroin-and-peyote-saturated ambience shepherded by Nico's troubadour cries - benefit from Cale's obsessive tweaking. 'Lawns of Dawn' arrives quickly after a short prelude, and it's hard to place musically. For an introduction, it's steadfastly absurd, almost carnivalesque, with nauseous electric piano tones that gurgle underneath pitchy harmonium wheezes, angular guitar prangs and fairytale glockenspiel chimes. 'No One Is There' is completely different, open and empty compared with its predecessor's unventilated density; Nico's harmonium is gone, replaced with courtly baroque strings that skip and play while Nico wonders about emptiness.
She pinned photos of her son Ari to the wall when she recorded 'Ari's Song', and while it's the album's most touching moment, it's hard to think of it as merely sentimental. "Sail away, sail away my little boy," she laments over doomy chords, "sail away into a dream." She sounds possessed, singing to herself as much as she is to her son, lost in opiated oblivion. Elsewhere, she swerves acceptable structure altogether, almost spitting at the convention she'd been assumed to embrace up until this point. And 'Facing The Wind' is gleefully jumbled, all oddly tuned clangs, woody thumps and enhanced vocals. But she relents before the album closes, slipping into transcendence on the psychedelic 'Frozen Warnings' and concluding with the angelic 'Evening Of Light'. It's not easy listening - Nico herself described 'The Marble Index' as "suicidal", and Mohawk kept the length trimmed in lieu of this fact - but it's one of the most crucial, enduring and original statements of its era., and ours
Audio remastered from the original tapes, comes with a 4-page booklet, featuring previously unreleased photos of Nico by Guy Webster and a download card.
Available To Order (Estimated Shipping between 7-14 Working Days)
This item is to the best of our knowledge available to us from the supplier and should ship to you within the time-frame indicated. If there are any unforeseen issues with availability we will notify you immediately
Nico made a shocking about turn on her second album, trading jangly folk-pop for narcotic, caliginous harmonium drones, Wagner references and archaic church themes. It's still one of the most uncompromising statements in rock history, now remastered from the original tapes.
When Nico put together her debut album 'Chelsea Girl', the German singer wasn't given much creative freedom. She'd collaborated with New York legends The Velvet Underground on 'The Velvet Underground & Nico' in 1966, and had begun performing on the city's folk circuit, playing with Jackson Browne and Tim Hardin, as well as Lou Reed, Sterling Morrison and John Cale. So it was this crew who handled most of the songwriting on 'Chelsea Girl', with the production handed off to Tom Wilson, who notoriously padded out the songs with chintzy, Nashville-style arrangements that nauseated Nico. "Everything I wanted for that record, they took it away," she revealed in 1981. 'The Marble Index' was her chance to reclaim her artistic integrity, and she was ready to do things her way this time around. She took her harmonium to to the head of Elektra Records' office and played the music she wanted to release and, against all odds, it worked, and a modest budget was provided to dub an album that might not have sold well at the time, but still inspires listeners over a half century later.
Elektra tapped Frazier Mohawk to produce the album, but Nico wanted Cale, so her manager called him into the sessions where he was able to take control. It wasn't an easy recording process: Cale admits that the harmonium was hard (or impossible) to tune, so he had to find innovative ways to capture the sound and match it with Nico's idiosyncratic vocals. But the resulting songs - free-floating passages of heroin-and-peyote-saturated ambience shepherded by Nico's troubadour cries - benefit from Cale's obsessive tweaking. 'Lawns of Dawn' arrives quickly after a short prelude, and it's hard to place musically. For an introduction, it's steadfastly absurd, almost carnivalesque, with nauseous electric piano tones that gurgle underneath pitchy harmonium wheezes, angular guitar prangs and fairytale glockenspiel chimes. 'No One Is There' is completely different, open and empty compared with its predecessor's unventilated density; Nico's harmonium is gone, replaced with courtly baroque strings that skip and play while Nico wonders about emptiness.
She pinned photos of her son Ari to the wall when she recorded 'Ari's Song', and while it's the album's most touching moment, it's hard to think of it as merely sentimental. "Sail away, sail away my little boy," she laments over doomy chords, "sail away into a dream." She sounds possessed, singing to herself as much as she is to her son, lost in opiated oblivion. Elsewhere, she swerves acceptable structure altogether, almost spitting at the convention she'd been assumed to embrace up until this point. And 'Facing The Wind' is gleefully jumbled, all oddly tuned clangs, woody thumps and enhanced vocals. But she relents before the album closes, slipping into transcendence on the psychedelic 'Frozen Warnings' and concluding with the angelic 'Evening Of Light'. It's not easy listening - Nico herself described 'The Marble Index' as "suicidal", and Mohawk kept the length trimmed in lieu of this fact - but it's one of the most crucial, enduring and original statements of its era., and ours
12-page booklet, Includes two bonus tracks
Available To Order (Estimated Shipping between 7-14 Working Days)
This item is to the best of our knowledge available to us from the supplier and should ship to you within the time-frame indicated. If there are any unforeseen issues with availability we will notify you immediately
Nico made a shocking about turn on her second album, trading jangly folk-pop for narcotic, caliginous harmonium drones, Wagner references and archaic church themes. It's still one of the most uncompromising statements in rock history, now remastered from the original tapes.
When Nico put together her debut album 'Chelsea Girl', the German singer wasn't given much creative freedom. She'd collaborated with New York legends The Velvet Underground on 'The Velvet Underground & Nico' in 1966, and had begun performing on the city's folk circuit, playing with Jackson Browne and Tim Hardin, as well as Lou Reed, Sterling Morrison and John Cale. So it was this crew who handled most of the songwriting on 'Chelsea Girl', with the production handed off to Tom Wilson, who notoriously padded out the songs with chintzy, Nashville-style arrangements that nauseated Nico. "Everything I wanted for that record, they took it away," she revealed in 1981. 'The Marble Index' was her chance to reclaim her artistic integrity, and she was ready to do things her way this time around. She took her harmonium to to the head of Elektra Records' office and played the music she wanted to release and, against all odds, it worked, and a modest budget was provided to dub an album that might not have sold well at the time, but still inspires listeners over a half century later.
Elektra tapped Frazier Mohawk to produce the album, but Nico wanted Cale, so her manager called him into the sessions where he was able to take control. It wasn't an easy recording process: Cale admits that the harmonium was hard (or impossible) to tune, so he had to find innovative ways to capture the sound and match it with Nico's idiosyncratic vocals. But the resulting songs - free-floating passages of heroin-and-peyote-saturated ambience shepherded by Nico's troubadour cries - benefit from Cale's obsessive tweaking. 'Lawns of Dawn' arrives quickly after a short prelude, and it's hard to place musically. For an introduction, it's steadfastly absurd, almost carnivalesque, with nauseous electric piano tones that gurgle underneath pitchy harmonium wheezes, angular guitar prangs and fairytale glockenspiel chimes. 'No One Is There' is completely different, open and empty compared with its predecessor's unventilated density; Nico's harmonium is gone, replaced with courtly baroque strings that skip and play while Nico wonders about emptiness.
She pinned photos of her son Ari to the wall when she recorded 'Ari's Song', and while it's the album's most touching moment, it's hard to think of it as merely sentimental. "Sail away, sail away my little boy," she laments over doomy chords, "sail away into a dream." She sounds possessed, singing to herself as much as she is to her son, lost in opiated oblivion. Elsewhere, she swerves acceptable structure altogether, almost spitting at the convention she'd been assumed to embrace up until this point. And 'Facing The Wind' is gleefully jumbled, all oddly tuned clangs, woody thumps and enhanced vocals. But she relents before the album closes, slipping into transcendence on the psychedelic 'Frozen Warnings' and concluding with the angelic 'Evening Of Light'. It's not easy listening - Nico herself described 'The Marble Index' as "suicidal", and Mohawk kept the length trimmed in lieu of this fact - but it's one of the most crucial, enduring and original statements of its era., and ours