I alluded in Part I of this article to the complicated story of the recording of Drama of Exile. I can’t retell that story without massively quoting from other sources, and besides, you could read it for yourself, for instance in Richard Witts’ biography. Essentially, after the album was recorded, the master tapes were stolen, perhaps by Nico or someone else for drug money, perhaps by someone connected with the recording looking to make a fast buck. The album was re-recorded with some significant differences and then released. The first version later surfaced, so that now both are extant. I write about the first version here.
Drama of Exile is a radical departure from Nico’s previous three albums (which form the core of her work as composer/performer). It marks the first time since the Velvet Underground days that she performs with a band. In fact, her harmonium is nowhere in evidence. The surprisingly effective results are largely due to bassist and producer Philippe Quilichini, who tragically died not long after recording was completed. Quilichini manages to mix together a French pop sound, circa 1980, with North African influences—a very forward-looking sound which also managed to compliment already-existing features of Nico’s sound. One example of this would be “The Sphinx,” which opens with a flurry of notes from guitarist Mahammad Hada: not in the “rock god” mode, but rather in a vaguely “Middle-Eastern” style. Nico’s melismatic vocal style is aptly echoed here.
The standout song on the album is “Sixty-Forty.” In this song, Nico shows herself able to sing within the most rigid rhythmic structures. The drums lay out a martial beat, with spectral synthesizers in the background. Nico sings from about the middle of her range to the bottom. The music is impressive, and simple, but the lyrics really breathe life into the song: they are among Nico’s best. It seems to be, at least in part, an attempt to deal with the ghosts of the past, specifically the Warhol/Velvet Underground past:
Will there be another time
Will there be another time
Another year, another wish to stay?
Will there be another time
Will there be another time
Another year, another wish to stay?
When the evening light wants to be so bright
And the morning sound is out of sight
Can there be another word to say
Or do we have to give it all away?
New York Lower East Side fame
In a golden circle game
New York Lower East Side frame
New York Lower East Side fame
In a golden circle game
New York Lower East Side frame
Standing everywhere around
The fastest way to be found
At least I've given it away
To keep it only would have made me stay
Will there be another time?
In some ways, too, Nico seems to be taking control of her own past here. “At least I’ve given it away”: she casts herself as agent, instead of someone who has lost it all.
Nico also deals more explicitly with the Velvet Underground on this album by covering “Waiting for My Man.” This song appears on the first VU album, The Velvet Underground and Nico, though it is sung there by Lou Reed. Nico’s version doesn’t work very well. She sounds stiff, and the backing band is all wrong for the song. Really, though, the problem has more to do with a phenomenon that Hitchcock, or was it Truffaut, addressed in the interviews the latter conducted with the former: that you should only make movies from bad books, because something that was already a masterpiece has already found its perfect expression in a certain form. Nico fares somewhat better with the album’s other cover, David Bowie’s “Heroes.” As one of Bowie’s Berlin records, Nico could be attempting here to deal with another aspect of her past, since Berlin is her hometown.
The period in between Drama of Exile and Camera Obscura is very well-documented in a surfeit of live recordings. She worked with a network of musicians in this period. One of the most consistent of these was keyboardist James Young, whose book The End documents his experiences on the road with Nico. Despite some bitterness and a few ill-advised attempts at arty prose, Young’s book is a fascinating and ultimately sympathetic portrayal of Nico in her last years. In fact, his contributions as writer are better than his keyboard playing, which often seems to compete with Nico (one of the strong suits of Quilichini’s production for Drama of Exile is his ability to get out of the way).
One of the really nice things about the live CDs is that they often show Nico performing songs on her harmonium which are elsewhere recorded with very different instrumentation. The live CDs can also be places to hear songs that never made it on an album. The two best of these, “Saeta” and “Vegas,” were released as singles, and these studio versions are available on various compilations. “Saeta” is a good example of a typically brooding Nico song with very effective arrangements. “Vegas” is a credible piece of New Wave pop, and suggests that Nico might have been able to cross over into at least the demimonde of indie-pop.
Nico could also display a bizarre wit in concerts. On Nico in Europe: Do or Die Diary 1982 (a compilation of performances from several concerts), she introduces “No One is There” (from 1969’s The Marble Index) this way: “I wrote this song [pause] for Richard Nixon [long pause] on Halloween [longer pause]. I’d like to dedicate it to Ronald Reagan.”
Another live CD, Chelsea Live, features one concert (Do or Die samples numbers from various concerts). It is a wonderful document of Nico as a performer. With songs from Desertshore, The End, Drama of Exile, and 1985’s Camera Obscura, plus material from the Velvet Underground, it is a moving survey of her career, which also shows her ability to interact with and control a crowd.
Next page: Nico's Elegiac Quality
