"Somewhere Somebody Must Stand Naked"
Rock Scene October '74
By Patti Smith
This sudden light you may wish to pass up. It's not so easy to go out on the streets showing all you got to show. The young gladiator clung to his sword and shield just as the child of rock'n' roll holds fast to the flash over flesh. This is cool, it's the rule of rock 'n' roll but somewhere sombody must stand naked. In the 60s we had the Stones, Yardbirds, Love and Velvet Underground. Performers moved by cold inspiration. They didn't hide behind an image. THEY WERE THE IMAGE.
We are victims of media penetration. Television is image warm enemy number 1. It's like some alien form of life - flesherpoid parasites - sucking up the grand consiousness and translating it 2-D dot field. It's made our stars and our art (rock 'n' roll) into limp pasteurised versions of a once high raw process. Boycott rock 'n' roll on TV. Who wants an image of the image? Rock 'n' roll is not Hollywood jive. It's becoming flash theatre with less emphasis on the moment - the movement - the rhythm and alchemy of hand-to-hand combat. When Midnight Special comes on TUNE OUT. Accessible middle class. Killing natural action.
Already a new group has begun an attack. Starting from the bottom with completely naked necks. A group called TELEVISION who refuse to be a latent image but the machine itself! The picture they transmit is shockingly honest. Like when the media was LIVE and Jack Paar would cry and Ernie Kovacs would fart and Cid Caeser would curse and nobody would stop them 'cause the moment it was happening it was real. No taped edited crap. I love this group 'cause they focus on the face. Close-ups don't disarm them 'cause they reveal everything. And the lead singer Tom Verlaine (initials TV) has the most beautiful neck in rock 'n' roll. Real swan-like - fragile yet strong. He's creature of opposites. The way he comes on like a dirt farmer and a prince. A languid boy with the confused grace of a child in paradise. A guy worth losing your virginity to. He plays lead guitar with angular, inverted passion like a thousand bluebirds screaming. You know, like high treble. And like Todd Rundgren he is blessed with long veined hands reminiscent of the great poet strangler, Jack the Ripper.
Their lyrics are as suggestive as a horny boy at the drive in. Songs like "Hard On Love", "One On Top Of Another" and "Love Comes In Spurts". Sexual energy is suppressed on TV but is the main ingredient of Television. They got the certain style. The careless way of dressing like high school 1963. The way they pulse equal doses of poetry and pinball. Their strange way of walking. Hell is from Kentucky. A runaway orphan with nothing to look up to. The others grew up in Delaware: A land of grids—one long oppressive gymnasium. Tom and Hell done time in reform school. Lloyd done time in mental wards. Billy been 'round the world on his BSA. They came together with nothing but a few second-hand guitars and the need to bleed. Dead end kids. But they got this pact called friendship. They fight for each other so you get this sexy feel of heterosexual alchemy when they play. They play real live. Dives, clubs, anywhere at all. They play undulating rhythm like ocean. They play pissed off, psychotic reaction. They play like they got knife fight in the alley after the set. They play like they make it with chicks. They play like they're in space but still can dig the immediate charge and contact of lighting a match.
Tom and Hell started a forest fire in Alabama. They got sent up for watching it burn. Then they decided to burn themselves. No image of an image. The image itself. Billy always is laughing. Lloyd jacks off on his guitar. Hell is male enough to get ashamed that he writes immaculate poetry. And Tom Verlaine lives up tho the initials TV. He is a powerful image worthy of future worship.
The way he moves like some junkie angel. I said, "Hey, Tom. The way you move on the stage like you're on the surf, like you been wounded with an arrow, like you got clouds in the brain." And he said, "Oh I know. I always feel like I'm floating. Feel like I'm falling. But you know, I'M not going to be falling forever."
You can see the outline of his hips in his pants. And you get the feeling, as him and Television are tuning up, that he's naked as a snake.
Television Goes Prime-Time
Circus, April 14 1977
By Toby Goldstein
Money and Television, unlike the industry from which Verlaine took their name, do not have a lot in common. Television has been for the past years what is known in New York as “a CBGB’s group”, playing the half dozen punk rock venues in lower Manhattan for door money. They played at CBGB’s opening for Patti Smith, and started to build a reputation for their lengthy, doomy-shadowed compositions which many called reminiscent of the Velvet Underground. “We’re not very similar,” he urges. “Only in mood, definitely not in sound. I find it surprising that people idolize that sound.”
Verlaine is a rough-edged mix of contemporary scene observer and 19th-century mystic French poet, Paul Verlaine, whose visions of “drunken boats” suit his namesake very well. Verlaine’s stick-straight dirty-blonde hair falls across his face as he puzzles out the ironies of writing seriously for a quick-buck world. “I read a review of us once that said we were the worst band, in a national magazine. That was written by a guy who auditioned for us a year and a half ago and who I told no. It’s meeting a quota or making a living. No offence to writers, but some people write for paycheck and some write without regard to whether they’re gonna get paid at all, which is my approach to any kind of work. But we got offered deals that were a complete insult. Absolute shyster deals!”
He continues in a voice that is precise, almost clipped. “I suppose all the labels are signing bands from New York now. I guess all those CBGB’s groups are signed. One record company executive told me that with companies, it’s like they shoot 100 arrows in the dark, hoping one will be a bull’s-eye. There’s no regard to the content at all – it’s product.”
Elektra may be best known today for the Eagles-Linda Ronstadt types, but Tom Verlaine’s heart is in their storeroom, keeping company with the Doors, Love and the Stooges, visionaries of bygone years.
Television: Knock, Knock, Knocking
Boston Phoenix, June 6, 1978
by Deborah Frost
Verlaine's 'glory' has nothing to do with the traditional trappings of success. He isn't looking for fame or fortune ("that ain't nothin' " as he might say) but for spiritual exaltation. Although his peers among the New York underground (Blondie, Mink DeVille, Talking Heads, Patti Smith, et al) scramble toward terra firma of hit records and slick production, Verlaine and Television remain primitive purists, defiantly resisting anything that would make them accessible to a mass audience.
It isn't that the band hasn't developed and improved - they have; Adventure makes that obvious. The music has more crunch, more muscle than its predecessor Marquee Moon. Perhaps this is because of former Blondie bassist Fred Smith's increasing assurance. As he has become an integral part of the band, Smith's playing has become more assertive. But he is never obtrusive - he simply provides a steady rhythmic anchor for Verlaine's wandering guitar. Unlike Richard Hell, whom he replaced, Smith complements rather than clashes with the leader. And Television is, after all, Verlaine's vision.
Both Andy Johns, who was partially responsible for the first album, and John Jansen, who co-produced Adventure, functioned as little more than engineers. It's easy to see why Patti Smith was attracted to him - without bluster, he manages to achieve the higher consciousness she only toys with. Ironically, Verlaine's goals are better expressed by "Knocking On Heaven's Door", the Dylan song included in live performance - than by anything on either of Television's albums. And if Verlaine keeps a-knockin' he just might get in.
Return of the Valve Heads
Source: NME (September 19, 1992)
by Edwin Pouncey
This is just the kind of head-on press/rock band encounter that has been grinding on since the early '60s. An exclusive exchange of ideas and arguments between rock journalist and rock artist over a silver salver of roast beef sarnies and a pot of coffee. It's such a classic cliche that I find myself close to laughing, especially when I have to struggle to extract a seat from beneath the dead weight of the mahogany table. But that's cool. Television know all the tricks of this particular trade, they've been through all these hoops before and have learned by experience how to coast through the craziness and boredom and still come out smiling.
It has been 15 years since guitarists Tom Verlaine and Richard Lloyd joined forces with bass player Fred Smith and drummer Billy Ficca to record 'Marquee Moon', their still astonishing debut LP which won the band rave reviews worldwide when first released in 1977.
"Of course, we deserved everything we got," laughs Richard Lloyd. "But we didn't get it," adds Tom Verlaine. "I knew it would turn around, though. I remember coming over here after 'Marquee Moon' was done, and on the day I was leaving I went to Pembridge Road and saw the band's picture on the front of a magazine. No offence to the practise of journalism, but it's all very come and go."
Despite Tom's understandable cynicism, Television have always touched the soft spot in the gnarled and world-weary heart of the rock press, even though their second LP 'Adventure' failed (unfairly, it is now widely felt) to cause the same flare of excitement as 'Marquee Moon'.
But what was really behind Television's sudden implosion?
"We don't really remember," giggles Tom, reaching for a sandwich. "It was a general displeasure with the business world. We had no money, we'd done the huge tour, our manager told us that our money was in this band in Germany, we had to borrow $30,000 to get us out of the management deal and we had absolutely no relationship with our record company in the States, not even a person to call there. We couldn't afford to stay together."
Tom's is a sad, but all too familiar, story that resulted in the demise of one of rock's most important bands. Verlaine and Lloyd signed up to Elektra to record solo projects, Smith joined up with Lloyd to play on his debut solo LP 'Alchemy', while Ficca decided to slap skins for The Waitresses, an oddball New York pop band who were fronted by one Chris Butler and produced a minor hit in 'Christmas Wrapping' for $ Records.
Despite all this extra creativity since Television decided to call it a day, however, they have remained in touch, even if it's just to wave to each other across the street. Television had a secret plan to reform and record in 1992 and, as good as their word, that's exactly what they've done.
"I really question that," he smiles knowingly. "I really think that people only drag it out and put it on about every three-and-a-half years and say, 'That stuff sounds OK!', Or else they put it on and go, 'God! That doesn't sound like anything I remember'."
And yet the magic and mystique of that first record continues to drag in new generations of intrigued and impressed listeners.
"You know where I heard it last?" exclaims Tom, "In Nashville, on a college radio station. The kid that introduced it was saying, 'Hey! I just found this new CD and I wanna play you all this song called 'Marquee Moon' that's really long!"
"It was one take, remember?" reminisces Richard. "Billy didn't know that the 'RECORD' light was on."
"There we were," laughs Billy, "playing along with the bass drum sliding across the floor."
"They couldn't nail it down and it went scooting forward," Richard explains.
Even though Tom denies that the past was of little consequence ("I don't think anybody thinks about their past much, unless they're in a mental institution") a fine time is being had by all as the memories surface.
"Do you remember when we were picking the name and we all went away for a couple of weeks?" says Richard. "We were looking for something that sounded so common it was everywhere, but something that sounded modern too so that it cut through. Television was exactly that."
The name also fit the way Television tried to sound on stage and in the studio. A modern powerglide '70s band who, if you stuck your ear really close to the speaker, echoed the same sonic static which throbbed from the late '60s garage punk records, old TV show soundtracks and the hum of something glowing brightly in the dusty darkness.
"We're an analog band, we're not digital," announces Richard. Uhhh... Could you elaborate on that a little Rich?
"When things come out on CD they have to be digitalised. There's a good engineer I know who says that analog is like film and digital is like video. If you put something you've filmed on video then it will retain all of its beauty and sheen on film. If you record something on video it will be grainy, and if you put that on film it will retain its graininess. We're analog... valve. We're valve people, not solid-state people."
Talk turns to the songs on the new LP that Tom describes as "the flowering" of the band's skill. "In these songs, there is, perhaps, a relaxation of personal will to evaluate ourselves... I'm trying to be as pretentious as possible HAHA!"
Richard, meanwhile, has a more earthy vision of how Television's latest tunes come across.
"The guitar part at the end of 'Mr Lee' is kinda like a flower. But it was more like a rotten potato that's just burst! HAHA! Or like a bloated old melon that's just laid in a field and gone PLUGHHHH!!! Like the pods in Invasion of the Body Snatchers, did you see that movie? Where the pod cracks open and inside there's this half-formed person that becomes YOU... only without any feelings?"
It turns out that such psychotronic monster movie epics are an important part of what turns Television on creatively. All cite films such as Invaders From Mars, The Brain Eaters and Fiend Without A Face as an influence, while Tom eagerly explains how a childhood model of the red planet influenced his 'Mars' song and that '50s novelty records could be responsible for the fractured atmosphere on 'The Rocket'.
"I have a real warm spot for flying saucer songs and Frankenstein songs. When I was a kid the first record I ever really liked was called 'The Mummy', and the flip-side was called 'The Beat Generation' which Richard Hell later re-wrote as 'The Blank Generation'. I thought it was the greatest thing I had ever heard. I didn't like Elvis much then, but I was very young. When I was a kid I used to play that monster all the time!"
Suddenly, Tom remembers something else from his youth that could easily apply to Television's current revitalisation. "That was another thing about the horror films, they had these trailers which said something like, 'They're back! They're big! And they kill!"
Television. They're back! They're big! They're hungry and they've escaped from the basement!
The picture is still bright for Television
Philadelphia Inquirer (21 March 2003)
by Tom Moon
Still, the faithful continue to turn out to see Television, the band with a tiny output by today's standards - just three full-length studio efforts - that has been credited with shaping the sensibilities of several generations of rockers, from U2 to the Strokes to current New York faves the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.
Lloyd, reached as the band was gearing up for a tour that will bring Television to the TLA Sunday, has a hunch about the enduring appeal.
"When we play together, nobody knows who's going to do what," he said last week from his home in New York City. "It's like seeing a Maserati on city streets. Everybody turns and looks, you can't take your eyes off the car. You know it's capable of doing 220 [m.p.h.], and it's not. But you're looking at it because it could. With us, you've got two guitars, and don't know which side is going to go off, what might happen. That's worth looking at."
That two-guitar attack, which Lloyd describes as "seamless, like passing sand from one hand to the other," has grown more intricate over the years, as the four musicians (including Billy Ficca on drums and Fred Smith on bass) have matured. But it was the driving force behind the band's transcendent 1977 debut Marquee Moon, one of the few unassailable classics of New York punk. Lloyd says that though the musicians weren't thinking in terms of creating a classic when they recorded it, they did have a clear idea about the sound.
"One of the things we talked about then," he recalls, "was resisting production. Almost de-producing. We didn't want anyone to muck up. It was a time when people were adding everything. Without knowing it at the time, we were insisting on capturing the band as it actually was. You listen to the very first Doors record, it was done in a couple of days and it's very simple. It has its own integrity. I think Marquee Moon has that thing, too. We were clinging to honesty."
Asked what's changed about the live show over the decades, Lloyd says the band does more new material "to please ourselves" than it used to. And, he adds, the current Television is much steadier than it was in the early days, when its shows were plagued by the usual rock vices (drink, drugs, etc.), and as a result tended to be erratic. "The roller coaster is not so evident anymore. We're relaxed. The intuitive sense of musical interplay is better. We're not one of those bands they trot out now and again and nobody's been playing - all four of us are deeply into music and really busy..... That makes it nice to fall back into the band. There's less train wrecks, more competency."
Wikipedia: In 2007, Richard Lloyd announced he would be amicably leaving the band after a midsummer show in New York City's Central Park. Owing to an extended stay in hospital recovering from pneumonia, he was unable to take his place with the band for this concert. His place that day was taken by Jimmy Rip. Rip was subsequently asked to join the band in Lloyd's place. On July 7, 2011, the new lineup performed at the Beco 203 music festival in São Paulo, Brazil. In an MTV Brazil television interview, the band confirmed that an album with about ten new tracks was close to being finished.
Essential Listening
Marquee Moon (their first and far-away best album)
Adventure (once underrated, now overrated, but "Glory" is my favorite TV song)
Television (their 1992 reunion. Interesting. "Call Mr. Lee" is a fave of mine)
The Blow Up (live in `78 - rough, muddy sound, but intense and powerful, with great versions of "Little Johnny Jewel" and covers of "Fire Engine" and a complete meltdown-version of "Satisfaction."
Live at the Old Waldorf (a leaner, cleaner more professional performance [and recording] than The Blow Up, though lacking the sheer intensity of that document. Excellent, nonetheless)
Poor Circulation (early demos and gigs with Hell. Rough, and a real surprise after hearing the post-Hell edition, but very worthwhile stuff)
Double Exposure (more early stuff, also well worth hearing)
UFO (a CBGB's gig c. 1975 - also worth hearing, esp. for the covers)
Essential Reading
Sonic Transmission by Tim Mitchell
From the Velvets to the Voidoids by Clinton Heylin
Links
The Wonder
Allmusic: Television
Television Wiki
Check this one out too (Blogger won't find it for some reason: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TnnhWaRPy78
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