Television 4: Television

Nobody’s quite sure how (or why) it happened, but the classic Television lineup reunited fourteen years after the fact for a new album, plus tour. This shouldn’t have been that big a deal, since the guys had worked together in various combinations over the years. Richard Lloyd had even courted airplay due to his work with Matthew Sweet.

Simply titled Television, it came with minimalist artwork and little fanfare. Those seeking a return to the sound of their Elektra albums will be disappointed. Over time, Tom Verlaine’s voice has become less shriek; the album as a whole has a slight layer of reverb, taking an edge off the bass. The guitars still intertwine, so at least it sounds like an approximation of what one would expect from Television. Overall, however, it’s more of an extension of Verlaine’s recent solo work, which came off as soundtracks to film-noir or spy movies.

“1880 Or So” makes a strong opener, with shades of “See No Evil” with less of an attack, and they up the tension with “Shane, She Wrote This”. “In World” would have been a shoo-in for 120 Minutes or PostModern MTV if a younger band had recorded it. “Call Mr. Lee” pushes the spy feel.

“Rhyme” has a cool, meandering feel, with a mostly spoken vocal. A similar approach is taken on “The Rocket”, which these days has us hankering for Tracy Morgan as Astronaut Jones. The guitars on “No Glamour For Willi” are processed to sound like they’re underwater, matching the impenetrable lyrics. “Beauty Trip” even works in a hokey heartbeat rhythm to punctuate each verse. “This Tune” seems like an overt attempt to write a “Television” song, and fails as a result. Then there’s “Mars”, basically a comic book come to life.

Television is one of those albums where you think, “Gee, I should listen to this more often,” but you forget to, staring instead at the rest of your rack trying to find something you really want to hear as opposed to just play. Therefore, it becomes a nice surprise when you do get around to throwing it on.

Television Television (1992)—3

Tom Verlaine 3: Words From The Front

Always a literary guy, it’s easy to try to read some kind of significance into the songs on Tom Verlaine’s third solo album. Words From The Front is firmly in the template he established once Television was over, and there are enough elements that still recall their work. We’re still not sure if we’re missing anything.

That doesn’t necessarily apply to “Present Arrived”, which holds onto one riff no matter how hard he tries to shake it, under lyrics best described as minimalist. “Postcard From Waterloo” could be about the aftermath of a battle or a romance, and it does have a sweet chorus, with his typically strangulated vocal. That voice is pretty much buried in “True Story” to the point where the lyrics come off more onomatopoetic, and “Clear It Away” is very sparse with staccato parts, but striking imagery.

The title track is clearly a soldier’s plaint, somber but not too dirgey, particularly when it spirals up into one hell of a guitar solo. “Coming Apart” is another relentless riff saved by the solo, but the structure of the song is too similar to “Ain’t That Nothin’”, which he should have noticed. Or maybe he did and just didn’t care. The final nine minutes on the album are devoted to “Days On The Mountain”, which has a consistent, almost Euro-trash rhythm, faraway vocals, guitars that start out noodling but eventually coalesce, and Lene Lovich on saxophone.

Words From The Front is more a collection of jammed ideas than developed songs. Being 1982, there’s a lot of reverb in the production, making it sound like it was recorded in a small yet shiny room. It shimmers and doesn’t grate, which is just fine. But it’s not essential.

Tom Verlaine Words From The Front (1982)—3

Television 3: The Blow-Up and The Old Waldorf

Television initially only existed long enough to put out two albums, but played regularly on the punk club circuit in New York City and elsewhere. Here Tom Verlaine’s capabilities as a guitarist were put on best display riding the wave of dynamics of the band underneath. Songs that were already mesmerizing on vinyl were given plenty of space to stretch without restraint.

For the longest time, the only evidence of how they sounded came from a bootleg-quality compilation called The Blow-Up. Issued by the tiny ROIR cassette-only label, it was put together by Verlaine himself, giving something of an approximation of gig in 85 minutes. While some of the track info has been clarified over the years, it’s still unknown where these songs were recorded. Whatever the source, the crowd’s having a ball.

The album gets its title from the opening song, which is actually a 13th Floor Elevators tune called “Fire Engine”. Several tracks from the two albums are performed faithfully, and then it gets interesting. “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door” was an unlikely cover in 1978, and here they take the opportunity to take it apart. “Little Johnny Jewel” and “Marquee Moon” are given epic readings, and it all ends with, of all things, “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction”.

Another official live album finally came out in 2003, in conjunction with the two Elektra albums’ reissues. Live At The Old Waldorf was recorded at that San Francisco club, and released by Rhino’s Handmade limited edition imprint. While it doesn’t have the breadth or length of The Blow-Up, it gets the edge thanks to its superior sound, taken from a radio broadcast, complete with DJ patter. “The Dream’s Dream” is a surprising opener, and while it doesn’t exactly grab the crowd by the throat, at least it sucks them in.

Television The Blow-Up (1982)—3
Television Live At The Old Waldorf (2003)—3½

Tom Verlaine 2: Dreamtime

Two years went by before Tom Verlaine finished a second solo album. Dreamtime picked up where the last one left off, offering ten more tunes like what we’d come to expect. Half of the album features the Fred Smith-Jay Dee Daugherty rhythm section; the other sports the drummer for the Dictators and a guy who’d go on to work with John Waite. Guitarist Ritchie Fliegler is his foil throughout.

“There’s A Reason” delivers what we’ve come to expect—insistent riffing, jagged accents, strangulated vocals—and the program follows through. “Penetration”, which is just Tom with Jay Dee, except for a piano at the end, kinda stumbles into place, but is precisely constructed. The pattern falls right into place on “Always”, a straightforward chugger but for a lovely angelic chorus, whereas “The Blue Room” is a rumbling instrumental except for the word “hi-fi”. With its arpeggiated guitars and straight pop structure, the brooding “Without A Word” could be a hit for someone with a better voice.

Except for the 12-string, “Mr Blur” could be another lost Television track, just as the power chords on the chorus of “Fragile” are downright mainstream. “A Future In Noise” is about as blunt a putdown song as he’d yet to write up to this point. “Down On The Farm” is the resident wacky track, with a guitar part predicting car alarms, strangely romantic overtures in the words, and a big swirly finish. “Mary Marie” is a more toned-down portrait of a mystery woman.

Even with the sameness, Dreamtime is another satisfying Verlaine album for anyone willing to decipher the meaning of the lyrics. Not a lot of people did, and the album was pretty much forgotten until well into the digital era, when it was reissued on the Infinite Zero label, an archival imprint curated by Henry Rollins and Rick Rubin. Along with gushing liner notes, this edition very nicely added two extra tracks from a rare single: “The Blue Room” with more, seemingly extemporaneous vocals, and a longer, hotter mix of “Always”. (These were not included on the later Collector’s Choice CD.)

Tom Verlaine Dreamtime (1981)—3
1994 Infinite Zero Archive CD: same as 1981, plus 2 extra tracks

Richard Lloyd: Alchemy

While Tom Verlaine was the voice and subsequently the face of Television, those who listened closely enough to their albums knew that they had a second guitarist. Richard Lloyd was very much a foil for Verlaine’s fretwork, and we will always stress the importance of a rhythm guitarist. Once the band split, Richard had the opportunity to express himself without the other guy in the way, and he did so with Alchemy.

Musically the album isn’t that far removed from the Cars, and the auteur blames the producer for loading up the mix with contemporary keyboards against his wishes. Vocally he’s not too removed from Ben Orr’s croon, so that adds to the overall listenability. (TV bandmate Fred Smith plays bass, as he did on Verlaine’s solo album; we don’t know who the other players are.)

Of course, it helps that the songs are there. Though it wasn’t a single, “Misty Eyes” got NYC radio play, and while it’s not exactly power pop, it deserves to be revived. “In The Night” is loaded with enough hooks to distract from the synthesizers, but you can understand why he was miffed about them. The title track is just plain toe-tapping, and “Woman’s Ways” has dueling harmonica solos to go with its constant harmonica riff, for crying out loud, His guitar prowess shines throughout, especially on “Number Nine”, which has a very similar circular riff to that of “See No Evil”.

“Should Have Known Better” is right out of 1965, at least until the synths kick in at the end. “Blue And Grey” was the single, and the one that sounds most like the Cars, except that the fuzz guitar obscures the piano in the mix until the wonderful break. The lyrics for “Summer Rain” rest heavily on “whoa-oh” but it’s still catchy. “Pretend” is another showcase for a very melodic lead, and while “Dying Words” is a little verbose, it’s still a well-arranged little symphony of sorts.

For whatever reason, Alchemy wasn’t a bigger hit for the time. Could be that Elektra, which purposely kept their roster lean and choice, was content letting the Cars run with the not-quite-New-Wave sound. At any rate, while it doesn’t reach the heights of his former band, it’s clear that Richard Lloyd wasn’t just the other guitar player.

Richard Lloyd Alchemy (1979)—3

Tom Verlaine 1: Tom Verlaine

Given that he was Television’s main songwriter and lead singer, it should be no surprise that Tom Verlaine bounced back from the demise of that band with a solo album. For the most part, the songs on Tom Verlaine follow right along where they left off on Adventure—tuneful, more along the lines of constructed pop songs than intricate guitar duels, mostly because he’s the only guitar player. (Fred Smith is the main bassist, however, and Jay Dee Daugherty from the Patti Smith Group drums on most tracks.)

“The Grip Of Love” sounds like recent Television, with its strangulated riff and stop-start rhythm, and it turns out to be a tune going back to the early days. “Souvenir From A Dream” has a little new wave mystery, but the additional piano after the choruses makes the track stand out. “Kingdom Come” would get wider exposure a year later when David Bowie covered it in a near carbon copy, so familiarity with that will fuel its enjoyment here. Outside a reason to stretch on the guitar, “Mr. Bingo” is on the goofy side, but it’s got nothing on “Yonki Time”, which sounds like it was made up on the spot and overdubbed immediately afterwards.

The poppy “Flash Lightning” gets things mostly back to normal, while “Red Leaves” gets an odd boost via breathy vocals credited to “Deerfrance”, who turns out to be a woman connected with Zelig-like frequency to Max’s Kansas City and CBGB’s, John Cale, and other movers and shakers of the time. (Those in the know will likely scoff at this brief summation, but there you are.) “Last Night” is nice and moody with a prominent piano by Bruce Brody and Mark Abel on chiming 12-string. Finally, the chugging “Breakin’ In My Heart” is another old TV song finally committed to vinyl, with extra rhythm guitar from Ricky Wilson of the B-52’s in that tuning of his.

Just like Television, Tom Verlaine grows on the listener, especially if one is already a fan. His voice is still an acquired taste, and the heavy reverb in the mix is relic of the era, but it all holds together well.

Tom Verlaine Tom Verlaine (1979)—3

Television 2: Adventure

Once upon a time, record labels weren’t as quick to dump people from their rosters if they hadn’t sold millions of copies of their records. This was certainly the case of a smaller label like Elektra, which, despite having the distribution power of the Warner conglomerate, still maintained a lean but choice stable of performers. So it was that Television recorded and released their second album to even less of a ripple than their first.

Chances are, even the handful of people who were excited to have another Television album might have been disappointed at first, as Adventure doesn’t seem as groundbreaking as Marquee Moon. And how could it be? Instead, Tom Verlaine concocted some relatively tame compositions, yet still loaded with melody and interlocking guitar parts. “Glory” is a rocking opener, but things immediately get softer for “Days”. “Foxhole” follows along in the tradition of “Friction”, a little harder and loaded with war metaphors. “Careful” is a misleading title for a song whose main motif is “I don’t care”; likewise, the production buffs a lot of potential edge off it. The shimmering “Carried Away” adds piano and organ into the mix, and one suspects the Patti Smith Group might have enjoyed this one.

The second side is dominated by two “epics”, with a classic in the middle. “The Fire” sports a whistling intro right out of a horror movie, which both accentuates and deflates the drama of the song. The chords of the chorus elevate the song past the rather ordinary verses. “Ain’t That Nothin’” is the album’s masterpiece, a compact distillation of the best parts of Marquee Moon, with a great lyric on top. (It was also the album’s single, which nobody bought either.) “The Dream’s Dream” fades in on a flourish, plays without vocals for a couple of minutes, then turns left for the verse before continuing on the theme prior for the last half of the track, building and building, then hushing again for a more meditative vamp through the fade. (It took hundreds of listens before we realized Verlaine is playing the music from the intro of “The Fire” here.)

There’s nothing wrong with Adventure; it simply doesn’t deliver the excitement of its predecessor. Still, for anyone who loves Marquee Moon—and you know who you are—the album deserves a place in the rack next to its brother. And with Rhino’s upgraded version of the album, you get liner notes and bonus tracks, such as the long-lost title track, an early take of “Glory” and two alternates of “Ain’t That Nothin’”—the single mix and a nearly ten-minute instrumental take not listed in the packaging.

Television Adventure (1978)—3½
2003 expanded CD: same as 1978, plus 4 extra tracks

Television 1: Marquee Moon

Not every band that came out of the CBGB’s scene during the advent of punk was as easy to describe as just that. For example, the band Television, despite having a distinct edgy sound covered in New York City grime, weren’t about loud and fast. Their songs were intricate, and particularly in the construction of the guitar parts, as played by main songwriter Tom Verlaine and musical foil Richard Lloyd on a variety of Fenders. Their sound was closer to Talking Heads than the Ramones, but never enjoyed the commercial success of those bands. Still, they managed to leave us with a classic debut, the wondrous Marquee Moon. These eight songs fill up 45 minutes so well—just right for one side, or both, of a 90-minute Maxell—and haven’t dated in the least.

“See No Evil” is a perfect starter, balancing a chugging rhythm in one channel and a spiraling riff in the other. Verlaine’s strangled voice is an acquired taste, but he gets so much joy out of the words he sings. The shouted backing vocals help too, as they do on “Venus”, with the striking image “I fell into the arms of Venus de Milo”. “Friction” is a great garage band song, using basic chords, a wonderful dissonant main riff and an equally chaotic solo. The masterpiece of the album is the title track, which features three existential verses bookended by the simplest of riffs. After the third chorus, the riff starts again to support a majestic solo, as the band follows, matching the dynamics note by note. An incredibly primitive attack explodes into a reverie with almost birdlike sounds, then it all starts again with a repeat of the first verse. (On the original LP the song faded at the ten-minute mark, so it was a discovery akin to a holy grail when the first and all subsequent CDs extended the song for another minute to a full ending.)

Another simple rhythm part starts “Elevation”, a minor-key marvel with a fascinatingly interrupted meter. The band allows themselves one pretty song with “Guiding Light”, which somehow manages to sound like some of the slower songs by the Rolling Stones. A reggae strum underpins “Prove It”, and after a while you notice the wonderful bassline Fred Smith concocted. (It bears mentioning that drummer Billy Ficca holds down the fort expertly.) The weakest song is the last, the lengthy and tortured “Torn Curtain”, but just because it’s not up to the level of the rest doesn’t necessarily mean it’s bad.

Marquee Moon is not an easy album to sum up, nor is it easy to convince others of its splendor. People raised on Clapton, Stevie Ray and other guitar heroes may not appreciate it right away, but you can hear its influence in U2, the White Stripes and Radiohead. Too edgy for radio, too polite for punk, it’s not yet new wave, but it is rock ‘n roll. (One of Rhino’s better reissues was the expanded version of this album, which added three alternate takes, an unfinished instrumental, and the complete seven-minute version of “Little Johnny Jewel”, their first indie single.)

Television Marquee Moon (1977)—5
2003 expanded CD: same as 1977, plus 5 extra tracks