In 1971, John Cale, the classically-trained Welshman who brought an avant-garde spice to the Velvet Underground, would find himself adrift in sunny Los Angeles. Immediately following his dismissal from the Velvets in the fall of 1968, he seemed to land on his feet. Cale would produce the Stooges‘ self-titled debut album and Nico‘s acclaimed Marble Index and Desertshore.
Then, he would score both a recording contract and a gig as a staff producer with Warner-Reprise Records. But his three-year marriage to fashion designer Betsy Johnson would crumble, and he would go on to marry a true Hollywood wild child, one who would further stimulate his love for cocaine and chaos, Miss Cinderella of the Frank Zappa-founded all-girl troupe, the GTOs.
Working alongside Lou Reed inspired John Cale to write straightforward songs, resulting in his country rock and Brill Building-flavored debut disc on CBS, Vintage Violence (1970). Cale wasn’t thrilled with the album or his first Warner release, The Academy in Peril. Though the latter was meant to be “a symphony” and would be promoted as the label’s “first classical album”, Cale felt he never properly finished it. He would call it “a paltry excuse… wishy-washy Vaughan Williams stuff”.
Cale’s musically serene but lyrically sharp Paris 1919 would be born out of this dissatisfaction. In LaLa Land, in the throes of another turbulent marriage that would prove short-lived, he would reflect on his childhood in a little mining town in Wales, the working-class parents who raised him, and the lasting shadow of the two World Wars they had withstood. In his words: “These were all songs about this Welsh guy lost in the desert of LA, feeling nostalgic about all the things he loved in Europe and its history.”
With Domino’s new reissue of this classic’s expanded and remastered edition, Cale’s most accessible and peaceful work will undoubtedly gain new fans, especially among the young devotees of orchestral pop touchstones like Love‘s Forever Changes and the Zombies‘ Odessey and Oracle. Although it was highly praised upon its release in February 1973 by Melody Maker and Rolling Stone, it sold poorly and was usurped by the buzz for his old partner Lou Reed’s Berlin, issued later that year.
As John Cale began work on the album in December 1971, he hoped to have Joe Boyd, the producer of Nick Drake, Fairport Convention, and the Incredible String Band, behind the board. As Boyd was unavailable, Cale hooked up with someone who may have been an even better partner, a talent well acquainted with the lush orchestrations and glossy production that would be the watermarks of Paris 1919. It was Chris Thomas, a producer known for his apprenticeship with the Beatles, the man who recently shepherded Procol Harum’s hugely successful live album with the Edmonton Symphony Orchestra.
His fellow Warner producer, Ted Templeman, would suggest what would prove to be the secret sauce of this recording. Ted played Cale a cut from Dixie Chicken, the new album by the funky, countrified Little Feat, and suggested he use its leader, guitarist Lowell George, and drummer Richie Hayward as his backing band, along with their pianist Bill Payne on a couple of numbers. This seemingly incongruous musical pairing would be heightened with another vital addition. It was Wilton Felder, the sax-playing bass guitarist of the Jazz Crusaders, a session superstar who would add the low-end to hits by Marvin Gaye, the Jackson Five, Steely Dan, Joni Mitchell, and many others.
The initial release of Paris 1919 included nine songs, each a winner in its own right. The new package from Domino includes seven additional tracks along with in-depth liner notes penned by Grayson Haver Currin. Six bonus tracks are demos or rehearsals that illuminate Cale’s creative process. One, entitled “I Must Not Sniff Cocaine”, finds the producer lightheartedly warning Cale not to do the drug after he flubs a take of one of the tunes. The final bonus, “Fever Dream: You’re a Ghost”, is a nine-plus minute cinematic extravaganza of loops and sonics recorded in 2024. Its mood is the bastard child of Paris 1919 and Cale and Lou Reed’s Songs for Drella, their remarkable 1990 album toasting their early benefactor, Andy Warhol.
Paris 1919 commences with a gorgeous slice of up-tempo, high holiday spirit, “A Child’s Christmas in Wales”. Like the Dylan Thomas prose from which it gets its title, this song is a nostalgic look back at the holidays of John Cale’s youth, beginning with the lyrics “with mistletoe and candle green to Halloween we go.” The track is bolstered by the addition of Lowell George’s soaring slide guitar figure, something not featured in the slower first rehearsal featured in the bonus tracks. Also crucial is Wilton Felder’s bass, which percolates in a busy James Jamerson style that becomes the key rhythmic driver of the song.
The next tune, “Hanky Panky Nohow”, might be one of John Cale’s most beautiful melodies. The final album master is a dose of pure serenity – picked acoustic guitar, church organ, and orchestral strings, with the beat kept with heavily-reverbed tambourine strikes. The calm contrasts the hard edge of the lyrics and its message: “Nothing frightens me more than religion at my door.” The new Domino remaster includes two working versions of this song: an earlier acoustic guitar take with strums replacing the picked arpeggios and the wonderful “Drone Mix”. The latter is pure Velvets, just Cale’s voice accompanied by a droning duo of violas, reflecting his early apprenticeship with minimalist composer La Monte Young.
“The Endless Plain of Fortunes” is the first of several tunes that evoke Europe and the First World War. Cale’s powerful string and brass arrangement furthers its lovely, mournful melodies. Like “Child’s Christmas in Wales”, “Andalucia” is a love song to a place and sentiment you want to return to. Again, Lowell George’s beautiful answering guitar figures, with a heavy taste of country funk, help drive this song along.
And now, the mighty “Macbeth!” For many years, as “Andalucia” would lull me to sleep, I would be shocked to consciousness and palpitations by the raging slab of rock ‘n’ roll that is “Macbeth”. Here, the legendary foot and bass drum thump of Little Feat’s Richie Hayward provides the rigid rock foundation. George soars above it all with slamming slide guitar breaks and solos, especially on the outro/fade. Here, we find Cale in the kind of screaming voice that he will bring to the fore on subsequent solo tracks like his cover of “Heartbreak Hotel” and “Fear Is a Man’s Best Friend”.
Side two begins with the regal title track. Bowed strings and brass carry the music, adding more instruments, harmonies, and heft to each passing verse. Cale said, “‘Paris 1919’ was an example of the nicest way to say something really ugly.” Beaujolais and the Champs Elysee make cameos in the lyrics of this most Continental composition, along with the lyrical refrain, “You’re a Ghost, la la la la la la la la la.” Those lyrics will return in the 2024 bonus track, “Fever Dream”.
“Graham Greene” is a namecheck of one of the most popular British novelists of the 20th century. Musically and lyrically, it’s one of the album’s lighter moments. Cale and company flirt with reggae, as his lyrics speak of having tea with the famous author “in a colored costume of your choice”.
“Half Past France” is another war song, reportedly about the last train ride of a soldier, now dead, returning from the fields of Dunkirk to Paris. It is orchestrated with a mournful organ heightened by George’s tasty guitar fills. Cale’s vocals are appropriately world-weary as he croons the refrain, “We’re so far away, floating in this bay.”
“Paris 1919” closes with “Antarctica Starts Here”. The tune is a lost lullaby with a distinct LA flavor, a slow, druggy ballad about a “paranoid great movie queen”, an audio version of the classic film about a fading silent screen star, “Sunset Boulevard”. According to Cale, it’s also a reference to his cocaine addiction at the time, something that made him almost use the title “Cocale”.
Cale’s vocals are whispered over a McCartney-like Wurlitzer electric piano comp. An excellent bridge section featuring a “squeeze box” and orchestra makes the song rise for a majestic moment. As the final verse winds down, the pace winds down to a crawl with the line: “The anesthetics wearing off, Antarctica starts here.” In the end, we are left with an eerie final chord, a musical mystery never to be resolved in a harmonically pleasing way. Unlike “Macbeth”, which shocked me awake after every play, this tune never failed to send me off to the land of sleep.
The two-record vinyl collection I reviewed from Domino Music sounds excellent, providing a warmth somewhat missing from digital releases found on streaming services. Concurrently, Domino has re-released Paris 1919′s experimental counterpart, Academy in Peril. This largely instrumental collection is another worthwhile addition to Cale’s varied discography.