A John Cale Listening Guide

Now 60 years into his professional career, John Cale has given us more music than we can easily process. 

From his early art music to his time in the Velvet Underground to various collaborations and a long-running solo career, if it could be done – at least if it could be done with a little cynicism and a lot of verve – Cale has probably done it. With the release of POPtical Illusion, his 18th solo album among who knows how many other records, it’s time for a quick overview of that legendary career. 

Like we said, the whole thing can’t be easily processed (sorry Fragments of a Rainy Season), so here’s a quick look at the most essential solo studio albums, from his debut in 1970 to the album released in June.

Vintage Violence (1970) –  Cale’s first solo album couldn’t have been more shocking, mainly because it wasn’t that shocking in and of itself. If Cale were one of the more experimental members of the Velvet Underground, that side didn’t come through on Vintage Violence, an unexpectedly accessible (and ironically titled) pop-rock album that explores an array of genres, but all of them relatively palatable to mainstream ears. The Beatles and contemporary country rockers sound like the primary influences on a hook-filled, pleasing record, with “Adelaide” offering the quintessential intersection of those two styles. To think of the record as pop isn’t to dismiss it as art. Every head-bopping bit of music comes with a stylish sense of songwriting to match. Cale would make better and more “artistic” records, but he would rarely sound so at ease and find such success with a straightforward approach. Maybe the freedom to do his own thing after the VU meant the freedom to relax and play. If so, it made for an album as distinctive as it was radio-ready, a compelling start to an intriguing solo career.

The Academy in Peril (1972) – Cale’s second true solo album (following a collaboration with Terry Riley) offers more of what might have been expected from a post-Velvets Cale. He is, after all, a classically trained musician, a point that for many pop stars sounds like an attempt to gain critical credibility (“See, I am too an artist”) but in Cale’s case is fundamental to understanding his work. The Academy in Peril draws on that background, but it’s playful and often light. Opener “The Philosopher” could be a prelude to a folk-rock album, but rather than indulge in ’70s excess, Cale stays focused, often composing spare numbers reliant on space; the title track relies on sustained notes and thoughtful ears. This is neither the demanding White Light/White Heat nor the beautiful Fragments of a Rainy Season, but it somehow helps make sense of both modes of Cale by offering a third, insightful movement, which remains a treat to listen to even outside of its canonical context.

Paris 1919 (1973) – Paris 1919 remains one of Cale’s most famous and most liked releases, a position that makes sense in its quintessential Cale-ness. The musician uses his musical sophistication to craft big arrangements that still feel accessible without being entirely pop. The use of an orchestra brings his formal training more transparently into mainstream music, but never at the expense of melody or clarity. He still makes some surprising turns, from the beautiful ballad “Andalucia” straight into the rocker “Macbeth.” The album ostensibly addresses the Paris Peace Conference in 1919 after World War I, but rarely plays as a history lesson. The title track offers a master class in songwriting, dealing with ostentatious display of the conference itself while wrapped in personal-sounding language (you’ll want to annotate a lyric sheet) and memorable baroque pop. Cale would write more entertaining music in his career, but rarely would he reach such thoughtful peaks.

Fear (1974) – Cale continued his remarkable opening run of albums with a notable shift from the first three. Working with Richard Thompson and, noticeaby, Brian Eno and Phil Manzanera of Roxy Music, he immediately increases the emotional tension, explaining that “fear is a man’s best friend” and “life and death are things you just do when you’re bored” in case the grittiness of the album wasn’t immediately apparent. The album sticks to its dark rock edge, but – like most of Cale’s best work – it moves restlessly between sounds. “Ship of Fools” adds some depth and loveliness, and “Gun” follows it immediately with a steady chug and bizarre guitar work. On this album, Cale becomes a true rocker, the edges of punk beginning to show up among the strangeness and complexity. This opening quartet of albums would paint a nearly full portrait of an artist, but Cale would prove to have many more surprises in store.

Slow Dazzle (1975) – In the first half of the ’70s, Cale released music at a remarkable pace, which essential finished with Slow Dazzle (next album Helen of Troy was released unfinished and is more uneven than any of its predecessors). The album moves on from Fear as part of a true rock trilogy, but the darkness becomes even more troubling, now set in a sound closer to glam than punk (the cleaner and brighter production contribute as much to that feel as the songs themselves). “Gut” offers a startlingly personal look at adultery. “Heartbreak Hotel” stands as one of Cale’s creepiest moments, and demented fright night cover of the Elvis Presley classic, now turned from sadness into true derangement, an unsettling three minutes of horror that suits the album, even if it pushes it to a new edge (while stopping just short of camp).

Music for a New Society (1982) – After pushing through variations of rock, punk, and post-punk, Cale made a massive change with Music for a New Society. This album feels like a true solo effort, primariliy just Cale’s singing (or speaking) and keyboard-playing. It’s an intensely spare record, especially following the loaded Honi Soit. While he pulls back on the arrangements, he increases the bleakness of pretty much everything, with songs about murders, despair, and loneliness. Even so, it makes for a compelling listen, full of new sounds and unexpected narrative (even an strong allusion to Johnny Cash). History suggests that you can hear Cale’s maddened state of mind in the album, but it works even without biographical knowledge. In 2016, Cale released M: Fans to revisit these songs in a more aggro, industrial setting. This version isn’t as good on its own, but as a work in conversation with the original, it provides its own sort of fascinating ideas.

HoboSapiens (2003) – From the mid-’80s through the ’00s, Cale largely fell off or dropped out (even 1996’s Walking on Locusts pales beside his early work). In 2003 (2004 in the US), he came out of nowhere with HoboSapiens, an album on which he returned to his rock sounds, but in a new and energetic way. He’s catchy and not truly experimental, as if he’s learning modern studio work and figuring out how to make drum machines sound effective in his way. His use of samples don’t advance pop, but it catches him up to the times and lets him play not just in new ways but in a whole new sandbox. He still mixes pop with abstraction and dense lyricism, and still shifts styles, and he’s potent in each angle he goes through.Something seems to have come unlocked with this album. Cale hasn’t sounded so enthused on record in about 30 years, and he would quickly follow up on it.

blackAcetate (2005) – Fully recharged, Cale elevated his music by one step for blackAcetate (even if critics and fans were quite split on it). The weirdness remained intact – notice the falsetto, the spoken word, the odd sounds – but he came to rock. More accurately, he came to subvert rock. “Perfect” is a flawless bit of ’00s pop-rock, but that only serves to highly the deconstruction across the rest of the record. “Sold-Motel” comes closest to a rock number, at least utilizing the structure and the vamping, but even that seems only to serve Cale’s desire to skirt tradition. It’s the most straightforward moment that highlights Cale’s larger focus, toying with ideas of rock and pop (he talked about both Beck and the Neptunes as influences at the time, but the former rarely shows hints and the latter seems to be more theoretical than applied) while overturning our expectations within and between songs. You can nod along with it, but it always asks for attention.

POPtical Illusion (2024) After blackAcetate, Cale took another seven years off before releasing a studio album (Shifty Adventures in Nookie Wood), and then waited nearly a decade before another proper release of new material (the subdued and highly collaborative Mercy). Both records are fine, but it would take almost 20 years before Cale would make a strong statement again. Like its predecessor, POPtical Illusion draws from Cale’s abundant songwriting during the pandemic. The 80-year-old apparently matched his age (or better) with the number of songs, but he did a remarkable job in picking an elite set for this release. Most important, Cale tempers his dourness; plenty of darkness comes through, but both the lyrics and the music offer unexpected light spots. Opener “God Made Me Do It (don’t ask me again)” uses a softness to offer some hope, with an internal illumination leading to “the crime of admiration.” “How We See the Light” (one of the album’s highlights) picks up the energy but finds peace, if not exactly joy. Cale brings an unusually nuanced complexity to the album’s emotional content (“All to the Good” alone offers an ambivalent flurry), making it perpetually engaging while providing a cut for any mood.

Musically, it sounds like Cale, but Cale moving through the present. Techno and the previously considered hip-hop interests come through just a touch in the beats (though he still doesn’t sound like the Neptunes, nor should he). The synths and drum tracks work their grooves into an array of pop and rock sounds. Cale indulges more straightforward tunes than on some of his acclaimed earlier work, but he still stays shifty enough to be surprising. This isn’t a song of traditional rock, even if it’s pretty accessible. That accessibility and the emotional variation don’t make anything too pop, and Cale provides plenty of downcast moments, from “Company Commander’s” sci-fi dystopia to the existential pyromania of “Setting Fires.” “There Will Be No River” closes the album with an ambiguous piece centered on piano and Cale’s move from Star Trek to Ophelia, all wrapped (or not) in a bit of digital code, blending the human and the machine, undercutting the experimental, almost chamber sounds of the music with imagery that finds space between the pastoral and the virtual, a moment of songwriting worth deeper parsing.

It’s a quintessentially Cale finish – sophisticated and difficult while still easy to enjoy. We can only hope that the 50 or so songs left from his songwriting burst continue to arrive in such agreeable forms.

• Author
• Recent Posts

Justin Cober-Lake

Justin Cober-Lake, based in central Virginia, has worked in publishing for the past 15 years. His editing and freelance writing has focused mostly on cultural criticism, particularly pop music. You can follow him on Twitter @jcoberlake.

Latest posts by Justin Cober-Lake (see all)

• A John Cale Listening Guide - July 2, 2024
• Wishful Thinking: Wilco’s A Ghost Is Born at 20 - June 24, 2024
• Pokey LaFarge Ventures Into Rhumba Country - May 30, 2024