Various artists
Why Don’t You Smile Now: Lou Reed at Pickwick Records 1964-65
LIGHT IN THE ATTIC
Before Lou Reed became Lou Reed, he was a humble factory-line staff songwriter for Pickwick Records in the early- to mid-’60s whose sole responsibility was to mimic the pop hits of that era in order to shift fractions of sales away from bigger artists and original compositions. Need an animal-themed dance craze 45 that just as well could resemble “The Pony,” “The Dog” or “The Monkey”? Check out Reed’s “The Ostrich,” a sprightly garage-pop excursion from his band The Primitives (yes, Reed was also a session guitarist and singer for these Pickwick pieces). Looking for something capably R&B-lite and fizzy? The Foxes’ “Soul City” was the foxy place to be.
These Pickwick label selections may not, at first, look or sound as serious as the previous offerings found within Light in the Attic’s recent look at Reed’s back pages, created in tandem with Laurie Anderson and The Lou Reed Archive. In reality, however, these Pickwick songs’ explorations of pre–Summer of Love soul, doo-wop balladry, girl-group pop, and garage music—to say nothing of a surprise tie to Reed’s partner in The Velvet Underground, John Cale—are a Brill Building–bold earful in discovering much of where and how the guitarist-composer developed his brands of melodic songcraft and often-lovelorn lyrical romanticism.
Usually penned with Terry Philips, the label’s chief songwriter and producer, Reed’s Pickwick output places markers in the decidedly un-NYC sound of The Hollywoods’ “Teardrop in the Sand” and Jeannie Larimore’s “Johnny Won’t Surf No More”—two sun-sand-and-sea pop recordings laced with the sort of happy-go-lucky vocal harmonies familiar to Jan and Dean. Later, the riff-rocking “You’re Driving Me Insane” has a street-savvy quirk to its pulsating garage sound more in tune with Reed’s Velvet output, as does The Primitives’ “Sneaky Pete.” But Pickwick singers such as Ronnie Dickerson (“Love Can Make You Cry”), Beverly Ann (“We Got Trouble”), and label chief Philips (“Wild One”) all take a crack at the charts with differing poptimistic shades of Reed’s writing, from dramatic teen-dream balladry to uplifting breezy swingers.
As for the gut-busted, ruggedly soul-swung “Why Don’t You Smile” from The All Night Workers, listen to its droning psychedelic intro. This, the first-ever released Reed-Cale composition (the latter got a job as a live player when The Primitives got concert gigs), sheds light on what would soon become the noirish, menacing tone of “All Tomorrow’s Parties” and “Venus in Furs.” That revelation is enough to make anyone do “The Ostrich.”
