Chapter 16 - You Are Beautiful and You Are Alone: The Biography of Nico

At the start of March 1966, Andy Warhol found himself taking up an invitation from the Rutgers College Film Society to screen some of his movies. Seeing it as an opportunity to take his touring troupe on the road, the artist loaded up three cars with the Velvets, Nico, Gerard Malanga, Paul Morrissey, Barbara Rubin and assorted others to make the trip down the freeway to the university campus. Upon arrival, the entourage found that only fifty-two tickets out of the thousand available had been purchased, and that a majority of the two dozen posters advertising the event had been ripped down.

This did not deter the Factory gang. In his book POPism, Warhol recounts the pandemonium their arrival provoked among the under­graduates, particularly in the cafeteria, where the Manhattanites had been directed to eat before the show. ‘The students couldn’t take their eyes off Nico, she was so beautiful it was unreal,’ he remembered. However, the angelic presence of the chanteuse was quickly forgotten as Rubin began filming unwitting students, while Malanga yelled at security guards. Everyone in their party got kicked out, providing the perfect publicity to boost their underperforming ticket sales. ‘We did two shows for 650 people,’ Warhol writes. He clearly saw Nico as being the star and main draw of the perform­ance. In a ‘datebook’ now housed in the Warhol archive, Nico is listed as receiving $100 for this show, the same amount the other four Velvets had to split between themselves.

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Fresh from the glow of their Rutgers triumph, the eleven-strong Warhol troupe piled into a van – complete with a toilet that did not work – to undertake the 1,500-mile round trip to their next booking at the University of Michigan. The most notable part of the show was actually the travel leading up to it, for at the wheel was none other than Nico. Adorned in a black leather jacket, long blonde hair flowing over her shoulders, the singer was literally taking control of the trip and the group’s destiny. ‘Nico drove, and that was an ex­peri­ence,’ Warhol wrote. ‘I still don’t know if she had a license. She’d only been in this country a little while and she’d keep forgetting and drive on the British side of the road. She was shooting across side­walks and over people’s lawns.’ For Nico, it was a way to contribute to the overall tour effort, even if it provoked fear in her companions. ‘I still had my American license and I was the only one who could drive,’ she said of her duties after the tour. ‘Edie used to be their chauffeur, or I mean, her chauffeur was their chauffeur. Now I was their chauffeur and chanteuse.’ Nico claimed that Warhol was not overtly frightened of her high-speed manoeuvres at the wheel. ‘Oh my God! He was the only one who wasn’t scared,’ she said. ‘He just couldn’t care less. He figured that if I could take charge of 15 people on the bus, I have to be a good driver not to land in a ditch.’

Of the shows, Warhol commented, ‘Ann Arbor [home to the University of Michigan] went crazy. At last the Velvets were a smash. I’d sit on the steps in the lobby during intermissions and people from the local papers and school papers would interview me, ask about my movies, what we were trying to do. “If they can take it for ten minutes, then we play it for fifteen,” I’d explain. That’s our policy. Always leave them wanting less.’ Nico was singled out as the highlight of the night by local reviewer Ellen Goodman of the Detroit Free Press: ‘While a beautiful blond girl sang, her image was projected on three separate “screens,” including her own white jacket. The result was a vision of something simultaneously larger and smaller than life-size.’

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With two mini-tours under their belts, the Velvets and Nico returned to New York, this time set to perform at a store named Paraphernalia, located on Madison Avenue. The establishment featured designs by Syracuse University graduate Betsey Johnson (who had been in the same class as Lou Reed). She was already familiar with the Velvets, having been taken on to create attire for Warhol’s newest prodigies. In the audience was Nico’s former flame, Brian Jones. Also present was an eighteen-year-old David Croland. ‘I walked into that store looking for jewellery at the time. I tried to leave the store and I heard someone say, “Get that boy!” I was used to hearing that because I was a model and people thought I looked good … which I did! But I didn’t turn around. Someone put their hand on my shoulder; it was Rene Ricard.13 He said, “That man over there and that girl want to meet you.” I said, “I’ll meet the girl – but who’s the old man?” The old man was Andy Warhol! Keep in mind that I was eighteen, and Andy was thirty-one or something! The girl was Susan Bottomly [who Warhol later renamed International Velvet]. She’d just come to the Factory as the new Superstar. Gerard Malanga, Paul Morrissey and Nico were also sitting amongst the crowd.’

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Located on St Mark’s Place in Greenwich Village, the Dom was originally a part of the Polish National Home. As artists of various ilk began to move into the neighbourhood, the space was used as a restaurant, before being transformed by Warhol and Morrissey into a nightclub. The duo decided to place an ad in the 31 March 1966 edition of the Village Voice promoting the updated version of Andy Warhol, Up-Tight, which would premiere at the Dom in April. The paper used the troupe’s new name, imploring readers to ‘come blow [their] mind[s]. The silver dream factory presents the first Erupting Plastic Inevitable with Andy Warhol, the Velvet Underground, and Nico.’

At noon on 1 April 1966, the name Andy Warhol, Up-Tight was swapped for the Exploding Plastic Inevitable (EPI), the original idea of ‘erupting’ now replaced with ‘exploding’. As Paul Morrissey signed the contracts, agreeing to rent the Dom for a month of shows, equipment for the multimedia event began to be hauled in. Ink not even dry, Gerard Malanga frantically painted a wall of the venue black, creating an impromptu blank screen for movies to be projected onto. Morrissey planned on using five film projectors and five slide projectors to create the visual effects for the nights. He had also found a disco ball to bounce lights off. It was set to be a spectacle, if not spectacular.

The installation of the EPI transformed the former Polish National Home into a de facto ground zero for the Velvet Underground. ‘When we opened the Dom, a nice setting in a spacious hall in St Mark’s Place, people didn’t talk yet about the East Village,’ recalled Sterling Morrison. ‘When we started moving around, things changed. Never again did we have a place like that. We needed a base of operations, and the Dom was ideal.’ People were particularly intrigued as the Dom brought all of the various elements and inter­ests of Warhol’s Factory into a single space, making it a one-stop experience for all things edgy and underground. Biographer Victor Bockris described the revellers as ‘a cross-section of straights and gays, art tramps and artists … the thrill-seeking rich, the drugged and the desperate, beautiful girls in miniskirts and beautiful boys’. Superstar Ultra Violet’s memory of the venue echoes that of Bockris. In her auto biography, she reminisces, ‘When you go to the Dom on St. Mark’s Place in the Village, you step into a magical cave. Long lines of limousines form outside. If you don’t have a limo, you may as well skip it. Everybody mixes together: art people, society people, film people, drag queens, druggies, voyeurs, tourists, rock freaks, kids, kids, kids – a potpourri, which in French means rotten pot.’

From the start of the EPI’s time at the Dom, there was anticipa­tion and a feeling that something meaningful was about to happen. Those running the bar had been uncertain as to whether it should open on the first night, fearing a lack of business. Instead, it was slammed by ten thirty, with customers lining up for drinks (beer 75 cents, cokes 50 cents) and food (fifty-cent sandwiches, with a choice of salami, bologna or Swiss cheese) in preparation for the evening’s events. Warhol himself was impressed by the turnout of stylish youngsters wanting to immerse themselves in his circus.14

The EPI’s success illustrated Warhol’s uncanny ability to pull various disparate elements together and create something new and unexpected. ‘The amazing thing is that while Andy doesn’t seem to be doing much more than hanging out, somehow he assembles all these people, figures out what they should be doing, pushes them to perform beyond their normal ability, devises new ways to augment the sound, intensify the visual impact, and heighten the frenzy,’ Ultra Violet later reflected.

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The Dom show was choreographed to highlight Nico. During the month-long run at the club, she ascended to be the star of the event. Though Reed sang most of the Velvets’ material, Nico was the focus, lit up at the front, literally glowing in spotless white pant­suits. Her command of the stage was aided by her height advan­tage, standing more than an inch above John Cale. Though she had openly despised her former profession, the time spent in front of the camera as a model had provided her with the ability to captivate any room. David Croland describes her performance at the Dom as ‘incredible … It was like Marilyn Monroe, she was lit from within. She had that thing, and it’s not just because they were both blondes. She was a beacon of light, because of her looks and the way the light hit her face and her extremely pale hair. It was the visual of seeing her on a black stage and everybody dressed in black, and she was the only platinum blonde up there.’

The Dom shows proved to be a financial success. In the first week, the event earned a cool $18,000, which was stored in paper bags. Though the takings were stowed unconventionally, the money paid to the performers was carefully accounted for, said Sterling Morrison. ‘Our actual salary from Paul Morrissey, who handled the business side for Andy, was five dollars a day, for cheese or beer at the Blarney Stone,’ chuckled Morrison. ‘He had a ledger that listed everything, including drug purchases – “$5 for heroin.” When the accountant saw it, he said, “What the hell is this?”’ The Warhol contingent all together in one place made it the hip place to be in town, with everyone from Allen Ginsberg to Salvador Dalí to Jackie Kennedy to TV news anchor Walter Cronkite dropping in to check out what the buzz was about. ‘We played music surrounded by people who were in every respect more glamorous than we were,’ commented Morrison. ‘A lot of people would come to see any kind of Warhol endeavor. The first time we played “Heroin,” two people fainted. I didn’t know if they’d OD’d or fainted. So that was our real debut – playing in Manhattan.’

Press coverage of the EPI was surprisingly light. Notably, the pieces that did come out mentioned the Velvet Underground, although their focus was firmly on Nico. In the East Village Other, editor John Wilcock wrote, ‘And with the Velvets come the blonde, bland, beautiful Nico, another cooler Dietrich for another cooler generation … Art has come to the discotheque and it will never be the same again.’ The EPI does appear in the New York Times, but was shoved into the women’s section, focusing more on fashion than any sort of serious revolution. The Velvets were not even referred to by name, noted as simply a ‘four-piece band’ that appeared behind their chanteuse, who is ‘a fashion model, answering only to the name of Nico’. Nico was the only person interviewed or singled out in the article – much to Lou Reed’s annoyance. There was an accompanying picture of Nico, who was quoted saying, ‘Modelling is such a dull job. I don’t care to get $60 an hour anymore.’ She received an unflattering review in the Columbia Daily Spectator, the Columbia University newspaper: ‘Nico sings terribly – she has a flat, dull voice – but the sincerity of her attempt evokes true sym­pathy from the audience, who accord her light applause. She smiles slightly and sings more songs, the contents of which defy interpret­ation, and she exits unceremoniously.’ Though none of the press offers kudos to Nico’s vocal ability, it is the attention she received as the focal point – the very element that Warhol signed her up for – that irked Reed. As the weeks passed, more and more people came to the event, propelling Nico that much more as the break­out talent of the EPI. ‘Everybody in the Velvet Underground was so ego­maniac,’ Nico later said. ‘Everybody wanted to be the star. I mean like Lou wanted to be the star – of course he always was – but all the newspapers came to me all the time.’

Tension between Reed and Nico began to become evident dur­ing the performances. ‘Nico took an age in the dressing room, and then we had to wait while she’d light this candle,’ remembered Cale. ‘It was for her own good luck or something – and she held up the band, held up the gig. Lou had very little time for women and their accoutrements, and this ritual would really irritate him. The comic thing was, she’d do all this to help her performances, and then she’d start off singing on the wrong beat! Where she started in the song was a real focal point of the night! Lou would look across the stage and say, “We know what we’re doing, Nico.”’

Morrissey saw Nico as the true talent in the band. ‘Lou was always ill at ease as a performer,’ he commented. In contrast, ‘Nico walked out with this gorgeous face and voice and stood absolutely motionless. Oh, such class and dignity.’ Such appraisals did not sit well with Reed. He took out his frustration on the most vulnerable target in the entourage – the chanteuse. This treatment was not missed by others who witnessed his behaviour. ‘He was mean to Nico,’ said Malanga. ‘Lou could not stand to be around somebody who has a light equal to his or who shines more intensely.’ Hope Ruff was a musician who worked with Reed and witnessed first-hand the abuse laid upon Nico by the disgruntled Reed. ‘He had a reputation for being mean to women … He was wild to Nico. I remember Lou talking to Nico like she was a pile of trash. Put it this way, he was caustic with anybody who was weaker than he was.’

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After just a few weeks at the Dom, Warhol realized that he needed to cut a record of the Velvet Underground and Nico. Though he would use some of the cash from the recent EPI gigs, Warhol did not want to foot the entire budget for the project and brought in a seemingly unlikely investor in the form of Norm Dolph. Dolph was an account representative for Columbia Records, and moonlighted by running a mobile disco. He agreed to put up the rest of the cash needed to cut the record, asking to be paid by Warhol in art. Dolph used his connections to secure what seemed like a good deal: three nights – enough time to lay down an album – at the Cameo-Parkway Studios on Broadway, for the rock-bottom price of $2,500. However, the facilities proved to be less than glamorous, as they were in the midst of construction. ‘The floorboards were torn up, the walls were out, there were four mikes working,’ described Cale. But this did not stop the group. ‘We set up the drums where there was enough floor, turned it all up, and went from there.’15 Most of what appeared on the first acetate copies of The Velvet Underground & Nico was laid down during these initial sessions.

Though partially footing the bill, Warhol was not present for most of the recording.16 It was not his physical presence but his artistic licence and support that was most crucial for the Velvets. Cale and Reed both said later that it was the pop artist who insisted that the band remain faithful to their vision and not bow to commercial pressures. In the documentary Transformer, Reed delves further into this idea, pointing out, ‘What he did do is he made it all possible … One by his backing. And two, before we went in the studio he said, “You’ve got to make sure – use all the dirty words. And don’t let them clean things.” And so, when he was there, they – you know – they didn’t dare try to say, “Hey, why don’t you do that over?” or any one of all the other things they would normally have done never happened.’

Though they were having some creative breakthroughs, the usual tensions between the chanteuse and the original four Velvets haunted the band. Reed did not want Nico on the record at all, while she wanted to sing more than the paltry handful of songs that her ex-lover had reluctantly thrown her way. Morrissey was keen to see the German be the lead on most, if not all, of the tracks. ‘Lou didn’t want Nico to sing at all,’ he later confided. ‘I’d say, “But Nico sings that song on stage,” and he’d reply, “Well, it’s my song,” like it was his family. He was so petty.’ Gerard Malanga shares a similar view: ‘All I remember is suddenly Nico had no material to sing,’ he says in his book Uptight. ‘Lou didn’t want her on the album. Lou was always jealous of Nico and he only let her sing little songs on the album and then he wrote a song for her called “Sunday Morning” and wouldn’t let her sing it.’ Various accounts of the sessions men­tioned Nico being brought to tears after receiving criticism from her bandmates, anecdotes that could very well be true, based on what Warhol recounts in POPism: ‘The whole time the album was being made’, he wrote, ‘nobody seemed happy with it.’