I’ll be R-training to Brooklyn later today for the 2018 Broadcast Film Critics Association Documentary Awards. (Here’s a recent post about it). But I’ve wanted to explore that Velvet Underground exhibit I’ve been reading about for the last few weeks so what the hell, right?
It’s irksome that they’re charging $25 admission — $50 if you don’t want to wait in line. It’s also pointless to talk about the Grand Canyon-sized chasm between the raggedy, real-deal experience of Lou Reed, Nico, John Cale, Andy Warhol, Sterling Morrison and Maureen Tucker and the presumably soothing corporate representation I’ll be submitting to in a few hours.
Update: The VU exhibit is not a soother but an immersive, highly intelligent, atmospheric and educational sink-in supreme. I was wrong to suspect otherwise.
“It was just ’66 and the first half of ’67…that’s all it was.”
