There are a few figures in 20th-century art that have become synonymous with the concept of fame, people who transcend numerous boundaries and remain iconic, whether it is for who they are or what they represented. Andy Warhol is undeniably one of the most important artists of his generation, both for his own creative output, as well as his paternal tendency towards cherishing the burgeoning careers of younger artists, all of whom have been able to benefit from his presence and become masters of their craft in their own right. Two such individuals were John Cale and Lou Reed, who we all likely know as the de facto leaders and primary creatives forces behind The Velvet Underground, arguably one of the most influential bands to ever come out of the English-speaking world, and the beneficiaries of Warhol’s passion and attention, becoming mainstays of his many lavish parties and artistic communes where their talents were nurtured and developed during the height of The Factory and its endless creative output in terms of artistic expression. After he died in the late 1980s, Warhol was the subject of Songs for Drella, which saw Reed and Cale (whose relationship had been hostile for over two decades, starting with the latter being fired from The Velvet Underground for supposedly being too revolutionary in his ideas) reunite for an album and concert, in which they paid tribute to “Drella”, their affectionate nickname for Warhol, that was an amalgamation of “Dracula” and “Cinderella”, which every who knew his claims was a fairly accurate description of his personality. The concert was captured on film by the great cinematographer Edward Lachman, and turned into the film that bears the same title as the album – and while it may not approach the brilliance of other concert films, Songs for Drella is a masterpiece of unhinged artistic expression, and a fitting

Songs for Drella captures lightning in a bottle, showcasing a rare instance where we see two of the most influential progressive musicians in the history of 20th-century art on stage together for nearly a full hour, performing songs from an album written in tribute to their mentor. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, so the fact that it was captured on film is nothing short of a blessing. It’s a very simple approach – Lachman has primarily worked as a cinematographer, with a few sporadic directorial credits to his name, normally restricted to documentaries and other forms of non-fiction filmmaking. Ultimately, Songs for Drella didn’t need the most creative voice behind the camera in terms of someone to help shape the narrative, since all of that was being done on stage by Cale and Reed, who are the authorial voices, working with Lachman, whose primary responsibility was to record their performance (onto which he did put some very creative artistic flourishes, but these were merely supplementary, rather than being a reason behind the film’s success). It leads to a rivetting hour of music, where they play songs many of us would have likely not have heard outside of this album – this is far from the cavalcade of iconic songs that we might expect from a reunion of these two (there is not a Velvet Underground song anywhere to be seen, nor is there even a reference to their former collaboration – had we not known their past, we might have just assumed they were two artists drawn together to collaborate without any pre-existing history between them), and it becomes so extraordinarily engaging and intriguing.

There is much more to Songs for Drella than just a few musical performances strung together. There is a small subset of films in which the viewer needs to be armed with some prior knowledge in order to fully understand and embrace the film and what it represents. As much as this is a concert done in tribute to Warhol, it is also a poignant portrait of two artists who are wildly different in temperament and style, but were intrinsically responsible for the other’s fame and acclaim, so much that the hostilities that drove them apart for two decades (and would once again force them away from each other until Reed’s death just over twenty years later) is one fuelled by a combination of hubris and the rawest passion for the art itself. There is something so captivating about how Reed and Cale collaborate here – there isn’t a single line of dialogue between them, and their interactions are exclusively done through their art. A film in which communication is delivered through music is an interesting approach, and as frustrating as it may be to a viewer that hopes that we’d see be privy to some insights from these great musicians outside of the actual music (perhaps a moment in which we can get a glimpse into their artistic process), there is a reason behind this – they were far from friends, and even calling them colleagues seems too friendly. The best description for Cale and Reed is that they were two individuals that just so happened to attain fame through collaboration – and as fascinating as their feud may be, it’s not integral to the actual art, and the approach to highlight the output rather than the production, was not only smart from a conceptual level, but places the emphasis on the fact that this was done in tribute to their mentor more than anything else.

Yet, there is even more complexity here – this is not exclusively a homage to Warhol himself, and while there are direct references to Warhol’s upbringing and life as a whole, the film is not exclusively restricted to exploring his legacy, but also looking at what he represented. There is a lot of gravity in the fact that it is Reed and Cale that are performing here – they weren’t only some of his most iconic disciples, but also vitally important alumni of his unconventional school of ragtag misfits and talented outsiders. Songs for Drella is a detailed account of the 1960s through the guise of Warhol’s life story, serving as an elegy not only to his importance as an artist and kingmaker for various other creative individuals, but also the entire generation that he represented. These songs tell striking stories of being a starving artist in a city like New York, the unabashedly proud queerness that Warhol not only embraced but openly encourage and the power of artistic expression, which is perhaps the most essential component of their musical narrative. The two artists at the heart of Song for Drella know the vital importance of paying tribute to both their friends and the people that were lost along the way, and they don’t take their position here lightly. They are two survivors from the past, drawn together to pay tribute to those who physically departed – and there are moments where we can feel the souls of their previous collaborators drifting through the empty halls of the Brooklyn Academy of Music, their stories being just as important to this whistle-stop tour of Warhol’s legacy.

Few films have been able to capture the true spirit of collaboration more than Songs for Drella, which may seem extremely simple in theory, but actually serves to be a lot more complex than it appears on the surface. It is possible to just enjoy it for the music, since these compositions are suitably entertaining and well-crafted – but this would be overlooking the details that make the song so important, the layered meaning being as integral to the development of the story as the musical ingenuity being demonstrated. It becomes a poignant and striking portrait of a time and place, as captured by someone whose intricate understanding of not only their artists here, but also their sources of inspiration, allows him to seamlessly weave together the rare kind of narrative that depends less on actual words, but more on paralinguistic signals, small but intricate details that feel like they are hinting at something much deeper. It’s not a rousing concert film that invites the viewer to join in with the music (especially since there are songs that come from the more obscure parts of the artists’ respective catalogues), but instead a deeply sentimental and often quite hauntingly beautiful meditation on art, collaboration and companionship – perhaps Reed and Cale had a notoriously difficult relationship, but they were invaluable to each other, being vital in the development of their careers, and without their hubristic ambition, as well as their shared friendship with Warhol, we’d likely not have seen the full scope of what these artists were capable of doing – this is what Songs for Drella aim to do, and it certainly achieves it with flying colours.