'60s Rock Songs Hiding The Darkest Metaphors

Storytelling and songs have gone hand in hand forever, but the social and political turbulence of the 1960s in the United States provided a fertile breeding ground for songs that nailed the meaning of life at the time. Some pop hits broke new ground by exploring difficult and sometimes controversial subjects, such as people's inability to communicate (we're looking at you, Simon & Garfunkel and your "The Sound of Silence") or the life of a serial killer, a la The Beatles' strangely perky "Maxwell's Silver Hammer." But it wasn't just pop music doing this.

Several bands occupying the edgier, rockier end of the musical spectrum in the 1960s also had plenty of things to say, and they weren't always as straightforward with their messaging. The decade that captured what surf rock was all about also led to the creation of music that swam in much murkier waters. From a Velvet Underground song about forbidden pleasure (something guaranteed to unsettle the older generation), to a teenager's stark view of inter-racial romance in 1967, the so-called Summer of Love, these are songs we think have much darker metaphors than their pop counterparts.

The Velvet Underground's 1967 first album "The Velvet Underground & Nico" wasn't a Billboard smash hit initially, but time has demonstrated what an astonishing creation this disc is. Everything comes with a cutting edge, with the exception of Nico's dreamy vocals, of course. That softness has no place on the track "Venus in Furs," a drone music standout, with its prickly, strident strings and jagged tambourines layering Lou Reed's slightly strained vocals.

You could probably count on the fingers of one hand the number of 1960s songs that dared to reference, not to mention got away with, a man talking about being dominated by his female lover, but that's exactly what "Venus in Furs" does. From the initial mention of "Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather," to "Taste the whip in love not given lightly," it's a darker, naughtier glimpse into a world millions of miles from the meet-cutes of the pop charts or the hippie, free-loving zeitgeist.

That's largely because composer Lou Reed (who left the band in 1970) was inspired by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch's 1870 novella of the same name. Reed called it "trashy" and while the story would have made any buttoned-down music lover blush, the song "Venus in Furs," along with most of Andy Warhol and the Velvet's output, has become a glorious, sensual classic.

The Rolling Stones and The Beatles weren't the only British exports to make it big in the United States during the 1960s. The Zombies had notched up two singles on the Billboard 100 top 5 by 1965, and were best known for their cool, smooth sound. Three years later, their acclaimed album "Odessey & Oracle" would cement the band's reputation as outstanding musicians, but the record featured one song that broke the mold in many ways.

"Butcher's Tale (Western Front 1914)" was — as the title clearly states — about a soldier on the front lines of the Great War, and is gut-wrenching in its depiction of the horrors of that conflict. "And I have seen a friend of mine / Hang on the wire like some rag toy / Then in the heat the flies come down / And cover up the boy." The song even shakes a daring fist at organized religion, which urged men to fight for king and country.

Although "Butcher's Tale" explored the reality of a long-finished European conflict, it was impossible not to draw a sharp parallel with the Vietnam War. "Odessey & Oracle" was released in 1968, eight years before U.S. involvement ended. Luckily, the single didn't suffer the same fate as Creedence Clearwater Revival's anti-war song. The artists who created "Butcher's Tale" were part of a generation already scarred by war, sons of slain fathers who hoped the soldiers' desperate plea would finally be heard: "I want to go home / Please let me go home."

In a million other round-ups, "The End" from The Doors' eponymous first album would be the subject at this stage in proceedings, and when it comes to dark metaphors, it certainly fits the bill. But that would be overlooking the almost blink-and-you'll-miss-it track "End of the Night." Moody, bluesy, and just a little bit unsettling, it's the musical equivalent of someone draping their arm over your shoulder and whispering in your ear as they gently lead you off the beaten path.

"End of the Night" was the B-side to the band's debut single "Light My Fire," and stands in drawling opposition to the latter's twirling, psychedelia. Morrison lazily croons the lines and while it's hardly a lyrical masterpiece (one verse and two choruses are all we get), the song briefly explodes after Robby Krieger's guitar solo. But can something so short and ephemeral have more meaning? Absolutely.

Morrison took direct inspiration for "End of the Night" from Louis-Ferdinand Celine's book "Journey to the End of the Night," which probed the darkest nooks and crannies of humanity, and "Auguries of Innocence." This poem, from William Blake's "Songs of Innocence," examines themes including the state taking care of its people and the loss of innocence. Lay that over the social unrest happening in the United States in the 1960s, and suddenly this little song's darker meaning becomes crystal clear.

The 1960s was a great decade for music with a message, especially for artists who wanted to express their anti war sentiments. But in 1966, it took a teenage girl to prove just how far that envelope could be pushed. New Jersey native Janis Ian was 14 when she recorded the song "Society's Child" (originally "Baby I've Been Thinking"), which was released the following year in 1966. It told the story of a romance between a white girl and a Black boy, a taboo subject that few older artists would have dared explore.

Ian's song was inspired by a love-struck teenage couple she saw on a bus, who were more interested in each other than the glares from other passengers. Although her producer suggested she should drop the word "black" from the opening lyric: "Come to my door, baby, face is clean and shining black as night," Ian (thanks to strongly worded encouragement from a friend) stuck to her guns. Unsurprisingly "Society's Child" got a frosty reception in some quarters. Ian told NPR about a performance in Encino in which audience members were "raising their fists and shaking them at me."

Although things turned out for the best in Encino, the initially negative reaction didn't stop "Society's Child" from climbing to #14 on the Billboard Hot 100, and Ian's career success continued into the next decade. Unfortunately, the story at the heart of her bittersweet song remains as relevant now as it was then.