Rock Nico means a great deal to those who fought the war of 1966 against the hippie tribes and on the side of the Velvet Underground, with which rock group she was initially associated. Ultimate victory, which took a decade to achieve (in the form of the punk movement) and then turned out to be pyrrhic after all, has not stripped the heroes of their iconic value. A star of Fellini's La dolce vita and of Warhol's mid-Six- ties superstar troupe, Nico came to pop music by coinci- dence but has left an endur- ing mark upon it. Her early solo records, notably The Martle Index, broke the tyranny of the Big Beat and of Anglo-American verbal idioms in a single blow; her carefully-shaped German accent, the cool, cadaverous tone and the element of indeterminacy introduced by her arranger, John Cale, are sharp new flavours which, in diluted form, eventually per- vaded European rock. It is extremely unlikely, however, that Nico will ever find the commercial success which, from time to time, she affects to court; like Cale, she probably knows that it would devour her. Yet her fleeting, reappearances, which occur every five years or so, are to be cherished, and are never without some surprise or other. On Tuesday night, for example, she took the stage alone with her portable har- monium, but periodically. added a rhythm section of guitar, bass and drums, per- forining her own songs and those of others wvith which she has some association (notably Lou Reed's "Femme Fatale" and "I'm Waiting for the Man"). The configuration was not entirely satisfving, partly because of the band's evident state of unprepared- ness and partly because her monochromatic l delivery demands a more original setting, such as Cale often gave her- Alone, however, she was resplendent in her unique- ness, coaxing a gentle modal continuo from her wheezing instrument and singing with evident involvement in "The Falconer", "No One is There", "Secret Side", "Abschied" and the new "Purple Lips". Her reading of "The End", Jim Morrison's Oedipal psychodrama, was resonant and absorbing for all its familiarity, each of its dislocated lines sounding like the opening to one of her owll songs. Received and called back with a gathering warmth only slightly muted by respect and awe, she smiled frequently in that oddly amused way, tilted her cheekbones: to the spot- light and dedicated "Das Lied der Deutschen" to Andreas Baader, the song's private nostalgic ironies keeping us at our proper distance. We are in no better position to unravel the ambiguities of her morality than in 1966; and that is why we will return for all the next times. Richard Williams Rock Nico The Venue