When I was 14 and still knee-deep in a fascination with the Doors, I stumbled across The Velvet Underground & Nico. This was after I'd just finished reading the Jim Morrison bio No One Here Gets out Alive, and the name Andy Warhol leapt out at me, a name I associated with danger and drugs and fags, things my private-school ass found exciting. I bought the record because of the name on the cover, not because I'd ever heard them. I was young and stupid. But after just one listen to the record, I decided Jim Morrison was a chump and tossed the Doors aside. The Velvets became my new obsession. They were the new sound.

While Morrison sang about "funeral pyres" and "the best part of the trip," Lou Reed was singing about buying smack and domination (always exciting to young, dumb 14-year-olds). While I got chills when Morrison screamed about fucking his mother, John Cale's electric viola on "Heroin" made my eyes well up. The Velvets were completely different from my past musical experience (which had mainly consisted of Duran Duran and the Miami Vice soundtrack). I soon bought White Light/White Heat, then The Velvet Underground and Loaded, and the two late releases VU and Another View, then Live '69 (which contained the 11-minute version of "Ocean"). I was obsessed. Lou Reed was my adolescent new god.

I was young and stupid.

If the Beatles are overrated by most everyone, the Velvets hold the market on over-hyped influence on indie rockers. As the years passed, my love for the Velvets bled into Sonic Youth (Sister), Jane's Addiction (Nothing's Shocking), and the Smashing Pumpkins (Gish). I followed an influential timeline flowing from Lou Reed's sparse picking on "Heroin" to Billy Corgan's inflated solos on "Siva." The Velvets shoved me on a different path from Doors-to-Skynyrd-to-Bad Religion, making it possible for me to be in the cool clique when Nevermind broke. Without the Velvets I might have gone to college and joined a frat. Lou Reed saved my life.

But in the past few years I've rediscovered the Velvet Underground. Once alt-rock had whimpered to a close, I decided to go back to the roots. And what I discovered startled me....

The Velvet Underground kinda suck.

The truth broke my heart. The band I had loved for so long wasn't that great after all. It became apparent to me that throughout their career, from Andy Warhol marketing ploys, to the gas that inflated Lou Reed's bloated ego, the Velvets produced a few interesting songs ("Rock and Roll," "Sweet Jane") and a plethora of failed experiments, including the horrendous "Sister Ray" and "Oh Sweet Nothing" (a precursor to "Freebird," complete with a country-rock guitar solo that goes on way too long). Even that 11-minute live version of "Ocean" seemed shabby and overwrought. I was floored. God had died.

There are still a few survivors. "Heroin," of course, still packs a wallop, as does "I'm Waiting for the Man," or even "White Light/White Heat." But what about "The Gift"? What about the line, "I live with 13 dead cats/A purple dog that wears spats..." in "I Can't Stand It"? What the fuck does that mean? Does anybody ever really listen to "Lonesome Cowboy Bill" or "Here Comes the Sun" from Loaded? What about the use of split vocals on "The Murder Mystery"? Did that ever catch on? "Sister Ray" isn't something you just put on while you're cleaning the bathroom.

In a recent MTV promo, Puff Daddy, Fiona Apple, and Jon Spencer were all asked to cite their influences. On each of their lists were the Velvets, proof that their influence has been so overblown that they have achieved demi-god status within popular music. They are nearly untouchable. Even those who don't own any of their records nod their heads in approval.

In reality, it's become a knee-jerk reaction with both musicians and critics to say the Velvets were brilliant and ahead of their time, due to two reasons: (a) The type of reaction the group elicits from people like me when we first discover them, and (b) The fact that they didn't sell any records when they were together. Not because of any kind of amazing catalogue. Six good songs does not an amazing band make.