Its creator might have downplayed his solo debut in retrospect; John Cale has referred to Vintage Violence in his autobiography as “just someone teaching himself to do something.” But for a post-VU clean-slate claim-stake created in a short burst of inspiration between production gigs for the likes of The Stooges and Nick Drake, Cale’s solo debut is as visionary on its own as it was a portent of deeper things to come. With an alternately flat and expressive voice to match his evocative-yet-evasive songwriting — try parsing “Ghost Story” if you want to get an advanced lesson in how to infuse a conventional-sounding tune with Dylan-rivalling disorienting lyrical abstraction — Cale made a name for himself here as an avant-garde genius who just happened to be able to write some surprisingly moving pop music. And with a perpetual air of mysterious longing and cryptic menace beneath often country-tinged ballads like “Gideon’s Bible,” “Big White Cloud,” and “Charlemagne,” it’s evident that what Cale taught himself to do would sustain his career for decades to come.

You wouldn’t expect Cale’s solo debut to be a variation on Syd Barrett’s domestic surreal, but it is, which is another way of saying it is very much stuck in the Sixties. Not a bad thing in this case, because “someone took the tuba for a pony ride.” It is magical, it is a mystery, it’s a totally winning album that you will not know is John Cale unless you hear the voice. “Amsterdam” is one of the starkest songs here, and it points towards the emotional devastation to come in the Cale catalog. He has a thing for lonely women!