Lou-palooza: Reed-in’ in the Rain at Lincoln Center

Ad for Lou's first post-
Velvets solo gig in NYC
at Lincoln Center (1973).

The weather might’ve been awful, but the music was wonderful. And there was a helluva lot of Lou Reed’s music sung, played, recited, projected, and “droned” at the marathon Lincoln Center Out of Doors event called “The Bells: a Daylong Celebration of Lou Reed” this past Saturday. Those of us who saw all three live shows got a bit more than six and a half hours (!) of live performance — that doesn’t count the Reed-related special events and free video screenings.

I didn’t have the chance to check out the drone event (an installation in which six of Lou’s guitars played feedback), nor did I rewatch any of the Lou-movies (what, no Get Crazy?) Two martial arts performances were also staged — the second was memorable, not only because the participants were quite gifted, but because a “pushing hands” exhibition was staged (and timed perfectly) to the Velvet Underground’s “Heroin” (although this was not to be the most strikingly unusual use of Velvets’ music during the day).

The fact that the stage shows were sublime was welcome, of course, but not a surprise, since the day was produced, programmed, masterminded, coordinated, devised, and executed in benevolent mad scientist style by Laurie Anderson and Hal Willner (whose great live shows I have raved about before on this blog). 

The three shows each had a different tone. The first was a pure rock ‘n’ roll tribute to Lou; the second was a reading of lyrics that went from the genuinely touching to the bizarre; the third was the most affectionate of the shows, in which the purported theme was Lou’s “love songs,” but Laurie assured us at the outset that the setlist would “stretch the definition” of that term.

The rock ‘n’ roll show started off innocently enough, with MC Don Fleming presenting a band of little girls (called “Unidentified”) doing “We’re Gonna Have a Real Good Time Together” (because, of course, “Venus in Furs” was already taken….) The fact that the show skewed toward “downtown” NYC performers kicked in with Jesse Malin of D Generation doing the VU anthem “Rock‘n’ Roll” (the first Lou Reed song this reviewer ever heard, thanks to WNEW-FM several eons ago).

After Malin, Joan as Police Woman sang “Ecstasy” from the album of the same name (one of only two songs that appeared in both tribute concerts, and the only one to be sung both times by the same person). At this point, yrs truly began taking pictures — I forgot my digital camera at home and instead was consigned to the living death that is photography with a phone. Thankfully, blogger “Mr C” brought a video camera to the show and captured some great performances for his Planet Chocko blog (linked to throughout this piece — like me, he was able to chronicle the early show better than the later two).

Joan as Police Woman in the early show. photo by Ed G.

The bulk of the songs covered in the first show were from the earlier part of Lou's career and — despite the fact that two gents were wearing Lou-ish leather jackets (Malin and Jon Spencer) — women seemed to do the freshest interpretations of the material. Felice Rosser did a killer “White Light, White Heat,” while Tammy Faye Starlight provided one of the standout performances by filtering Lou's song “Chelsea Girls” through her Nico impression. Her mocking-in-character the song's wordiness and the instrumental solos punctuating the piece made her turn only one of two comedy segments of the day (beside a later bit performed by Willem Dafoe — yes, you read that right, see below).

Jon Spencer came closest to offering the male equivalent to Tammy Faye, by taking off his belt and administering a Gerard Malanga-style whip-dance beating to his guitar during (what else?) “Venus in Furs.” The young-Lou songs kept coming, all rendered in delirious fashion (the later show was equally sublime but was more somber in tone). Guitarist Matt Sweeney did “I Wanna Boogie With You,” Lee Renaldo sang “Ocean,” the Bush Tetras rocked “Run Run Run,” Jenni Muldaur and Victoria Williams did an appropriately quirky “I'm Sticking with You,” J.G. Thirwell supplied a menacing “Men of Good Fortune," and Lenny Kaye put his own twist on “I'm Set Free.”

Fleming and Willner tackle a Reed rarity. photo: EG

Perhaps the biggest surprise was that the Willner himself joined Don Fleming for a VU rarity, “Temptation Inside Your Heart.” Fleming seemed to be adding Lou's own comments from the original bootleg recording of the song — the sign of a fan who's listened to a record several dozen times.

photo: EG

The rocker who does not age, David Johansen — who has looked to be in his mid-40s for the last two decades — sang a later Lou song, “I Believe in Love” from the Rock and Roll Heart LP).

The two standouts of the early show were Kembra Pfahler and her “Voluptuous Horror” friends naked (well, nearly) in body paint essaying one of Lou's sillier but catchy tunes, “Disco Mystic.” (The title is the only lyric — and in case we forgot that, a young lady carrying a giant sign with the two words emblazoned on it took center stage in the middle of the tune.)

Kembra Pfahler and her chromatic friends. photo: EG

The only thing that could possibly top that bizarre spectacle was the show's finale, the Velvets' noise-jam masterpiece “Sister Ray” performed by Yo La Tengo (who earlier performed “I Heard Her Call My Name”), half of Sonic Youth (the half that wasn't married to each other), and the other hand-picked house band members, with Kembra in red paint, her young-boy clone in blue paint, and Felice joining in as background dancers (backing vocals are not required on “Sister Ray” — if they did appear they wouldn't be heard anyway).

photo: EG

 The fact that anyone even attempted to cover that song is laudable, and Lee Renaldo and Ira Kaplan certainly did have a nice little guitar “battle” going on while Kenny Margolis filled in nicely on the organ.
*****

The second live show was a reading of Reed's lyrics. This occurred during the afternoon period when the rain began and didn't stop until 9:45, a few minutes after the festivities were over (ain't it always the way?). This was perhaps the most unusual, as readings of rock lyrics always seem a bit “off,” since those familiar with the words in their natural context want to hear the music (granted, two musicians did play in low tones to accompany the readers).

Willem Dafoe amidst the umbrellas.
photo: drenched EG

This event was held in the Hearst Plaza in front of the Library of the Performing Arts, the worst place to see a performance on the LC campus, as you view the performers through a maze of leaves and branches (trees dot the Plaza, their willowy branches reaching down into the sight-lines of every audience member except those who stake out seats in the very first row).

Add to that a constant downpour, and it goes without saying that diehard Lou fans were the only folks who stuck it out. (Aside from a few celeb-gawpers who would spawn gills to see their indie-move faves.) Thus the distinct lack of photos from this part of the day’s events — it was interesting to see that none of the major outlets that reviewed the shows (Rolling Stone, The Wall Street Journal, Brooklyn Vegan) paid a penny for the pics taken by those in the first row (thus my joy in getting at least one photo in focus, not destroyed by the rain).

More's the pity, since this show contained both great and bizarre pairings of performer and lyric. In the latter category let me jump right to my choice for the most unusual person to recite a Lou lyric, Elizabeth Ashley. Laurie Anderson announced that the participants in the three shows were all friends of Lou's, and Ashley did indeed participate in the Raven album. Still, Ashley is an actress whose performing style harkens back to the “grand dames” of earlier eras of theater (think Tallulah, darling!).

Thus, when Ashley announced that she would be reading “The Black Angel's Death Song,” my brain pretty much exploded — here, the star of the incredibly strange Funhouse cult favorite Windows was reciting the most surreal lyric in the VU canon. (“And roverman's refrain of the sacrilege recluse/For the loss of a horse/Went the bowels and a tail of a rat/Come again, choose to go...”)

"Maggie the Cat" (aka Elizabeth Ashley). photo: EG

After Ashley's turn (she also performed “The Day John Kennedy Died” and “Guilty”), the notion of “Samantha” from Sex and the City, Kim Cattrall, reading Lou's lyrics didn't seem unusual at all. She seemed quite delighted to be tackling “The Power of Positive Drinking” and “Tripitena’s Speech/Who Am I?” Another actor whom one wouldn’t immediately identify with Lou Reed, Fisher Stevens (yes, he played Poe on the Raven LP , but his Short Circuit performance has defined him in the minds of those of a certain age) offered creditable performances of “Change” and two truly tortured tunes, “Sad Song,” and Kill Your Sons.”

Julian Schnabel — whose look perplexes me (is he trying to be Peter Ustinov or Theo Bikel?) — discussed his friendship with Lou (as he is wont to do) in between reciting “Rock Minuet,” “The Bed,” and “Sword of Damocles” (from an album I consider the most underrated Reed album, the superb Magic and Loss).*

Poet Anne Carson leavened the proceedings by acknowledging her “dull, monotone” delivery of poetry — of all the speakers, though, she was the one who honored Reed’s words the most, as she read the humorous number “Hookywooky” and perhaps the finest-ever meditation on the allure, comfort, and terror of drugs, “Heroin.”

Laurie Anderson (wearing what can only be described as a super-cute “pixie hat”) did a pitch-perfect reading of “A Dream,” written for Songs for Drella, in which Lou openly acknowledges the breach between himself and Warhol. Her turn was beautifully complemented by Steve Buscemi’s conversational take on “Walk on the Wild Side.” In his very capable hands the song became a kind of prose-poem, the type of thing a “survivor” of the Warhol scene would be saying to someone in the corner of a café or bar. (Buscemi also performed “Billy” and “Caroline Says.”)

Terrific renditions of some of Lou’s best NYC lyrics were delivered by Natasha Lyonne and Willem Dafoe. Dafoe brought life to the “Street Hassle” suite and the journalism-as-poetry classic “Dirty Boulevard.” He also dared to “play” Lou in a recreation of one of the many funny/cranky interviews Lou gave (this one from 1974 in Australia), with Carson as the clueless interviewer. Here’s the real thing:

Lyonne also got the chance to play Lou, as she read his dialogue from Paul Auster and Wayne Wang’s underrated (sadly forgotten) film Blue in the Face (1995).

She also read “The Last American Whale” and an aptly Nu Yawk-ish version of “Coney Island Baby.” As the rain continued to douse us all (pissed off, but not deterred, we were…), it was onto the third show….*
****

The final show of the day was definitely conceived of as an affectionate celebration of Lou’s work. As noted, it was supposed to be a collection of his love songs but instead turned out to be a rather solid survey of his most emotional songs (the emotions left out were anger, which fueled a few of his memorable rockers, and dread, which produced the masterful “Waves of Fear”).

This particular show has been written up in various places across the Net, to the extent that the Brooklyn Vegan site had access to an official set list for the show. Thus, I don’t need to discuss the event as a whole for posterity (as I have done with Willner’s shows that haven’t been reviewed elsewhere). Despite the lousy weather, this show filled the Damrosch Park venue, whereas the first show was barely half full (NYCers are pretty lazy these days, and even the prospect of a great rock concert can’t get them to a free concert before noon).

So I want to focus solely on the highlights of the show. Of the women singers, Jenni Muldaur did a great rendition of the VU’s “Jesus,” Victoria Williams offered a quirky and tuneful “Satellite of Love,” Nona Hendrix did a rockin’ “Ride Sally Ride,” and guest star Lucinda Williams offered a gorgeous “country” rendition of “Pale Blue Eyes.”

As for the male rockers, Garland Jeffries did a great job with a song that isn’t exactly a classic (or all that musical), “My House” from The Blue Mask. David Johansen returned to offer up a great “Oh! Sweet Nuthin’,” accompanied by Bowie stalwart Earl Slick on guitar.

Along with a singing partner, John Cameron Mitchell showed that Lou’s songs can sound blissfully “Broadway” with wonderful harmonizing of “Turning Time Around” (a real, bona fide Reed love song from the Ecstasy album) and “I Found a Reason.” 

As could be expected, Laurie Anderson supplied the night’s quietest, most emotional Reed covers with her versions of “Sunday Morning” and “Doin' the Things That We Want To.” Her final performance was “Junior Daddy” from the Lulu album. Lou was truly “present” during this performance, as she and her fellow musicians accompanied his recorded vocal.

Lenny Kaye returned to close the show in perfect style with “Sweet Jane,” the only other song to be heard in both rock shows (Harper Simon sang it earlier). Kaye was an excellent choice to close out the day, since he was not only a colleague and contemporary of Lou’s, but is also a rocker who doubles as a writer (or is it the other way around?).
 

Anohni at the evening show. photo: EG

And while every participant distinguished themselves in one way or another, there was one indisputable “MVP.” Anohni (formerly Antony, of Antony and the Johnsons) possesses such a strikingly beautiful voice that her rendition of three Reed songs were without question the highlights of the night. Lou might’ve been the one who crafted the songs, but Anohni’s instrument is so overpoweringly emotional that her versions of “Femme Fatale,” “A New Age,” and especially “A Perfect Day,” were absolute knockouts.

 

The fact that hundreds of us didn’t leave in the incessant downpour isn’t just a testament to Lou’s music, it’s also a reflection of how well Anderson and Willner programmed the live shows. A few months back I felt uneasy and, frankly, somewhat bored watching the live stream of the three-hour tribute to Bowie at Radio City. In that instance I was watching songs I deeply love being unimaginatively covered by (mostly) inappropriate musical acts and was in the comfort of my home, but was bored silly.

At the three live shows that made up “The Bells” celebration, as miserable as the weather was, as uncomfortable as it was sitting being pelted by rain for four of the six and a half hours (spread out over a ten-hour span), I was never bored, thanks to creative programming, extremely talented performers, and good pairings of artist and material. Attending the shows led me to break out and re-listen to Lou LPs the next day — the ironclad proof of a good musical tribute…. 

*NOTE: For posterity’s sake, I should note that the other items read at the poetry event were “Halloween Parade” and “Venus in Furs”; also Lou’s meditation on his mentor Delmore Schwartz, “Andy’s Chest,” and “All Tomorrow’s Parties.” (The first two were performed, I believe, by writer A.M. Homes and the last three by poet Anne Waldman — verification needed on this info.)

CREDIT where credit is due: The ad for Lou's Alice Tully Hall gig comes from the "Doom and Gloom From the Tomb" tumblr. That blogger has a link to an *amazing* slice of radio history: Lou playing records and answering phone calls (!) at WPIX-FM in May 1978. It's stunning, as Lou praises "Gimme Gimme Good Lovin'," says he loves Sandy Denny, plays a rare live version of "Street Hassle," and a novelty record with a Nixon impersonator doing a Watergate-themed rework of "Walk on the Wild Side." (!)

That particular insane link leads to this other time that Lou DJ'ed at WPIX, in 1979. Stunning stuff, including Lou going on Lenny-overdrive as he complains about rock reviewers (sounds like he's about to launch into "Father Flotsky's Triumph" at any moment), plays both Nico and Bobby Short (!) records, and welcomes a very special guest (of Welsh extraction...) — Listen to it!

“Life’s good… but not fair at all”: Deceased Artiste Lou Reed (part 4 of four)

When I talk about Jerry Lewis on the Funhouse TV show, I’ve often noted that his comedy films (particularly the imaginative, charming ones he made with director Frank Tashlin) will be able to be more fully appreciated when Jerry has passed on. Even though he has been mellowing in recent years — and many members of the public who never liked him were saddened by him being booted from the telethon — Jerry’s abrasive attitude in public has served as the biggest obstacle to his comedy work being appreciated.

The same is true of Lou Reed. Now that he has left this mortal coil, he is no longer around to be rude to interviewers, so what is left is his truest legacy: his music (and yes, those pieces by Bangs I explored in the second part of this piece will live on forever, but those are also about Lester’s worship of Lou’s best music).

We can now explore the 22 studio albums he put out — plus the legally released live albums, which range from the best (Rock ‘n’ Roll Animal) to later experimental items with the “Metal Machine Trio” (not counting the literally hundreds of live bootlegs on the Net) to absolute crap (Take No Prisoners) — without having to think of Lou's abrasive interludes. 

Now onto the Reed solo-career discography, without “lettered” grades, since we know how much Lou hated Christgau’s rating system (wonder what he thought of Entertainment Weekly's appropriation thereof). 

First, I should suggest if you’re intrigued by any of this stuff, or just want to hear any one of *dozens* of Reed bootlegs, check out the YT accounts of a RABID Lou fan, who says he’s posting items given to him by a super-fan named “Lyoko.” His two accounts are here and here; his postings are comprised of 21 of the legally released albums and literally countless full concerts from the Seventies through the 2000s. 

Since the Net contains too many fucking Top 10 lists already, I will include one and only one in this piece. My top tier of Lou albums would be these 10 (ordered chronologically):

1-4.) The Velvet Underground albums (available together as the CD box set Peel Slowly and See)

5.) Transformer

6.) Berlin

7.) The Blue Mask (the harder, angst-ridden songs)

8.) New York

9.) Songs for Drella

10.) Magic and Loss 

And, to a lesser degree, his eponymous first solo LP from ’72, Sally Can't Dance and the tongue-in-cheek LP that is Coney Island Baby. Metal Machine Music is up near the top tier simply because it is aggressive and insane, thus worthy of a mind-fuck or two.

I’ll close out this obit with a discussion of the last three items on that list, but first I want to explore the “middle-period” Reed, which contains a handful of great songs and some LPs that are just heinously lame:

The “Arista Years”:

Rock and Roll Heart ('76): the title tune is all that you need to hear from this directionless “interim” album.

Street Hassle ('78): the title tune and “We're Gonna Have a Real Good Time” (which Patti Smith covered wonderfully in concert) are the sole standouts.

The Bells: not one good tune on the fucking disk. “Disco Mystic” is particularly abominable, time you won’t be getting back.

Growing Up in Public ('80): Lou confronts his alcoholism for the first time on this album, with a startlingly unflattering photo on the cover (he looked much worse for the wear at only 38 years of age). He complains about his parents, preaches that we should “Teach the Gifted Children,” and in one song rhymes “Escher” with “Measure for Measure.” The sole virtue is his tongue-in-cheek ode to booze, “Power of Positive Drinking.”

In 1982, Lou returned to RCA and put out his first truly powerful album since Berlin, The Blue Mask. In relistening to it to write this piece, I realized that the record is half-masterpiece/half-Arista-level material. The worst item is definitely “Heavenly Arms” (the aforementioned Lou-bellowing-about-Sylvia song I referred to in the first paragraph of the first part of this entry). It's goddamned dreadful.

On the other hand, the album contains four songs that are back in the traumatic groove that Lou pioneered with the Velvet Underground. “Underneath the Bottle” and “The Gun” are disturbing numbers that sketch a man on the edge; “The Blue Mask” and “Waves of Fear” are on a level with the finest VU work.

The strength of these songs comes no doubt from the fact that Lou was in the midst of cleaning up after years of booze and drugs when he wrote them; they also benefit from a stripped-down approach – just Lou performing with Fernando Saunders (bass), Doane Perry (drums), and the amazing Robert Quine on guitar. One thing is certain: they are closest that rock has come to approximating the work of the brilliant novelist Hubert Selby.

“Waves of Fear” is delirium tremens in musical form: “Crazy with sweat, spittle on my jaw/what's that funny noise, what's that on the floor/Waves of fear, pulsing with death/I curse my tremors, I jump at my own step/I cringe at my terror, I hate my own smell/I know where I must be, I must be in hell.”

“Blue Mask” is a masochistic anthem, a lyric that reeks of self-loathing and pain worship: “Make the sacrifice/mutilate my face/If you need someone to kill/I'm a man without a will/Wash the razor in the rain/let me luxuriate in pain/Please don't set me free/death means a lot to me.” (I'll take bets a young Mr. Reznor was listening.)

That was basically it for Lou's Selby-like trip. On his next LP he went full-throttle into the biker/tough-guy pose he kept up for most of the Eighties. Legendary Hearts ('83) is a mostly forgettable album, that includes one more fatalistic addiction ode (“The Last Shot”), and Lou putting us on notice that he's happy and doing well financially (“Rooftop Garden”).

New Sensations ('84) spawned the song “I Love You, Suzanne” that broke Lou on MTV (see part 3 of this blog entry). At this point he's still in transition (Lou's transition lasted more than a decade and a half), still trying to find the right vocal style for his lyrics.

The most-indulgent, yet enjoyably nostalgic, song on the record is “Doin' the Things That We Want to,” a “where-did-this-come-from?” tribute to the works of Sam Shepherd and Martin Scorsese, in which he considers both men colleagues (the song is lively and sounds like a plea from Lou for collaboration with either or both of them).

In 1987, Lou tried to inject a “danceable” note to his music in the album Mistrial. “Video Violence” and “The Original Wrapper” show Reed trying to be audience-friendly and retain his new MTV following. He also executed a sort of dry run for the New York album with the topical lyrics of “Video Violence.” The slower songs were still a drag, however.

****

It's impossible to call the 1989 New York album by Reed a “comeback,” since he had never gone away, but it most certainly was a return to form, and the first completely excellent album from start to finish since Berlin. Working at the height of his powers here, Lou turned out a “newspaper” album, the kind of thing that Phil Ochs did in '64 (All the News That's Fit to Sing) and Lennon took a stab at in '72 with Some in New York City.

What Lou wound up delivering was the rock equivalent of Bonfire of the Vanities, a time capsule that is filled with beautifully sketched portraits of big city life and political issues in the late Eighties, with the references unrepentantly dated and localized to New York City.

Some of the self-righteous anger (especially in “Good Morning Mr. Waldheim”) doesn't make for the best rock “poetry” – in fact, it's clunky as hell – but New York is the first album where Reed perfectly matched his limited vocal range to the melodies.

He also crafted a “character” that suited him, a cranky chronicler of a city (and civilization) in decline that is touted as being on the “upswing” (Guiliani is one of the many real-life figures who are namechecked and/or mocked on the album). The clear, pure sound of one of Reed's idols, Dion, counterpointed with Lou's own sardonic, nasal narration, make “Dirty Boulevard” unforgettable on both a musical and “storytelling” level.

Reed followed the New York album with Songs for Drella ('90), a suite of songs he cowrote and performed with John Cale in tribute to Andy Warhol. This is the album that would've most likely made the best Lou Reed off-Broadway show, since (aside from Lou's fervent “I Believe,” about his wishes that they had killed Valerie Solanas for shooting his hero Andy) the songs are primarily written from the perspective of a single character (Andy) and the stripped-down sound created by Lou on guitar and Cale on piano and violin is both economical and powerful as hell.

In the album, Reed and Cale alternate vocals, with Cale assuming the quiet, public side of Warhol and Lou incarnating his professional and conceptual side (plus the anger that he never seemed to have expressed). The fact that the two were back together again, making music for the first time since 1967, was amazing, and the resulting show/album was nothing short of brilliant – Lou had to up his game when Cale was around (the Welsh one being a schooled musician who dwelt in the real avant-garde before the VU; Lou basically had to create his own little “wing” of the underground).

The back-and-forth between their instruments (as on the VU live reunion album) makes the music crackle, and the best songs – the sarcastic “Small Town” or the elegaic “Forever Changed” – are what the VU might've sounded like if either of these gents could've stood each other's company for a longer period of time.

And, although Cale was very generous to Lou in the program notes for the show (saying it was mostly Lou's show and he was only a singer/performer), it was essential that there be another voice in the project – Lou could not have carried off the song “The Trouble with Classicists” the way that Cale did.

I saw the live performance of the songs at the Brooklyn Academy of Music and was struck by the use of slides on a big screen behind Reed and Cale. The effect of augmenting the music with Warhol's paintings from the era and photographs of the people and locations was overwhelming. I remember being very disappointed upon purchasing the 1990 VHS version of the show (directed by the great Ed Lachman) to see that the images of Warhol's paintings weren't in the shots.

The VHS version can be seen in piecemeal fashion on YT, but still what you see are the two men playing and singing, not the stuff that was going on above them on the screen, as here in the song that best used the Warhol images, called (fittingly enough), “Images”:

Lou’s last great achievement was Magic and Loss, his '92 album about dealing with the death of a friend (Reed said in interviews that it was inspired by the deaths of two friends of his, one of whom was famed songwriter Doc Pomus). The album continues on from Songs for Drella, with Lou exploring the topic from several angles, from visiting the friend in the hospital to disposing of their ashes and, most touching, dreaming about the person after their death.

Too often Lou surrendered to his pet emotions — anger and angst — in his songwriting, but here he adopts an adult attitude throughout, balancing the sadness of loss with the joy of having loved a friend (and knowing how much they’d scoff at the somber nature of their memorial service). 

Magic and Loss is not as eminently re-listenable a record as his best rock albums because it so sad at points, but it does place Lou in the category of the great singer/songwriters, who crafted a musical identity for themselves while delivering sober truths in song. It’s also, needless to say, an incredibly “middle-aged” album, as it deals with one of the most common situations we encounter after age 40. And one of middle age’s most common emotions: regret. 

There are things we say we wish we knew and in fact we never do
but I'd wish I'd known that you were going to die
Then I wouldn't feel so stupid, such a fool that I didn't call
and I didn't get a chance to say goodbye
I didn't get a chance to say goodbye

No there's no logic to this - who's picked to stay or go
if you think too hard it only makes you mad

But your optimism made me think you really had it beat
so I didn't get a chance to say goodbye
I didn't get a chance to say goodbye
No - I didn't get a chance to say goodbye
I didn't get a chance to say goodbye 

And if the beautifully elegiac tunes don’t do it for you, there’s also an extremely Selby-esque “short story” called “Harry’s Crucifixion” that finds Lou back in “Blue Mask” mode, although in a quiet, calmer fashion and with a Freudian “back story” this time….

******
The single best way to end this long-assed tribute to Lou Reed is to highlight the one song I’ve played more than ANY other Reed-related item (in fact I used it as the theme to the Funhouse for a very short while many years ago). It appears on the Velvet Underground rarities album Another View (’86), and I’ve found it’s one of those indisputably upbeat, hard-driving numbers that will jumpstart me in even the lowest of moods.

The VU with Cale in Dec. ’67 doing the instrumental version of “Guess I’m Falling in Love.”

Goodbye, Lou, you hard-rockin’ pain in the ass!