Lorna Irvine celebrates the passing, and her passion, of an icon.
So it is a sad goodbye to the thinking person's curmudgeon, Lou Reed, founder member of one of the most influential bands of all time, Velvet Underground, and solo star in his own right. He died at home last Sunday in Long Island aged 71 of liver complications, having undergone a transplant back in May.
The Velvet Underground appeared fully-formed in the 60s and were completely forward-thinking: black-clad, sullen and disdainful, often with their backs to the audience, creating squalling feedback and droning viola over their seedily poetic songs. They merged the avant-garde with ‘Rock ‘n’ Roll’ to jarring effect. Lou sang in that curious vocal style, half-spoken, half-sung as their friends, including Andy Warhol, Edie Sedgwick and Holly Woodlawn danced beside them. They were theatrical, literary, sexy and deeply pretentious- all the stuff a great band should be. No VU- no punk, Bowie or grunge, simple as that. No Lou- no Bernard Black in Black Books.
His scraps are infamous: he hated the bullshit that came with showbiz , many critics and even at times his friend rock journalist Lester Bangs, with whom he had many a falling-out throughout the seventies... when Bangs once attacked Reed for his 'decadent' image, he was lucky to make it out of the interview alive, or at least with his balls intact.
But there was a sweet side to him too, as his many friends attested. David Bowie, John Cale and Iggy Pop led tributes today and spoke of his charm. 6Music DJ Lauren Laverne, who interviewed him for The Culture Show in 2007, found him adorable. “You're one of the few journalists I have fallen in love with,” he grinned, to her obvious delight.
Even Reed's solo work was contradictory- from the wilful bird-flipper to the music industry, Metal Machine Music which was unlistenable industrial noise, the harrowing Berlin which featured crying children and themes of domestic violence and drug addicts, or the vaudeville-soaked Coney Island Baby. You could never second-guess him.
Indeed, his eccentricity was fascinating- he appeared on stage recently at festivals with Gorillaz in carpet slippers, mumbling away almost to himself. His appearance on Later... with Jools in 2002, playing Perfect Day featured Antony Hegarty of Antony and the Johnsons doing backing vocals and a man at the side in white robes doing Tai Chi. Of course.
Just like Moz, he was also bloody funny. Many people failed to hear the humour in his lyrics: deadpan and detached. Listen to the ridiculous rhyming couplets in Transformer, The Velvet Underground's sick but hilarious The Gift or political satire of later album New York.
He was a true original, uncompromising to the last and never one to lie down and kiss corporate ass. In a world of banal pop, twerking, charisma-free women playing dress-up, and crappy boy bands with asymmetrical haircuts, he leaves a massive Lou-shaped gap.
RIP, New York City Boy.
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