Photo of Lou Reed via The Guardian (Michael Ochs Archive).
Writer Neil Gaiman published an essay today in The Guardian about Lou Reed, and Reed’s influence on Gaiman.
Gaiman writes:
‘There are certain kinds of songs you write that are just fun songs – the lyric really can’t survive without the music. But for most of what I do, the idea behind it was to try and bring a novelist’s eye to it, and, within the framework of rock’n’roll, to try to have that lyric there so somebody who enjoys being engaged on that level could have that and have the rock’n’roll too.” That was what Lou Reed told me in 1991.
I’m a writer. I write fiction, mostly. People ask me about my influences, and they expect me to talk about other writers of fiction, so I do. And sometimes, when I can, I put Reed on the list, and nobody ever asks what he’s doing there, which is good because I don’t know how to explain why a songwriter is responsible for so much of the way I view the world.
I read the news today, oh boy. Fuck. Lou Reed dead. I can’t believe it. I know we all die, but Lou Reed? I remember as a kid listening to a used copy of the Velvets’ first album in the living room of my parents house and trying to hear all the words to “Heroin.”
I was fascinated by the Velvets long before I really understood what they were all about, and why they were so important. I have played their albums for decades, particularly the third album, The Velvet Underground, and Loaded.
Like for millions of other fans all over the world, for me this is truly a sad day.
In 1996, when I was editor and publisher of Addicted To Noise, I had the opportunity to interview Lou Reed. The interview is still online. Here’s part of the introduction, with a link to the rest of the story.
Lou Reed is dressed in black. Black leather pants. Black t-shirt. Black shoes. Electricity is, literally, crackling off him, as he stands in his elegantly cool, private sixth floor office at the back of Sister Ray Enterprises, overlooking Broadway in the Village.
“Did you hear that?” he asks, walking over to an open window and closing it.
I think he’s referring to the street sounds, but I’m wrong.
At Sister Ray, there are Lou Reed and Velvet Underground posters on the walls, as well as framed gold and platinum albums for New York. A rack holds copies of many of Reed’s older albums; boxes of the recent Velvet Underground boxed set sit on a bookcase. A photographer is setting up to shoot Reed up front. Reed’s publicist is on the phone, dealing from a couch at the back, just outside the room where Reed and I are talking. Nearby is Reed’s Internet expert, Struan Oglanby.
“I’m getting a shock every time I get up,” Reed says with a grimace, taking a seat back at his desk. “That was that snapping sound.” Then, in that classic Lou Reed monotone, “I conduct a lot of electricity. It’s really strange.”
Maybe not so strange. We are, after all, talking about Lou Reed, founder of the Velvet Underground. Writer of such highly charged songs as “Heroin,” “I’m Waiting For The Man,” “Sweet Jane” and, of course, “Rock & Roll.” And Lisa Says.” And “Walk On The Wild Side.” And “Satellite Of Love.” And “The Blue Mask.” And “Romeo Had Juliette.” And “Dirty Blvd.” And….
When I was Editor in Chief at MOG I executive produced these videos of Jolie Holland performing “Mexico City” and “Delia.”
“Mexico City” is one of Holland’s own compositions, and the studio version appears on her album, The Living And The Dead. “Delia” is a Blind Willie McTell song that Bob Dylan also covered. Jolie’s studio version appeared as the B-side of a single released in Europe. Both are favorites of mine.
Jolie Holland has the most soulful voice. She doesn’t sound like anyone but herself. There’s so much depth, so much emotion.
I hung out at the Cryptic Corporation warehouse in San Francisco back in the later half of the ’70s when The Residents recorded Eskimo.
I’ve always appreciated the enormity of the group’s vision, and the pioneering work they did, which included a version of punk before there was “punk,” creating short films, or music videos before there were music videos, and an intent to make original art and comment on the music business, sometimes both at the same time.
So I was amused when they offered a unique Ultimate Box Set, a real refrigerator filled with 100 Residents recordings, an eyeball mask and other oddities.
This dude on the right in the photo below apparently paid $100,000 for one of the ten box sets available.
These four videos are worth watching. Check them out. The video at the bottom is a very interesting work in progress documentary on The Residents called “We Stole This Riff: a film about The Residents.”
