Oct. 27, 2020
For a long time I’ve thought about starting a project called One Song, in which I embark on the insane undertaking of reducing the catalog of an artist I appreciate down to one essential song (or piece of music). I actually thought about having an entire blog devoted to this idea, but I doubt I have the stamina for that. I also haven’t really known how or where to start. But today is the seventh anniversary of Lou Reed’s departure from this world, and that seems as good an occasion as any to kick this off.
I have to confess that I am not a huge Lou reed fan. I never bought all of his records, or even liked all of them. In fact, I like relatively few of them. I might currently have three or four of his solo albums in my collection, plus the Velvet Underground stuff. I saw him once and walked out; it was during the tour for his album The Bells, which I didn’t like much. He was basically just spewing invective at critics and other people he despised, as later documented on the live album Take No Prisoners. I didn’t like that one, either. In subsequent years I’d check in on him now and then, and aside from maybe New York, I never felt I was missing much. So I was surprised at how hard Lou’s death hit me back in 2013. I wrote this at the time:
You could say that Lou Reed was the delinquent younger brother of Leonard Cohen. Cohen the elegant intellectual sensualist – older, wiser, impeccably dressed, the weary poet of failed love and spiritual longing; Lou the cagey, feral, hedonistic street punk – cynical, contemptuous, flirting with evil, writing about perversion, murder, the slow death of addiction. Genet to Cohen’s Sartre. An honorable thief with a loyal heart. A liar who told the truth that no one wanted to hear. He lived in the places most of us are afraid to go. Sometimes he was brilliant. In some ways, he was a failure. He had only one “hit” song, and that was forty years ago. But he never stopped working. He made the music he wanted to make, and he didn’t care what you or I thought about it. He changed the world, and he leaves a large hole in it.
It’s interesting to realize how important an artist can be to me, even if I don’t work in their idiom or love most of their work. And yet, the songs of his that I do like have meant quite a lot to me. As I begin this One Song game with Lou, for me it’s an easy choice.* I’ve always loved Lou’s tender side, and this might be the sweetest song he ever recorded. It always gives me chills. Feel free to add your favorite in the comments.
(* I reserve the right to do another One Song post about the Velvet Underground someday.)