The words were as stark and simplistic as a Velvet Underground song. Four words. Probably double the number of chords that Reed used at times, but words that spoke volumes. Lou Reed has died. The news later that night was dominated by the coming storm, but Lou Reed's death also made the news. That was as unexpected as a rational Daily Mail headline. A singer whose biggest hit talked about transvestites and blow jobs made the ten o'clock news. Not really the fodder of mainstream news programmes, but who gives a shit?
I'm not going to lie and pretend that Lou Reed was the biggest influence on my existence, and go on and on about his impact, and blah, blah, blah. But I liked him a lot. I was a fan, and I just want to say a few words about what he meant to me.
When I was growing up, my musical tastes were influenced by what I heard my parents play, and whatever I heard on the radio. I'm talking before Manchester, Seattle, and before I became a musical snob. My parents played the Beatles and the Stones. Abba. T Rex. Occasionally Dylan. I also remember a song that at the time, I just knew was called 'Walk on the Wild Side'. I didn't know who sang it. That came later when I devoured musical history and dug through racks in HMV and Mike Lloyd Music in Hanley. 'Walk on the Wild Side' and 'Satellite of Love' were both regularly played on the jukebox in the pub where I spent many hours with two old friends. I knew a bit about the Velvet Underground. Everyone talks about them, and their influence on others, but although I liked some of their stuff, especially 'Sweet Jane', I thought they were overrated. But I liked Lou Reed.
Because of 'Walk on the Wild Side', I bought Transformer. People raved about David Bowie's influence, but I've always felt this was overstated, and that Bowie is overrated. This would be 1993, before 'Perfect Day' became a staple of crap 'talent' shows and a charity single. The same year I saw U2 at Leeds on their Zooropa tour where I again heard 'Satellite of Love', a duet between Bono and Reed, via a giant TV screen. At the time I'd quit college and was about to start working in a mill. I didn't know where life was going to take me, or what I was going to do. I fronted a band for a while, and had illusions of grandeur, a kind of Jim Morrison meets Dylan Thomas alongside hard rockers, but to be honest, we weren't very good. And so I went back to college, and took part-time work in a supermarket. The guy I worked for there was a real muso, and my own tastes were hardening at the time. As I well as my 'own' bands - the Verve, Oasis, REM, Manic Street Preachers, Nirvana - I was looking back at things before my time, and as a result, I really hit it off with my boss. It turned out he had an absolute mountain of old LPs, and he used to lend me armfuls at a time. This would be the summer of 1995. As well as records such as Sticky Fingers (which I knew anyway thanks to my dad), and stuff like Dark Side of the Moon, and Astral Weeks, I got a pile of Lou Reed albums. Berlin. New York. Magic and Loss, and others. New York became a firm favourite; I still play it from time to time. I guess I'll be playing it again soon.
As well as writing great songs - for me, it's always about the songs - Lou Reed also looked like what I always thought a rock star should look like. Lou Reed was my version of cool. Now I think it was a bit silly, a teenaged view on what represented cool. But Lou had it. At the time I watched The White Room, a Channel 4 music show fronted by Mark Radcliffe, which mixed live performances with old footage and videos. I remember Oasis doing a really fucking loud version of 'Acquiesce' one time. They played some great old black and white footage of Peter Green's Fleetwood Mac before Green lost the plot. But it seemed like I was the only person that paid any attention to the show. Whenever I asked people if they saw such and such on The White Room, I'd get puzzled looks, shrugs of shoulders, sometimes eyes would glaze over. I remember recording one show and playing it over and over again. The reason being was that Lou Reed played live. He played with Dave Stewart of all people. One of the songs they played was 'Dirty Blvd' from New York, which happened to be my favourite track from the album. And just to prove how cool Lou Reed was, he even managed to make Dave Stewart look cool. Now that takes some doing. In the end, I played the video tape so much, it was in the bin within a couple of months. During the summer of 1995, you could guarantee that before I staggered off to pass out in my room on a Friday or Saturday night, I will have watched Lou Reed sing deadpan about the "Statue of Bigotry".
Lou Reed touched a lot of people, and it is amazing how many other musicians have paid tribute to him. And not just those you'd expect to hear from. Ronnie Wood. The Who. Luke Haines. Even Miley fucking Cyrus. Most people judge musical quality on quantity, 'units' sold. Most of the time, that's bullshit. That is certainly the case with Lou Reed. I think it was Brian Eno that said although The Velvet Underground and Nico sold next to bugger all, everyone that bought it went on to form a band. If it wasn't for Lou Reed, you might never have heard of U2, REM, or the Smiths. Punk may not have happened. But although Lou Reed is dead, the thing is, musicians never really die. As long as you can pick up a record or a CD, or download an MP3, they will live forever. Lou Reed will live forever.
24 hours later, superstorm St Jude or whatever it was christened by a paranoid Met Office and a hysterical press has almost passed. Maybe now life can get back to 'normal', whatever that means in these screwed up times. It would be good to play a Lou Reed record. 'Dirty Blvd' would be a good choice. Or maybe get your hands on Berlin, or Coney Island Baby. Stick on 'Walk on the Wild Side'. Dust down some old Velvet Underground records. Pay a visit to YouTube. Stick them on, turn them up. And then you can say you know what cool sounds like.
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