Lou Reed
Metal Machine Music

I'm scared, David.

Strict Stereo Separation, right. I can imagine it, the Filthy One, in his New York apartment with four guitars from Japan (the cheap guitars that Moore and Renaldo would push to the max with Sonic Youth) and two giant amplifiers, all alone. Maybe at night. Two yellow cabs speed towards Queens, fast. A few cats watch this man in a leather jacket impassively open the car door, grab some electronic gadget, head toward the door, climb the stairs. A few minutes later, fiat lux.

After making fun of all the audiophiles with the Audio shopping list, after that suspicious "an electronic instrumental composition" written by a man who unintentionally messed with the radios by making them play a song like "Walk On The Wild Side" all over the country, after the chemical aspect of the affair, Lester Bangs found that the Moon was much more interesting than the finger pointing at it.

This album has been talked about a lot, more negatively than anything else, to be honest; seen either as a grand joke or alternatively as a kick in the ass to the record label (Reed's Self Portrait?), it’s been mistreated, denied, hated, derided. And yet... it moves. Every time the needle drops, a shiver runs through me and electrifies the room. The fact that even Lou can't listen to it in full (which detractors take as a negative statement about the work's value) doesn't bother me at all, and I revel in this dense chaotic turmoil, that drags the soul into the deepest of holes, filthy, dirty. And then, the clear. Lester Bangs was right: this album is so pure. If there were even a single hand clap amidst all this, it would be musically powerful like a glorious orchestra. But no. You are given nothing to cling to. Naked. And probably now the detractor is thinking, "yeah, but what a load of nonsense" - I say this: Lou Reed manages to elevate thought to unimaginable levels in every one of his albums. We know well what "Berlin" is made of. We've all heard the call when "New York" came out.

So: I have never understood the amazement at this album from Reed's fans. Wasn't he doing the same things around America in 1966, together with a certain John Cale? What is, Melody Laughter? The Nothing Song?

For me, this album represents the most extreme, mature, irrational, sick rock'n'roll. There is no verse. It doesn't need one. I'm listening to it now, as I write. I know that shortly the finale will repeat in a loop, the famous locked groove... the noise will rise, the pressure will explode, flames will reach the sky, New York will burn...

I won't get up to stop it. Maybe the neighbors will.


"My week beats your year" (Lou Reed)