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Rating: I have an immense admiration for Lou Reed.
Listening to Rock'n'Roll Animal at a young age, brought home—as usual—by my sister, along with Bowie and Meat Loaf, was my introduction to the world of Rock.
I've followed him since then, obviously in my own way, meaning without taking too much interest in his vicissitudes, but by purchasing every one of his albums. I saw him live after the release of one of his best works: New York; I've somewhat lost track of him—but not entirely!—after Set The Twilight Reeling.
I like knowing he's out there, in short. He is one of the people that make me love humanity for the talent and genius that it can (we can) express.
For a few weeks now, I have revisited the first of his albums that I bought on CD. And today I read the nostalgia-review by kosmogabri on Suzie Quatro. In short, I am experiencing a nostalgia attack of the kind that sometimes happens after thirty, which should be savored like a good wine.
The album in question, Songs For Drella, is a 1990 collaboration with John Cale. A «musical look at the life of Andy Warhol».
I remember rushing to buy it after hearing an excerpt on a radio show about Warhol. It includes: Lou Reed's voice, John Cale's voice, Reed's guitar, Cale's viola and keyboards. And that's it.
I like it a lot. For the particular atmospheres created by such sparse instrumentation: it feels like being in a theater hall, with the two artists on stage illuminated by a single spotlight and everyone silent, listening. But mostly for the story it tells. Andy Warhol's "Factory" and its entourage of artists, artist-types, and varied humanity (much of which is immortalized in Walk On The Wild Side) must have been an incredible experience. Those were the years when Everything happened: Vietnam, the protests... truly revolutionary years, which still "weigh" today.
In short, once again before my eyes—after many years—the black cover of the CD with the two artists looking at me, and, black on black, Warhol with his eyes closed. Reed sings Open House ("My skin is as pale as the outdoors moon/My hair's silver like a Tiffany watch") adorning sparse telecaster chords over an even more rarefied keyboard base. Then I'll skip to Forever Changed, because the electric guitar played like this simply drives me crazy.
And then I'll start over from the beginning to listen to it all.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 Smalltown (02:03)
When you're growing up in a small town
when you're growing up in a small town
when you're growing up in a small town
you say, no one famous ever came from here
When you're growing up in a small town
and you're having a nervous breakdown
and you think that you'll never escape it
yourself or the place that you live
Where did Picasso come from
there's no Michelangelo coming from Pittsburgh
if art is the tip of the iceberg
I'm the part sinking below
When you're growing up in a small town
bad skin, bad eyes, gay and fatty
people look at you funny
when you're in a small town
My father worked in construction
it's not something for which I'm suited
oh, what is something for which you are suited
getting out of here
I hate being odd in a small town
if they stare let them stare in New York City
as this pink eyed painting albino
how far can my fantasy go
I'm no Dali coming from Pittsburgh
no adorable lisping Capote
my hero, oh, do you think I could meet him
I'd camp out at his front door
There is only one good thing about small town
there is only one good use for a small town
there is only one good thing about small town
you know that you want to get out
When you're growing up in a small town
you know you'll grow down in a small town
there is only one good use for a small town
You hate it and you'll know you have to leave
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