Lou Reed
New York

THE REVIEW

After almost twenty years of ascents and falls, crashes and wonderful resurrections, even the solo career of the most tormented and unreliable of the great American singer-songwriters reaches a point of arrival with New York. Stability has never been his strong point. Over the years, we've seen him first as a cursed and avant-garde 25-year-old, then with "Transformer" as a 30-year-old complacent addict lost in the most easy-listening glam; then again as the 40-year-old of "Blue Mask" determined to rebuild his life, cleansed of excess and drugs, starting anew with his own style with introspective lyrics and sounds ready for an aggression never heard before.

And the '80s, so disastrous or faded for many artists of his generation, were an excellent period for Reed, who was finally able to give a sense of continuity to his "rehabilitation" journey, having more fun than ever (see the delightful "Live In Italy"), baring himself with remarkable sincerity ("New Sensations" can be a good example), allowing himself small missteps (like "Mistrial", which is still far from flops like "Rock And Roll Heart" or "Sally Can't Dance") or creating a small and moving gem like "Legendary Hearts". We couldn't have asked for more than to start the new decade with 14 diary notes dedicated to his beloved hometown, "New York". Lou leverages the clarity acquired in previous years to passionately and poetically, ironically and angrily tell us about his life and that of all those like him who live in the Big Apple by choice or love. Joys and sorrows, private dramas, or universal hopes: an incredible sensitivity that knows how to use sweetness or sarcasm as it pleases to paint and remember that bittersweet and doubtful 1990 to all those who weren't there. There's room for Mike Tyson and AIDS, for Lou's fatherhood (an acoustic-jazz track titled "The Begin Of The Great Adventure" should explain everything by itself), for the protest of a seasoned but angry rocker ("There Is No Time"), for gritty urban love stories (a "Romeo Had Juliette" that obviously has nothing in common with that of Dire Straits).

Musically, Reed decides to opt for what he does best, creating a timeless rock sound, almost traditional, crystallized in its immediate guitar interactions between Lou and a great Mike Rathke, made enjoyable in their apparent spontaneity and simplicity. In reality, the entire band feels at ease sitting around their leader, with sly smile exchanges, with exceptional warmth and understanding in every rhythmic evolution, a great affectionate and technical harmony typical of live recordings. Even if rock is presented in all its evolutions (from heavy metal to folk, from blues to country, and more), the aim is not to amaze or renew but to shape a more mature, energetic, and powerful style, drawing strength from the classics to play creativity on delightful sound details. And the formula works, because the album seems almost eternal, without the possibility of dating or aging, so perfectly and purely rock that it never becomes obsolete: it could have been released this year.
Perhaps those who might be a bit disappointed are the fans of the more legendary, out-of-control, and unconventional Lou Reed, with nail polish and bleached hair. Here the "rock'n'roll animal" hasn't calmed down, but simply followed his human maturation, becoming a wise middle-aged gentleman cleared of farces or pseudo-rebellions. Many have concluded that this is Reed's masterpiece; personally, I have perhaps loved even more the melancholic and fragile Reed of "Berlin" or the naïve and instinctive one of "Coney Island Baby", but I think everyone has the Lou Reed they deserve. This is certainly his most compact, homogeneous, perfect work (if a Lou album can ever be defined as perfect), straightforward. And since then, the junkie boy has never disappointed us, aging sweetly between concepts about death, VU reunions, ecstasy, and ravens. Humanly human.