Factory Boy
After spending his teens getting the homosexuality
shocked out of him, and his college years spinning doo-wop and Ornette Coleman
records, Lou Reed first tried his hand at songwriting by coming up with corny
dance tunes like "The Ostrich." That's where he first met John Cale,
who—impressed by his droning side projects—suggested the
partnership that became The Velvet Underground. Of course, Cale's influence
paled considerably next to that of pale pop-art star Andy Warhol, who made The
Velvets the house band at his Factory, introduced them to dour German chanteuse
Nico, and gave Reed enough heroin, Benzedrine, and smutty transvestites to
inspire four classic albums examining the seedy side of city life. Reed's image
at the time—striped shirts, omnipresent Wayfarers, slack-jawed
stoicism—had a lasting influence on a million punk and shoegaze bands.
Key albums: The Velvet Underground And Nico, White Light/White
Heat, The
Velvet Underground, Loaded
Glam-Rock Monster
The break-up of The Velvet Underground led a
disillusioned Reed to take on a typing job at his father's accounting firm, and
his first self-titled solo album (with an assist from Yes' Rick Wakeman) was a
critical and commercial flop; reinvention was obviously in order. Transformer marked the beginning (and
abrupt end) of a partnership with David Bowie, and his first foray into darker,
cynical material: Transformer's signature song, "Walk On The Wild Side," made
jabs at Warhol and his Factory of wannabe stars; Berlin was the sound of a junkie
bottoming out; and the brutal Street Hassle made him a hero to
self-abusing punks. Reed's look also underwent a drastic makeover: Black leather,
makeup, spiked collars, and cropped blond hair comprised an outwardly camp
style that inspired years of punk, queer, and goth fashion.
Key albums: Transformer, Berlin, Rock 'N' Roll Animal, Coney Island Baby, Street Hassle
Smug Asshole
With Reed's new outwardly abrasive appearance came
a hostility that earned him a reputation as one of rock's most difficult
douchebags. His first shot across the bow was Metal Machine Music, a double album of pure
feedback that most interpreted as a middle finger to his label, but which Reed
insisted was a serious artistic statement. Baffled critics tried to get at the
hip, sly satirist inside his standoffish, black-leather shell, but found only a
petulant junkie who had nothing but contempt for his audience. In his famous
article "Let Us Now Praise Famous Death Dwarves, Or How I Slugged It Out With
Lou Reed And Stayed Awake," Lester Bangs called Reed "a liar, a wasted talent,
an artist continually in flux, and a huckster selling pounds of his own
flesh"—and this from a man who considered MMM "genius." The arrogant,
sharp-tongued sourpuss still defines Lou Reed for a lot of people, primarily
among unfortunate journalists who draw the short straw on interviewing him.
Key albums: Metal Machine Music, Sally Can't Dance, Take No Prisoners
Sellout
The '80s found Reed swearing off drugs and drag
queens for good, and with clean living and stabilizing heterosexual marriage
came a taste for sentimentality. Reed left behind abstract portraits of
everyday hustlers in favor of something straight from the heart, and solidified
his image as a cool '80s rock star—which naturally meant it was time to
cash in like crazy. While everybody sold out a little in the '80s (hell, even
Leonard Cohen cameoed on Miami Vice), few expected the former figurehead of the freak
scene to be doing ads for Honda scooters and American Express, or taking on
self-satirizing movie roles in middling projects like Get Crazy or Rock & Rule. Reed's lowest point was
unquestionably Mistrial, an album of lifeless commercial rock tailor-made for the
style-over-substance decade. The video for "No Money Down" featured a rubbery
Reed robot tearing off his own face, echoing the artificial machine he had
become.
Key albums: The Blue Mask, Legendary Hearts, New Sensations, Mistrial
Elder Statesman
Pulling back from the brink of washing out, Reed
accepted Bob Dylan's invitation to perform at Farm Aid, which inspired him to
get involved in things like Amnesty International and writing the politically
minded New York.
"Growing up" was like flicking a switch for Reed, and the '90s saw him
reconciling (briefly) with The Velvet Underground, releasing his most somber
work, and—most importantly—his relationship with performance artist
Laurie Anderson, who has had a huge impact on everything he's done since. As a
result, Reed has spent most of the last two decades taking himself very, very
seriously: doing spoken-word tributes to Edgar Allen Poe, writing poetry,
releasing books of his photography, and even performing for Pope John Paul II
(whom he'd attacked on New York). Most eyebrow-raising of all was his turn toward
Eastern spirituality, epitomized by a memorable 2003 tour where he brought
Master Ren Guang-Yi onstage to perform tai chi to his music. Oddly enough, the
"relaxed" Reed is stiff as ever—although he'll happily perform with young
bands who idolize him, like The Killers and The Raconteurs. Maybe there's a
little rock-'n'-roll heart left in him after all.
Key albums: New York, Magic And Loss, Set The Twilight
Reeling, Ecstasy, The Raven
Lou Reed provided the keynote speech for SXSW
2008 on March 13 at the Austin Convention Center.