How I Like Lou Reed: The Leftovers, pt. 1

As a matter of principle, I try to publish playlists that encourage further investigation. The economics of streaming are absurd for artists, and only tolerable in terms of their allowance for discovery and curation. It would be a dick move for me to post a playlist under the suggestion that it contains everything you need to hear by a musical act, sparing you the need to dig further. I buy physical copies of great albums, and I’d love you to do likewise.

That said, some acts can handle a dick move. I once posted a best-of for 21st Century AC/DC, knowing those guys should have enough money in the bank for their children’s children’s children. If anything, it was nice of me to say you should bother hearing ten songs they recorded after “Thunderstruck,” as their setlists sure don't. Lou Reed doesn't have kids, and his estate has been thriving with archive releases and museum exhibits. As such, providing you with a playlist of Lou Reed songs I need from Lou Reed albums I don’t is more churlish than dickish. And churlish I’m ok with. This is Lou Reed we're dealing with (and ps, I believe Bettye Kronstad).

Currently, I own more Velvet Underground albums than Lou Reed albums. The majestic four they released in their lifetime, of course (the band that made Squeeze either not the Velvets, or their walking corpse). But I also have 1969 Live With Lou Reed and the 1985 rarities compilation VU (so much cooler than the “bonus tracks” that hypothetically render it redundant today). Meanwhile, there’s just four albums from the decades of his output that followed on my shelves. Transformer, a beautiful subversive pop accomplishment for all involved, which I still rank below just about all that Velvets stuff. Then there’s Live - Take No Prisoners, for when I want an endless motormouth maniac blurt from the Lou of Lester Bangs legend. Magic & Loss, when I want to hear the professorial Mr. Reed I grew up with (I first had it on cutout cassette!). New Sensations, when I want to hear the Honda scooter-driving '80s model. I’ve also got the 12-inch for “The Original Wrapper” when I want to go deep on that mode (don’t sleep on the “dub mix”!).

My delightful irreverence aside, the man deserves me naming a top five, so I’ve been making the effort to (re)discover a fifth album worth owning. It ain’t it’s not coming from the seventies, though. As a ‘90s alterna-kid who heard Peel Slowly And See a little before Between Thought And Expression, it’s easy to hear everything from the era not produced by David Bowie & Mick Ronson as musically awkward & spiritually adrift compared to what came before and after. I get that Rock & Roll Animal meant plenty to my elders, but divorced from the context of wanting to see Lou thrive in a ‘70s FM world, such live releases are mostly songs I love performed by a band I don’t. Proof of concept that “White Light/White Heat” might work in a baseball stadium? Pass. Metal Machine Music is fun to read about, but also divorced from context in a post-ambient-metal-etc streamosphere of abundance. Though adored by everybody from Thurston Moore to ANOHNI, I find Berlin as overbearing as I do just about every other album produced by Bob Ezrin. Respectively, I’m better off trying to get into Alice Cooper, Merzbow and Dark Side Of The Moon.

As for the rest of Reed’s solo output before sobriety and 1982's The Blue Mask, there’s lots of fascinating material for hardcore fans, but little for Sterling Morrison to regret missing out on. Lou Reed and Coney Island Baby are less oppressive than Berlin - what isn’t? - but still pile session guitarists and back-up singers on songs played more sensitively on demos by the Velvets (I used to be touched by the title track of the latter, but now get weirded out imagining Lou as a leatherhead and wonder if Bob Kulick was getting paid by the fill. The Take No Prisoners version is enough for me today). Sally Can’t Dance is more Weekend At Bernie’s 2 than Transformer 2 - an inexplicably perverse indulgence, and how does the slumping guy in shades not have rigor mortis yet? The four Arista albums have stunning setpieces, moments of arresting tenderness and lots of truly goofy filler (I love to imagine Clive Davis hearing them). Growing Up In Public is my favorite, mostly because it’s funny to hear the sensible ‘80s butterfly poking out of the batty ‘70s chrysalis. At one point he sings for two minutes about how mom taught him never to smile, and then drops a coda you won't be able to keep a straight face during. I wonder if Clive Davis did.

So with Laurie Anderson not hurting for income and career opportunity, I now present to you a playlist/dream 2LP of everything I’d want to keep from 1972 to 1981 that isn’t on Transformer or Live - Take No Prisoners. If I did a decent job with the consistency and pacing (and I’m certainly happy with it), you may ironically be curious to explore further. But where I usually note there’s plenty of great tracks left to find on the albums represented…this time I won’t.

Side 1
1. Street Hassle (Street Hassle, 1978)
2. Keep Away (Growing Up In Public, 1980)
3. Kicks (Coney Island Baby, 1976)

Side 2
1. You Wear It So Well (Rock And Roll Heart, 1976)
2. Sad Song (Lou Reed Live, 1975)
3. Ennui (Sally Can’t Dance, 1974)
4. Wild Child (Lou Reed, 1972)

Side 3
1. Leave Me Alone (Street Hassle, 1978)
2. The Power Of Positive Drinking (Growing Up In Public, 1980)
3. Families (The Bells, 1979)
4. Ride Into The Sun (Lou Reed, 1972)

Side 4
1. Smiles (Growing Up In Public, 1980)
2. Vicious Circle (Rock And Roll Heart, 1976)
3. The Bells (The Bells, 1979)
4. Teach The Gifted Children (Growing Up In Public, 1980)