Perfect Day

Honestly, at base, he largely annoyed the shit out of me because a former friend worshiped him.


Artistically, while I recognize his talent and enjoy some of his work (especially when it was tempered by Cale), I thought he was a nihilistic chimera and grouchy alpha dog who was more distracting than inspiring. He grew aesthetically, more or less (forget misfires like Mistrial and remember New York), but come on—everyone loves young pretentious, heroin-gobbling, art gallery-playing, New York transvestite Lou. The guy who hung out at that psychic vampire hive, the Factory, where, as he sang later as a older, wiser man, he watched people fall apart and die. Brian Eno said, supposedly, the first Velvet Underground album sold only 30,000 albums, but everyone who bought one of those 30,000 copies started a band. Many more, however, turned into sunglasses-wearing, punk barfly dicks in leather jackets.

But the thought of Laurie Anderson being miserable distresses me. So, RIP Lou Reed. At least now you’ll never work with Cale ever again this time for sure.

Author: Mr. Dan Kelly

Chicago writer interested in many things.