a Sunday Morning with Lou Reed

It was the voice of a sullen siren named Nico that first drew me in.

But in the afterglow of Femme Fatale was the poetry of Lou Reed that got into my brain and became part of my blood. Eventually it would be his words that reinforced my bohémien bridges and made them structurally sound.

Like a lot of my favorite music, I first heard the Velvet Underground courtesy of my BFF Eric. The Velvet Underground & Nico was a toaster in my bathtub; an electrifying restless joyride into teenaged angst and cigarette smoke. Hearing them for the first time lifted a veil on a part of the sound of Sonic Youth I could never put my finger on before, the man behind the curtain of what I loved about music. It was his Load-Bearing Rock that could make me feel stronger when I felt weak, and brave when I felt scared.

I’ll be dropping a needle on my well-loved 12″ of Loaded soon and looking forward to all tomorrow’s parties. Like Beardless Harry you’re certainly good enough for heaven.

Safe home, Lou Reed.