Good morning, Monday. It's sunny and chilly and twas a lovely weekend of long walks and experimental cooking. I saw some new friends, I saw some old friends- all in all- not too shab.
But the news of Lou Reed's passing yesterday gave me major league pause. I heard the news when I was in my local wine shop- the girls there were listening to "Sunday Morning" (watch out the world's behind you) and told me he had died. He's one of those losses that is particularly painful. I remember being a kid and thinking about what it would be like when people from my musical or celebrity DNA pass, and though I was probably thinking of people more like Simon LeBon, I now know that losing Lou Reed cuts pretty deep, not just because he is one of my heroes, but he also represents a particular breed of New Yorker that has also, or is slowly being, swallowed up by the new guard. He was the last of a particular brand of enfant terrible who understood the intricacies of New York bullshit and beauty.
Lou was one of those incredibly gifted storytellers who always seemed to have the perfect birds eye view of New York. His music, his sunglasses, his cool ambiguity made me want to move here. I love how Lou neither identified as gay nor straight- he had a sex appeal that was not really about his looks but a raw darkness and virility that made him very attractive. Add that to a history of writing songs that give you all you need to know about New York's (now disappearing) subcultures and really there you have it.
I'm not sure anyone will ever write a song as good as "Walk on the Wild Side" again, or make me feel the way I do every time I hear the gnawing opening chords of "Sweet Jane", particularly the live versions. And the beauty of "Sunday Morning" or "Pale Blue Eyes" makes me want to laze about in bed and find a lovely piece of sun to stretch out in. Lou's world was rock and roll magic to the hilt- defiant, more than a bit druggy, and most of all, electrifyingly gorgeous. I've always thought of Lou as a bit of a Rimbaud type- a beautiful libertine poet who didn't necessarily fit in. That's a New York hallmark right there, or at least it was for me. Lou sang about transvestites, junkies, angels, and any other fringe type you can think of. Yea, the tired and poor and hungry came here, but it was those square pegs yearning to break free that Lou sang about, and though I was none of the above, as a little girl in Philly with a weird haircut and a paint set, I could relate. I so wanted to walk on the wild side. I so stared at every Velvet Underground cover and picture of Edie, Nico, Andy, and Lou and wondered if I would ever be a fraction as cool as they were (Answer obvious there...ha). I love that Lou and the Velvet Underground were a band cast by Andy Warhol. Their performances were all art and chaos and downtown cred. Lou's rawness and honesty and lushness took a hold of me and informed the way I listen to music. He will be so missed and I can only hope that as we miss another awesome New Yorker who embodied what it meant to be here, he will be having a blast recreating Max's Kansas City in Heaven, with Andy and Nico in tow. Oh, and Edie of course. Lou is survived by Laurie Anderson, his partner and another amazing creature who refuses to draw within the lines.
And though our city no longer has a factory with silver balloons and the Lower East Side has more baby strollers than junkies, there's still room to celebrate this city's edgy soul. I'll miss you terribly, Lou. You were always the beacon of what it meant to be a New Yorker, and I know I'm not the only one sad to see you go. May you go to all tomorrow's parties. Try for that kingdom if you can.
Cause that's what's up this RIP Lou Reed kind of Monday in the 212. I know what I'm listening to today. All you other rebels out there, keep Lou's spirit alive. XO