London, April 1977
When I turn up at the offices of Arista Records to interview Lou Reed for the first time, I’m taken aside and told quite firmly that certain questions I may have for Lou are off-limits. I’m particularly discouraged from asking, for instance, anything about The Velvet Underground, David Bowie, Andy Warhol, the much-lambasted Berlin album and just about anything else of conspicuous interest. I’m not quite sure what this will leave us to talk about, unless Lou’s developed a recent passion for needlepoint embroidery or cattle farming about which he might care to wax lyrical for however long I get with him.
It turns out that by some remarkable chance, I hit it off with Lou. There’s an obligatory barrage of colorful abuse, a well-practiced nastiness that makes me laugh rather than terrorize me, which seems to be his intention. It makes for a bumpy first 20 minutes. Then, he suddenly softens, offers me a drink, pouring startlingly large measures of Johnnie Walker Red into a couple of glasses and handing one to me, leaving the top off for immediate refills and sending out for another. He seems to be settling in for the long haul.
Read Full Article »
