Photo credit:
Julian Schnabel

 

By David Peisner

It's not hard to annoy Lou Reed. He's long had a reputation for being less than personable, especially when it comes to interviewers. His testy, drug-fueled tête-à-têtes in the Seventies with late rock scribe Lester Bangs have become the stuff of legend, and today, at 60, Reed seems just as cranky as ever.

Perhaps he's earned that right.

Few can claim more influence on the history of rock and roll. Across four albums fronting the Velvet Underground, Reed brought art and poetry to pop music, in the process practically defining the sort of detached, hipster cool that would become de rigueur for rockers from the Seventies onward. VU expanded both the music's literary and sonic possibilities with songs like Waiting For the Man, Reed's spare, twitchy depiction of meeting his drug dealer, and Heroin, which described a smack rush in shockingly forthright, feedback-drenched terms.

After quitting the band in the early Seventies, Reed went on to a spotty but often brilliant solo career. He veered between weird but approachable records, like 1973's David Bowie-produced Transformer, and weird, inaccessible ones like 1975's avant-noise bonanza, Metal Machine Music. Once in a while he scored the odd hit (Walk On The Wild Side). Even a few Velvet Underground songs that went mostly unnoticed in their time became classic rock staples (Rock and Roll, Sweet Jane). For the most part though, Reed's been an artist ahead of his time. Punk, glam rock and New Wave owe much of their existence to Reed, as does the burgeoning garage-rock revival spearheaded by bands like the Strokes and the Hives. In addition to music, he's also written plays and poetry, acted in some films and has a book of his photography coming out in 2003.

Here's the thing, though: Reed doesn't like to talk about any of that. He prefers to focus on the present, which for him is a two-hour long, two-CD opus called The Raven, a collection of songs and dramatic performances inspired by the writings of old-school Goth Edgar Allan Poe. The album, which includes significant contributions from, among others, Willem Dafoe, Steve Buscemi and David Bowie, is like a microcosm of Reed's entire career: a wildly ambitious, mixed-medium project which is by turns inspired, bizarre, frustrating and laughable.

Talking with Playboy.com via telephone, Reed continually steered the conversation back to The Raven and showed no compunction about expressing his profound irritation (culminating when he hung up on us) when it meandered elsewhere. At an age when most artists are content to recycle the oldies, Reed remains irascible, arrogant and stubborn -- in short, the consummate artist.

Playboy.com: I wanted to ask you about The Raven. How'd you first get interested in----

Lou Reed: Have you listened to it?

PB: Yeah.

LR: The whole thing?

PB: Yup.

LR: Go ahead.

PB: OK. How'd you first get interested in working with the Edgar Allan Poe material?

LR: Hal Wilner does an annual Halloween show here in New York and he always does Edgar Allan Poe. I did The Telltale Heart, and when I did it out loud with an audience, it was the first time I ever really understood it. I realized I had a very superficial understanding of Poe. That sparked it.

PB: But it was originally conceived as some sort of theater piece, right?

LR: Yeah.

PB: How'd that come off?

LR: [Irritated] How did it come off? What do you mean, how did it come off? What does that mean?

PB: Was it a play? Was it performance art? Part concert, part theater? What?

LR: What happened was, the director, Robert Wilson -- do you know who that is?

PB: Yes, I know who Robert Wilson is.

LR: OK. So, he and I had done a play together in Germany called Time Rocker. He wanted to do a second one about Edgar Allan Poe and said I should write it. So I did. We got a commission and he staged it, choreographed it and did a treatment. Then I became very enamored of it and an opportunity came to record it but there was no point in recording a play, so I rewrote the entire thing to make it something you just hear and imagine. The technology available these days is so astonishing that if you listen carefully -- or even if you don't listen carefully -- there are things approaching you from the back, from the sides. It's sounds you've never heard before, which I really enjoy. I don't know about you, but I like doing new things in a new way and bringing a world-class writer into a contemporary setting without making him into street vernacular or something horrible like that. That brings us up to now. Over four years. You get it? This is not overnight, by any stretch. Have you seen the credits?

PB: To the album? Yes, I've seen them. You worked with David Bowie for the first time in a while for The Raven. What made you think of him?

LR: I love the way David sings. I only like working with people where I'm not trying to change them. I like what they do and I'm just bringing them in to do what they do. And I'm a big fan of David's. I love his vocal arrangements.

PB: How was it different working with him now versus the earlier work you guys had collaborated on?

LR: Oh, that's a silly question. I can't answer a question like that. It's silly.

PB: What's silly about it?

LR: Listen, I want to talk about the music. I don't fuckin' know what it was like working with him 30 years ago! Gimme a break!

PB: Fine. By the album's length alone, it demands a somewhat serious listener. Was that the intention?

LR: Well, hopefully it's a lot of fun. More bang for your buck, think of it that way. This isn't like a trial. This isn't like you better pay attention or you get punished. This is supposed to be fun. Think of it this way: You lay out your 10 bucks, or whatever the hell it is, to go to a movie for two hours. So you're there. Are you paying attention? Instead, this [album] you can take home with you, get whacked, be with your lady, whatever. It can't be harder than a movie. And you certainly don't have to know anything about Poe.

PB: Was that an important part of it?

LR: Oh yeah. This isn't for Poe experts. I mean, I'm not a Poe expert by any stretch of the imagination. I keep figuring I'm going to have an interview with some Poe scholar and I'll get grated. This is fun. I mean, granted, it requires the attention of the listener, but I'm assuming, the audience I aim for, the audience that has been following me, enjoys paying attention. They like to read things, they like something with a little depth to it, they don't find that as a bad thing. They think it's a good thing. Like I'm sure you do.

PB: Uh-huh.

LR: Uh-huh? Is your uh-huh a yes?

PB: Sure. With some of the songs, the music seems to grow directly out of Poe's writing----

LR: One would hope so.

PB: But a couple of the songs, like Perfect Day, existed beforehand.

LR: Well, yeah. It's one-third of the song, though. For people who are aware of me, I thought putting in a taste of something that's appropriate, but also from years ago, would bring some sort of memory to the piece. So it would have more depth.

PB: It was interesting because you're not generally fond of looking back at your past work.

LR: Do you sit and read your past articles?

PB: Well, every once in a while, maybe----

LR: Why would you, right? You wrote it, right? So why would you?

PB: Do you think there's anything harmful----

LR: I mean, why would anybody sit and listen to their own stuff, when you could sit and listen to someone else?

PB: Well, maybe you want to see where you were at then, versus where you are now. Or maybe there's an interesting connection to your old work that'll help your new work. Like what you did with Perfect Day, where----

LR: But I was there! [Laughs] I'm the one who did it.

PB: But do you think there's anything inherently harmful about looking back----

LR: No. I think, to each their own. Everybody should do whatever they want. I don't think any one approach is better than any other approach. Whatever works for you is what works for you.

PB: Do you think about how your point of view in songs has changed over the years?

LR: No. What would I do that for? I'm just interested in doing things. I'm not interested in conceptualizing and analyzing myself. I don't want to analyze myself. It's a waste of time. Pointless.

PB: Is that why you don't like doing interviews?

LR: They're OK as long as we stick to the present and whatever piece of work it is.

PB: When it comes to Poe, everyone tends to focus on the dark themes, the macabre----

LR: If they have a limited imagination they do.

PB: Well, what are some of the other things that jump out at you about his writing?

LR: He's very funny. The imagination is so extraordinary. You know, he did the first detective story, the first science fiction story. He did a long poem about astronomy, in which he postulated the Big Bang theory. What a guy! So smart.

PB: He writes a lot about indulging forbidden desires. In one of the pieces there's an interesting line: "The overwhelming tendency to do wrong for wrong's sake."

LR: Yeah, that's kind of the overriding theme. Anybody who smokes cigarettes ought to understand that one. Anyone in a 12-step program ought to understand that one. It's inconceivable to me that you could find someone who hasn't done something contrary to what they know is good for them. I mean, can you? It's inconceivable. Even the Dalai Lama.

PB: Do you see a connection between that exploration of the taboo and your own work?

LR: Yeah. Actually I do, but that's really for other people to say. But I certainly could feel an immediate kinship with the master. I mean, he's an obsessive's obsessive.

PB: Was it daunting trying to tackle Poe----

LR: I think it's daunting to get out of bed. It's much harder doing an interview than it was to make the record.

PB: Was the idea of trying to fuse your work with his work intimidating?

LR: I didn't think of it that way, no. I was so deep in there, I thought we were the same person. How's that for delusion? Can't beat that!
PB: Especially with your more experimental work, you've been embraced more by European audiences than American ones. Are Europeans more open-minded?

LR: Well, I have a piece called Metal Machine Music that a German avant-garde orchestra performed at the Berlin Opera House. That won't happen here in New York. It won't. Won't.

PB: That's exactly the sort of thing I was referring to. Do you feel like European audiences are more open to these avant-garde ideas?

LR: I have no idea. I really don't. I don't know why. On the other hand, you have Bush as president.

PB: The thought being, a country that elects a guy like George W. Bush isn't going to embrace Metal Machine Music.

LR: You got it. There you go. I suppose that's one way of thinking about it.

PB: Is it frustrating they embraced that work in Europe but not in your hometown?

LR: I'm glad it happens at all. I mean, I've been doing this for 30 years. I consider myself beyond lucky. I think it's amazing this record's even coming out, much less that I'm getting to do interviews for it, in today's climate. It's not a rap record. I mean, if there's something further from left field, tell me what it is.

PB: There's been so much focus on New York since September 11th. Have you noticed actual changes in the city?

LR: I prefer talking about music.

PB: Well, there's been a lot of talk about a revitalized music scene in New York, specifically with bands like the Strokes and Interpol. You're often pointed to as one of the godfathers of this scene. Does that interest you?

LR: I'm always listening to what's going on out there, whatever it is. I just don't always remember the names of things. But I'm not good with names in real life. I like this guy Antony who's on my record. He's got this band called Antony and the Johnsons. I think he's amazing. I go to every single show he does in New York.

PB: You've long maintained something of an outsider status in the music world. Has that been intentional?

LR: It just seems to always work out that way. Maybe it's because -- I don't know what it is, but it seems to be that way.

PB: Is it a comfortable position to be in?

LR: How would I know? It's the only position I know. If they make me an insider, I'll report back to you.

PB: People have often reacted to your work with a lot of passion. When it's something they don't like, it's almost like you went into their house and kicked their dog. Is it gratifying to know your work means enough to people to elicit such a strong response?

LR: I don't know. You can't be loved by everybody. I'm just happy I like it.

PB: People have a picture of Lou Reed...

LR: ...by their beds.

PB: Some may.

LR: We can only hope and pray. [Laughs]

PB: Anyhow, they have this image of you as this dark, brooding, egotistical, sunglass-and-leather-jacket-wearing, New York guy. How accurate is that portrayal?

LR: Very.

PB: Is it?

LR: Uh-huh.

PB: Do you think that persona is important to the music?

LR: I don't know. But that's one of, like, seven personas. There's a bunch of them.

PB: Do you think any or all of these are important to the music?

LR: That's something you'd have to ask someone who listens to it, as opposed to the author. Plus, I change it quite a bit. Maybe that's why I end up on the outside. People get used to one and then there's another. But hopefully, really, it's about music. Enough with persona, OK?

PB: But by your own admission, you've changed your persona several times, which seems to make it a conscious part of your art----

LR: Yeah, well, I change my socks. OK?

PB: What does that have to do----?

LR: See ya. [Hangs up]