That's me waxing poetic with that title. I don't know much about either of those musicians. I did listen to some VU the day his death was announced and I felt like I should listen to more of this but I haven't. In a synesthesia-like way, when I hear those songs I think of a kind of drawing, like Giacometti's portraits, with hesitant, spidery lines, lots of them, some erased, some wider, some lighter, but all eventually adding up to a thing to be reckoned with.
1 comment:
I didn't mean to do this one--I opened an old New Yorker to find some words to string together, dadaist style. And there was the Patti Smith tribute to him, so it became really literal. I can't get away from the literal.
I did think about a month or so ago: Wow--Lou Reed is really dead. He went a bit early and was always part of the underground music coming-of-age background for me. The grandfather of underground pop. Lou was classic pop-music on heavy drugs and grumbliness and John Cale was avant-garde experimentation using classical forms--together with Sterling Morrison's rock energy and Moe Tucker's matter-of-fact drum weirdness, that was everything in an underground scene for the next two decades or so, as far as influence. Lou was earthy, so it took awhile for me to recognize him as gone. In the air, so to speak.
Post a Comment