A to Z

LOU REED

NewYork RHINO

8/10

As relevant today as it was over 30 years ago. By Michael Bonner

FOR anyone wondering what Lou Reed would have made of the 45th President of the United States, you’ll find the answer on New York. “They ordained the Trumps/And then he got the mumps/And died being treated at Mt Sinai,” he sings on “Sick Of You”, before, later in the song, imagining Rudy Giuliani getting run over by a taxi.

Released in 1989, much of New York still resonates over 30 years on. Beyond the cameos from Trump and Giuliani, the album’s themes of environmental collapse, cultural toxicity and political oppression feel deeply familiar from today’s headlines. “Give me your hungry, your tired, your poor, I’ll piss on them,” Reed says on “Dirty Blvd”. “That’s what the Statue Of Bigotry says/Your poor huddled masses?/Let’s club ’em to death.” This is 1989, but it may as well be 2020.

As timely as this reissue seems, there are other likely reasons why New York is the first of Reed’s solo albums to receive a deluxe edition. The ’80s had started well for Reed with The Blue Mask and Legendary Hearts, but by 1986’s Mistrial his career was drifting out of focus. Saddened by the death of Andy Warhol in 1987 and with New York wracked by Reagan, Aids and a crack epidemic, Reed began fashioning urgent dispatches from the city’s beleaguered front lines. But from such source material came good things, including the Velvet Underground reunion in 1993 and a third-act resurgence for Reed.

This three-disc set features a new remaster of New York alongside a live disc and another disc of early mixes; the two companion discs replicate the album’s running order. The new remaster is crisp – it’s hard to mess with the original’s direct, unadorned musicianship. It is a pleasure to reconnect with the stuttering riffs of “Romeo Had Juliette”, the warmly elegiac tones of “Halloween Parade” or the cycling guitar lines of “Dirty Blvd.” – a terrific opening salvo, likely in no small way to have contributed to the album’s eventual commercial success.

The second disc collects unreleased live versions, recorded during 1989, that are largely faithful to their studio counterparts. Reed offers a few sentences at the top of each song – mostly just matter-of-fact introductions, though occasionally he risks something a little warmer. It is “a big thrill for me” when Moe Tucker joins them for Warhol tribute “Dime Store Mystery” and he can be heard laughing before an encore version of “Sweet Jane”. What this second disc demonstrates is the quality of Reed’s New York band – co-guitarist Mike Rathke, bassist Rob Wasserman and drummer Fred Maher. Their musicianship is discreet, supportive, surprisingly sensitive. Unlike previous collaborators – John Cale, Robert Quine – they are not here for creative tension, but to serve the songwriting. On the driving call-to-arms “There Is No Time”, Reed and Rathke (Reed’s brother-in-law at the time) summon up the kind of shape-shifting guitar feedback that characterised the other end of Reed’s career; Rathke and Wasserman find room to noodle a little on “Sweet Jane”.

The unreleased early versions on Disc Three find the songs already formed as Reed works through them with his band. An instrumental work tape of “Last Great American Whale” captures Reed leading Rathke through the song – “And then maybe you can even go up the octave?” he asks, stopping the song halfway through, then shouting an encouraging “Yeah!” when the guitarist nails it. There is a leisurely blues jam as they dig into a work tape of “Sick Of You” in search of the right groove. An acoustic “Busload Of Faith” presents a more intimate, subdued version of the song. Originally released by the Lou Reed Archive on what would have been his 77th birthday last year, the a cappella demo of “Endless Cycle” finds Reed vocalising a bass part