I have always considered myself a Lou Reed fan — but maybe I’m not. Or at least not an indiscriminate one — especially when it comes to his solo output. After leaving The Velvet Underground, the late legend made 20 studio albums as a solo artist, along with two more collaborations. Of those albums, I was only familiar with five. So I decided to listen to and review the remaining 15. At times it was like torture.
In a nutshell, Reed has a big basket of bonafide classics. Unique, unmistakable and ground-breaking songs which combine poetry and prose with a variety of music styles. But he also recorded a fly-ridden heap of awful, awful songs featuring his distinctive but poor singing, along with excessive sax and fretless bass.
Here’s one of the entries in his uneven catalog:
Following the depressing Berlin, Lou Reed returned with a far more accessible album — which ended up being his most successful in terms of chart placement. Even though 1974’s Sally Can’t Dance was his fourth solo album, it was the first one not to feature any Velvet Underground-era songs. It’s so upbeat in comparison to Berlin, there’s more than a decent chance Reed intended this to be a parody of a radio-friendly record. He’s not a fan of it, and neither were the critics. Perhaps this is because he raised the bar too high with Transformer, Berlin and the live album Rock & Roll Animal.
Anyway, let’s dive in. The opening track, Ride Sally Ride, is a piece of crap. Awkward as hell and boring. Animal Language is no better. It’s silly, with dog barks, meows and generally a bit too novelty-like for me, despite all the gunfire and killing. It’s another miss.
Finally, we get Baby Face — the first good song. It’s a bit JJ Cale-ish in its pace and structure. The main hook reminds me of some generic theme music for a classic albums series I watched or listened to once — I can’t quite place it. N.Y. Stars wraps up the first side and is classic, vicious Lou, a little bit like mid-’70s Alice Cooper and just as over-produced. If it had sax it could be a Roxy Music song.
Kill Your Sons opens Side 2 with some Jon Lord keyboards and a stomping beat. It’s fantastic. This one is about Reed’s troubled youth, when his parents forced him into residential psychiatric care, including electro-shock therapy. Ennui follows, and wouldn’t seem out of place on Transformer. It’s kind of in a similar vein as Perfect Day. It’s not as good, obviously, but I like it.
The groovy, uber-’70s title track is next. I don’t care for this one, with its horns and saxes and dancefloor porn bass. This song doesn’t know what it wants to be. I’d like it to be less Solar Prestige A Gammon and more Gimmie Some Good Times.
The record closes with Billy, which would be great if it wasn’t for the saxes. It’s unusual to hear fuzz bass in an acoustic track. If you like Walk On The Wild Side, this has a similar vocal phrasing, except for — and I can’t stress this enough — the stupid, dated saxophone throughout, which makes it feel like the closing theme of Saturday Night Live is about to start any second.
3/5
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Area Resident is an Ottawa-based journalist, recording artist, music collector and re-seller. Hear (and buy) his music on Bandcamp, email him HERE, follow him on Instagram and check him out on Discogs.
