Salient. Victoria University Student Newspaper. Volume 37, Number 22. 4th September 1974
Lou Reed Concert: Wellington Town Hall, August 30, Second Concert
Lou Reed Concert: Wellington Town Hall, August 30, Second Concert.
(Rating: vigorous; comical; not much to do with Fellini's "Satyricon").
Disposing of Lou Reed is far too easy: tell everyone he's a mere recordist like Hubert Selby Jnr chronicling "Last Exit to Brooklyn"'s depravity; cite Reed's blown, beer belly as substance to the argument that this man never, never, never violates his veins; and mark it down right now that he told "Circus" magazine's Scott Cohen this year: "Fashion's not doing anything exciting at the moment. I think clean things will be next".
Yeah, well, cutting off your nose to spite your face is Your prerogative.
Perversity? Decadence?—Sure, he almost gave his member away to an expectant crowd but then... no. And the omnipresent Biba black finger nail polish—three coats, at least—sparkled..... sort of.
So is this man decadent?
You bet: get yourself a city full of turgid slobs like Reed and watch the council resign the chambers and die in the streets.
Beaucoup de faults, of course. For most of the night, Reed near swallowed the microphone so that any of the dozen or so songs (including "Lady Day!" "White Light/White Heat", "Vicious" and "I'm Waiting for my Man") appeared much like the one before and the one after. "Walk on the Wild Side" was a screamed garble which sounded little like the inherent sweetness of "[unclear: Transformer]" on which it crops up and "Sweet Jane" and "Heroin" were much of a muchness, unpleasantly loud and lots of spittle and shouted lines.
What dominated—and nearly wrecked—the proceedings, though, was a whirring synthesizer of sorts which regularly blasted out freakzees a la Hawk wind and threatened, at one stage, to blow its bass and embarrass its moustachioed operator.
Thankfully, the dancing was fine. Like a bad joke at first, Reed launched into "Sweet Jane" with a shimmying twist and sustained the shake for something like 90 minutes: a commendable achievement for a podgy rock star. Habitually he clasped his crotch and Tina Turnered the microphone stand up and down the privates—"more an over-25s mischievousness [unclear: ahan] serious, sexual come-on.
Certainly, he looked debauched in a swimming-in-alcohol way: dressed in straight-legged, faded denims, black vest and chrome, drooper singlasses—and bleached short back-and-sides—the man who called Bowie "a nasty person" in June this year and reckons Jefferson Airplane is a "fucking stupid name for a pop group" looked fairly well the legendary Reed busted for indecent exposure in Miami and ex-Andy Warhol protege.
So what magazine are you reading?