I’m
not about to embark on any sort of clumsy obituary, but yesterday I was on the
receiving end of a mailing list email from Metric’s Emily Haines, and I thought
her heartfelt tribute to Reed was well worth reproducing here …
When Lou Reed asked me,
"Emily Haines, who would you rather be, the Beatles or the Rolling
Stones," I shot back, "The Velvet Underground." Quick thinking,
sure, but also the truth. In our song "Gimme Sympathy," we lament the
fact that none of us living today are likely to achieve the stature or
saturation the signature acts of that era enjoyed. But for me none of that
music comes close to the contribution Lou Reed has made to the world. It's
immeasurable. Famously cranky, his integrity is unrivaled. He irritated
everyone with difficult music. He refused to spend his life re-writing
"Walk on the Wild Side," effectively sparing himself a lifetime of
boring conversations with fools. Anyone who couldn't see that his tough
exterior was an essential shield for the man who gave us "Pale Blue
Eyes," with all its intimacy and relatable sadness, has missed the point
of his life completely.
I'm not one to proclaim
fated encounters, but it seems as though everyone I know who had the power to
bring Lou and me together used it to make it happen. A strange combination of
forces channeled Hal Willner through Kevin Drew through Kevin Hearn through
Neil Young's "A Man Needs a Maid" and that was that. When we finally
did meet, it was obvious and easy, like an idea that's been floating around for
years and then one day emerges effortlessly, fully formed. Our connection was
free of the fawning fandom and nauseating idolatry that so often characterizes
such show biz interactions between a young woman and an older man. He was never
condescending. I didn't worship him. We talked about my late father Paul
Haines' recordings of Albert Ayler, we talked about Escalator Over the Hill, we
talked about Roswell Rudd and Henry Grimes. This thin man with gold teeth and
clear engaging eyes was a thrill to be with, and his barbed wire wit made
hanging with him like a tightrope walk. You couldn't drift.
People always seemed
afraid to be straight with Lou but I wasn't. At the rehearsal for our
performance at Vivid Festival at the Sydney Opera House in 2010 (an event he
curated with Laurie Anderson), he couldn't remember the guitar part for
"Cremation," the song he wanted me to sing with him. I said,
"You have to remember. You have to play the guitar," and the room
fell silent as though I had hit the height of blasphemy. But he just looked at
me and said, "You're right."
Persuading him to play
"Pale Blue Eyes" when he joined Metric onstage for "The
Wanderlust" at Radio City Music Hall in 2012 required a more nuanced
approach and I'll always remember the golden look of approval he gave our
guitarist, Jimmy Shaw, when he played that delicate guitar line onstage that
night.
An essential thing
people seem to miss when they think of Lou Reed is the scope of his sense of
humor. When he invited me to play with him at the Shel Silverstein tribute
concert in Central Park in 2011, I was the straight man, backing him up on
piano and vocals as he turned the song "25 Minutes to Go" into a
roast of Mayor Bloomberg's New York for billionaires.
Near the end, there were
things Lou wanted to do that his poor health prevented. We had planned to
perform together at Coachella but he wasn't well enough and had to cancel. More
recently, his visit to Toronto became impossible and I found myself standing
around talking to Mick Rock instead, looking at photographs of the glamorized
Lou when really the person I wanted to see was the man that had made it through
all those years and married Laurie Anderson, the man who continued to live and
love and create. I hijacked the DJ's playlist at the gallery, forced everyone
to listen to "O Superman" and gave a big drunk speech about it. I
guess you could say it was an early expression of the grief that was to come.
Kevin Hearn has played
in Lou Reed's band for years. Hearn and I have been working on some new
recordings of my songs, just vocals and piano. A survivor of blood cancer
himself, Kevin visited Lou and Laurie many times throughout Lou's treatment in
Cleveland. It appeared for a while there that Lou was on the mend, but in recent
weeks his condition declined. When Lou called for him a few days ago, Kevin
feared the worst. He wrote to me late
last night, "I went to see Lou in Cleveland. He had to go back in the
hospital. He is not doing too well I'm sad to say. Laurie was there too. They
asked what I have been up to and I told them about the songs. They wanted to
hear something so I played them 'Dedicated.' I hope you don't mind. They really
liked it." I fell asleep last night hoping my voice had been of some
comfort to him. And when I woke up, I found out he was dead.
The first time I sang
"Perfect Day" for him, Lou said, "You have to bring more pain to
it. You're not singing about a fucking picnic." Consider it done.
Playing
"Cremation" with Lou was heavy enough at the time, but now that he's
gone the lyrics just break my heart. "The coal black sea waits for me me
me/ the coal black sea waits forever/ when I leave this joint/ at some further
point/ the same coal black sea/ will it be waiting?"
In his last message to
me, Lou wrote, "I'm so sorry Emily I would've if I could have but I'm a
little under the weather but I love you."
I love you, too.
Perfect.
And if I can offer anything it’s a song in the form of a clip. For all that ‘Walk
On The Wild Side’ has its own unique place in rock’s rich tapestry, and for all
that ‘Perfect Day’ has gone on to become a latter day cross-generational
classic, this is the Lou Reed track that left the greatest impression on
everythingsgonegreen …
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