Imagine being served one of the greatest meals of your life, and then being told you have exactly one-half hour to consume it. That’s pretty much how I felt when informed I’d have 30 minutes to interview Lou Reed in New York (well, actually 35—Lou took a liking to me, and granted the extra five.) Although I briefly spoke to him on the phone five years ago, I’ve waited nearly a decade to meet him in person—and now there wasn’t even time for appetizers (or Velvet Underground trivia). But you take what you can get, and where Lou Reed is concerned, the main course is still a pretty bountiful meal.

As far as the pantheon of rock ’n’ roll is concerned, I’d rate Lou Reed right up there with Lennon and early Elvis. Apart from being pioneers in their field, the one thing the three men had in common was their uninhibited expression of emotional honesty—and this, beyond the politics and all the pretentious meanderings, is what the best rock ’n’ roll has always been about.

It’s often been argued that many artists produce their greatest work when at their lowest emotional ebb, and a case could have once been made for this in regard to Reed. Lou has created some of the greatest masterpieces of emotional despair around, but the thing to remember is that he’s always tempered the darkness with compassion and the possibilities of hope. Even going back to the first song on his first album with the Velvet Underground, Lou gave the paranoid warning: “Watch out! The world’s behind you”—and then tempered it with the easing “There’s always someone around you who will call/lt’s nothing at all.” As Lester Bangs wrote in one of his authoritative Reed reviews: “He’s a person with deep compassion for a great many other people about whom nobody else gives a shit. I don’t want to get too schmaltzy, except to emphasize that there’s always been more to this than drugs and fashionable kinks, and to point out that suffering, loneliness and psychic/spiritual exile are great levelers...(Lou) gave us reason to think there might still be meaning to be found in this world beyond all the nihilism, and thereby spawned and kept alive a whole generation whose original parents may or may not have been worthy of them.” And that’s the whole truth.

I can remember several cases of blue funk in college where the “glory of love” chorus on “Coney Island Baby” was all it took to make me feel better. Sharon, a friend who moved to New York several years ago and was initially depressed, says she actually found emotional solace in songs like “Ride Into The Sun” and (of all things!) “Street Hassle.” But the best example for me came whfen I visited my brother Barry in Lansing last year. It was a freezing cold February, and he’d just received some low blows from love and life in general. When he didn’t answer his door, I entered and found him lying in total darkness with Berlin (one of the darkest LPs in the history of music) blaring from his turntable. “If you’re depressed,” I advised, “this isn’t the album to play.” To which he replied: “I like it. Especially the part where he sings, ‘And me, I just don’t care at all.’ I like it a lot.”

So there’s strength in numbers and all that stuff, but the point is you always knew that, deep down, Lou really did care (just like you cared), or the depression (and the song) wouldn’t be there to begin with. And I think that’s the key to Lou Reed and why he’s one of rock’s last bona fide heroes—the definition being the difference between an artist you can really believe in and one you simply admire. As Lou said to me during that phone interview five years ago after I’d expressed my admiration: “Well, I’m glad I’m not disappointing you. I’m serious about that, ya know. I know there are people out there, and I try to be straight with them.”

Ever since Growing Up In Public and his proclamation on The Blue Mask, Lou has been trying to become “just your average guy.” Some of the “average” things the former rock ’n’ roll animal has done in the last several years include getting married, appearing in several films (if you were unfortunate enough to miss his terrific “Little Sister” in Get Crazy, rush out and buy the soundtrack today), giving a poetry reading and recently appearing as a backup vocalist (with Dick Cavett and Mia Farrow) on Carly Simon’s recording of the new Democratic party theme song. It’s a happier Lou Reed we’ve seen in the ’80s (often attributed to marital bliss), and nowhere has this stance come off better than on his latest LP, New Sensations. I won’t agree with other reviewers who call it his best record since the Velvets’ Loaded as that totally negates the brilliance of The Blue Mask and other solo releases, but it is a great album nonetheless.

Full of classic rock references (“I Love You, Suzanne” and “Down At The Arcade” would have been hit singles this summer in a more just world), most of New Sensations is simply about enjoying life (even getting “high in the city” without the aid of drugs), while the title track is the place where Lou Reed finally takes a definite moral position; the man who last year was still singing “I can’t tell the difference between wrong and right” now proclaims “I want to eradicate my negative views” and “It’s easy enough to tell what’s wrong.” Not only is it a happy album, but it’s a funny record as well. “Down At The Arcade” is inspired zaniness, while “My Red Joystick” actually beats out “Brand New Key,” “Squeeze Box” and “No Particular Place to Go” with some of the most hilarious sexual imagery to ever be incorporated in a rock song. But one of the LP’s best moments is “Turn To Me” in which Lou tells the listener that, despite life’s major and minor flaws, you can always turn to him for comfort. Perhaps intended as a love song (though he ironically turns out to be addressing a male), I’m sure that many fans will interpret this as a new anthem of what Lou Reed means to them, similar to Loaded’s “Rock ’N’ Roll” over 10 years ago.

And anyone who argues that Lou is less an artist now because he’s happy is forgetting that art and fun/happiness have never been mutually exclusive (despite what someone like the Smiths might tell you), and we should be pleased that Lou is happy because of all the possibilities that could mean in our own lives. From my perspective, the best way to view Lou Reed in 1984 is as the elder sage who’s been through it all—drugs, sexual role experimentation, anxiety and despair—and can now stand back to share some of his wisdom, as well as all the new sensations that might come his way.

Lou’s looking good these days. Dressed in a bright red sweatshirt with Oriental logo, he’s thin and handsome, and the only clue to an abusive life is the way his hands shake when he lights a cigarette. A little cold and distant at first, he warms up immensely when I tell him he’s been a hero for years (“I even have your picture on my wall”), and proceeds to talk in an almost stream-ofcorisciousness manner at times. What follows are some highlights from our 35-minute conversation.

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New Sensations is probably your happiest, most fun LP to date. A lot of it really cracks me up. Does the LP reflect where you are right now? A happier person?

Yeah. It was interesting. There was one song in particular, “Turn To Me,’’.where I was working on the lyrics, and John Jansen, my co-producer, said, “I can’t believe the lyrics have changed like this. It started out as such a nice love song.” Every time I listened to the roughs of it in a cab or something, I would just fall over. I thought it was just so perfectly funny, and it made me really feel good. At the time, no one else I played it for laughed. I was the only person who found it funny, and I thought “Well, this is not new,to me, but I’m the only person hearing it this way.” Then we did this poetry reading—Jim Carroll and myself— and I decided that I would read “Turn To Me,” and see what would happen with the people there, wondering if it was just me and it wasn’t funny at all. I read it, and they were really laughing, so then I knew it was funny. Not hysterical, drop dead funny, but a nice funny that’s good to have around when you’re in a certain mood.

I’m not crazy about my vocal on it because I keep hearing it as being slightly out of key. Everyone said it wasn’t, but my ears and hearing can almost be a problem for me because I hear so well. I went in and did another vocal that was technically perfect, but it wasn’t funny like the other one. Figure it out. A perfect vocal, and it wasn’t right. Same words, but it just didn’t make me laugh. So I figured I’m not about to beat my head against the wall. The first one makes me feel good, whether it’s out of key or not. I played it for Fred, our drummer, and he said, “Lou, I honestly think it’s a thing called grace notes, notes that are out of the chord. It gives the impression of being out of key, but it’s really not.”

I’ve found that sometimes you start listening too closely. A better way of listening is to just play it in one room and be in another so you’re not microscoping it to death. Or listening to it while you’re talking to someone, or when you’re in a cab. I actually get some of my best ideas sitting in traffic in a cab or something like that. It’s odd because sometimes as a writer, I hit one of these things where I’m sitting there with my legal pad and pen, and nothing comes out. Not even the beginning of nothing. It’s really frightening, though I’mused to it now, so I don’t go crazy over it anymore. And then you get into a cab or something and...(laughs). Maybe it’s because you’re not trying and don’t freeze up or whatever. I get such a kick out of making something where there’s nothing. I get a kick out of watching something go from the inside of my head to the page, and then there it is on a record that someone can take home and stick? on their phonograph and maybe get off on.

I’ve had only one big idea behind all of this, way back to when I was first starting out, and it was sort of like shooting fish in a barrel. There were no rock ’n’ roll records out that seemed to be aimed at adults with adult themes. It was so obvious. Things that were in books, in movies, in plays, in grade B novels, for crying out loud, would be a big deal in a rock ’n’ roll song. It’s amazing the contempt there is for the form. I’ve often wondered what would happen if Raymond Chandler wrote a rock song. That kind of sentence structure, talk and style. And there’s no one to really stop you, ’cause it’s a wide open field. The only trick is to still retain the fun of a rock ’n’ roll song, and not just turn it into a wordy thing with a metronome behind it, or folk music with a beat. It’s like a real gift, a real talent to be able to do that." And I’m really happy I have it and that it’s with me and not going to go away. And it’s not dependent on whether I’m good or bad or anything. It’s just there. Sometimes more than other times, but it’s there if I want it. And if I know how to work with it, I can even coax it.

Like the song “Suzanne”—I must have had that riff in my head for six months. It’s just a cheap D chord because for what I’m interested in, you don’t need a lot of chords. It just came out full-blown, and it was always like that. I sat playing that riff for six months because I’m capable of sitting and playing one riff for hours, and then I said, “Well, it’s so simple, why not use it?” And I did. But then on a song like “My Friend George,”

I was trying to write. An album was due, so I sat down and tried to write. I had a little vague piece of melody, and I fought with that thing literally for hours, trying to get it in focus, to find the right chords. And sometimes I’d get so discouraged with it because I’d be so close, and then I couldn’t play the guitar and hear it at the same time. It turned out that it was really a very simple chord, but an odd combination. But I love that particular song. I love my guitar part on it.

Is “My Friend George” a true story?

No. There is no George. I always present things like I want everybody to believe it’s real because I know it’s disappointing when I say there is no George. What “George” is really all about is a two-fold idea: there’s George and what he thinks, and, more importantly, there’s his friend who adores and idolizes him. What the thing is about is love and disappointed friendship. The main thing in that song is not the fury of George, but the love of his friend.

This seems to be a pure rock ’n’ roll album, whereas the last two sounded more ethereal...

This one was better recorded.

Was any of it done live in the studio?

Since I’m doing all the guitar parts, it was just the power trio—me, Fred and Fernando. That’s the live part of it. I was in the studio twice as long as I’ve ever been in the studio for this one. I really set out to do something I couldn’t before because I didn’t have the heart or concentration to sit that long. But there are all these sounds going out today, and I really wanted some of them on my record for a change. You know, I’ve always seen the engineer as the enemy. I suppose that goes back to when we were in the Velvet Underground, and they’d actually walk out on us, saying, “This is the worst shit I’ve ever heard in my life. I’ll be in the hall getting coffee. When you guys are done, come and get me.” Or experiences with producers where you’re listening to the song, it sounds OK, and you notice from the corner of your eye that they threw a switch, not telling you about it— playing games with you. I despise that, so I would try to have a very spontaneous recording session, and just get out of there with the thing sounding more or less like it was. That’s why they sound that way. But I couldn’t do that this time if I wanted to have those sounds that I hear on some of the new records. I think some of those sounds are just incredible. I wanted this big sound—huge and big—but not with a lot of things going on. And I think Janseri did an incredible job. His stereo spread is really awe-inspiring.

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The line “I hope you like my song/It’s rooted in the ’50s, but its heart’s in 1984”—the record really accomplishes that idea.

Oh, yeah.

It makes me feel happy like an old rock Iff; roll record does.

Yeah, especially all the little Farfisa organ-like things.

Or the Contours intro on “Suzanne. ” Is there any particular reason why you decided not to work with (guitarist) Robert Quine oh this one?

I wanted to do all the guitar parts.

We were glad you did.

Ah!

At CREEM, we thought now we at least know which one is Lou playing.

(Laughs) I don’t get to play guitar on records very often, except my own, and I wanted to play. all the parts. It’s a fun thing, and who would know the parts better than me? And I really thought that I was prepared sound-wise, technically, production-wise and idea-wise to do the guitar parts.

Is “Fly Into The Sun” meant to be tongue-in-cheek?

No.

Well, it’s about nuclear war. Most people write about the horrors of such an event, and you sing about accepting it if it happened.

I wrote that because I saw that TV thing. The Next Day...

The Day After.

Yeah. And for some reason this thing went off in my head of another way of looking at it. What an amazing opportunity. You’re not committing the sin of suicide. There’s no escape anyway. Here’s this amazing chance to (laughs), find out the answer to questions that have been driving people nuts for years. Here it is. And since you can’t run from it, you might as well fly right into it. With this record, you seem to take more of a definite moral stance than you ever have before. On “New Sensations, ’’you talk about eradicating negative views, and “It’s easy to tell what is wrong” is in direct contrast to something like “The Story Of My Life” where you sang “Both those words (right and wrong) are dead.”

Well, I was quoting a guy named Billy in that song, just in the interest of consistency. But I was very, very aware this time that I was saying those things outright, unmistakably, in words that couldn’t be misunderstood. I’m aware of that, and I mean it. That’s the new sensations, for sure. I wanted to draw the line so you couldn’t miss it. That is the stance.

Even the motorcycle ride and the fact that you enjoy it on “New Sensations” is in direct contrast to the one -on “Bottoming Out” from the last album.

The motorcycle ride is the exact opposite to the one on “Bottoming Out.” Exactly. There it is. That’s the whole thing.

“Turn To Me” seems to reflect the way a lot of your fans might view you, listening to your songs when they’re low to feel better. Was this at all intentional?

It’s the kind of thing I would like to hear. I’m very aware of listening to things when you’re feeling down as someone who has felt down. And I know what a good book or movie or the right record can do when you hear somebody describing it. It’s like “No, you’re not alone.” And there’s just something about the fact that it physically exists outside of you, written by another person. There’s something wonderful about that, and it makes you feel better. And, in my case, I think I can express it and encapsulate it. And put a dance beat to it! What more do you want? I wanted “Turn To Me” to do that, and to be funny at the same time on top of it. I wanted it to be a little “Hey, hello. I’m still here. How are you doing?”

Who do you see as your audience today?

I haven’t the vaguest idea. I know there are people who have stuck with me throughout the years—to whom I am eternally grateful because it made it possible for me to make new records. On the other hand, there seem to be people who only like it when I write—in quotes—“depressive” things.

Do you resent that? People who want you to exclusively portray this dark side?

Uh, it’s not that I resent it, but I can’t pay any attention to that. I mean, there’s got to be more to life and more to me than that. And I’m not about to sit down and write a song about angel dust or cocaine. Somebody else will have to do that for this generation. I already did it. Faulkner’s world was the swamp, James Jones had the war, but Lou Reed is not going to just have dope. That was just me passing through, describing as I go. And I would really hope that there’s more to come from my life than to be stuck over there someplace, staring at a wall, and describing in intimate detail every negative thing that’s going down.

You currently have strong artistic success with critical acclaim and a devout cult following. Does this mean more to you than the commercial success that’s more elusive today?

I like what I’m doing. Particularly this last album.

I really think I have it more together than I ever have in my whole life. I have more of my powers and my abilities to reason, function and to take a thought, carry it through, complete it and accomplish what I set out to do over a long span.

1 personally would love to have commercial success because I know what I’m doing is good. It’s nice when other people agree with me. I don’t make these records just to sit at home and listen to them by myself.

Have you changed your mind about not touring at all?

Uh, little bitty minor tours. I am going to Europe for nine days, but I’m very careful with myself about how much I can withstand, and any kind of long tour is just too physically abusive for me to deal with. I’m just more reasonable with myself. There’s nothing heroic about it. It’s just the mundane thing of sitting down and doing the smart thing. On the other hand, I love playing in public. There’s nothing like playing the stuff live for a real audience.

Any New York dates like the Bottom Line this time around?

I don’t think so.

Just the European dates.

And then we’ll see. I do miss the outlet of live playing because 1 get to play loud guitar with a band. (At presstime, Lou had completed his European tour, with Robert Quine back on guitar, headlining shows above bands like the Pretenders. RCA reports there are no plans for any U.S. dates in the immediate future.)

Can we ever expect a book from Lou Reed? A novel or something?

That’s very possible, especially now that I’m capable of concentrating in longer spans. I think I’d first consider attacking short stories.

I read that “The Gift” was originally a short story. That's the greatest thing I’ve ever heard describing sexual jealousy.

(Laughs) I read that at the poetry reading, and it was really good. It’s a perfect short story. It captures that thing perfectly, and it’s hysterical to boot. Have you read any of the recent books about you — the Diana Clapton biography or the Uptight Velvets history?

Yeah, I’ve seen those. I’ve nothing to do with those. I did not cooperate with those books. Nothing that I say is in there. They have quotes pieced together from years ago, from God knows where and in what state of mind. And they don’t reflect anything I find interesting. I would never recommend anyone to waste their money buying them.

How about future film roles?

Hah!

What happened to that animated movie? Rock & Rule, I think.

It came out, but it was only out for about an hour. I guess it wasn’t very good. Most everything I’ve been in has not turned out well.

I thought Get Crazy was OK. I enjoyed that.

People have told me that. I thought it was the worst movie I’ve ever, ever seen in my life. Other people seem to think it’s funny.

Your influence on rock seems to be a revolving thing. You were credited as a father of glam rock, and then punk rock or ‘‘new wave" was said to be a spiritual descendent of Lou Reed. Thai peaked. and now there’s a whole new crop of bands— R.E.M., the Dream Syndicate, the Violent Femmes, the Eurythmics, even some hardcore groups —who are either covering your songs or borrowing your sounds and ideas. How do you feel about all this?

Mind-boggling. All I can say is that it’s mindboggling. I mean, I personally think that it’s obviously a great thing to do. How could you have done any better than that? But the fact that people are doing it is just mind-boggling. I just think that it’s wonderful.

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And with that, Lou’s manager came in to inform us that our 35 minutes were up. Playing the role of teenybopper, I had him autograph some album covers for Sharon, Barry and myself. I thanked him, he thanked me for coming to New York, and that was it. A rock ’n’ roll genius, a rock ’n’ roll artist, but still just an average guy. Seventeen years after his Velvet Underground debut, Lou Reed is at the height of his creative powers, and I imagine that people will be turning to him for many more years to come. And someday, if there truly is any justice, he really will be awarded a Nobel Prize in rhythm & blues.