Watched PBS's American Masters look at Lou Reed last night. First time I saw the show since it was originally broadcast 15 years ago. Seeing John Cale talk about Reed made me think it would be nice if John formed John Cale's Velvet Underground to take us some place near where his old band may have taken us if he were in full control. It is not a place very many of us wanted to go in the '60s and where not many more would like to go now. Heartbreak Hotel dirty ass rock 'n' roll.
Cale is one of the few rock superstars I ever met. It was before a show when I lived in England. He was a perfect gentleman for a man who has snorted Rob Ford's body weight in coke a hundred times over. The night after my friend Hank and I met him Cale bit off the head of a chicken on stage. Beheaded chicken rock 'n' roll.
Near the end of the show you feel happy for Reed, Cale and Tucker when they get into the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame. The tears in Reed's eyes say it all. Shortly thereafter, however, you feel sad listening to Lou's desire to be a musician until he dies because it is over, motherfuckers, over.
Maybe (maybe) I can start writing about Sonja, my dog and I again.
2 comments:
You can write about whatever the fuck you want but I, for one, have really been enjoying your current topic.
Writing is good medicine when it is death that has you down. Writing and tequila.
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