Berlin

by

Lou Reed

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I bought BERLIN after reading Victor Bockris's brutal biography of Reed, TRANSFORMER. It was hailed as a "masterpiece" throughout the book, and having been a big fan of Reed and VU for years, AND since it had just been re-issued on CD, I snatched it up. I had no idea what a surprise I was in for. Having heard many of the VU versions of these songs, and based on my other Reed discs, I was completely stunned by the theatrical-German-tavern orchestration, and the blatant violence (particularly misogyny) in the lyrics. None of this turned me off of the album, as I was determined to see it as a testament of a certain state of mind, which was discussed at length in TRANSFORMER. And according to the book the recording of this album was a catastrophe, what with Reed's increasing dependence on speed, and his emotional state. Knowing this, it is amazing that the album turned out as well as it did. But like so many other "masterpieces" it wasn't hailed as such until much, much later, when it could be listened to within its own context, and not just as the follow-up to the album TRANSFORMER. This leads me to my calling it an "accidental masterpiece," as obviously Reed's vocals aren't up to par, there's nary a Reed-guitar crunch in sight, and much of the orchestration is close to being absurdly overwrought. However, my reason for giving it five stars is that it IS a perfect testament to Reed's state of mind/being at that particular time, flaws and all. Not many albums achieve this. One last thing, I wish people would stop with the: "I like the VU version of this-or-that song better." I happen to like Reed's later takes on those songs, and in this case think that the BERLIN version of "Sad Song" is much more powerful than the original.

I'm a big Lou Reed fan, don't get me wrong, but the mountains of praise heaped upon "Berlin" have mystified me for years. I understand Reed's and producer Bob Ezrin's intentions regarding the layered production (at turns contrast and magnify the emotional point of the songs while giving the whole show an unsettling air) and I understand that this album is a Glam totem and is meant to be a challenge. I also have nothing against music that is difficult listening; Reed's own later "Magic and Loss" is no walk in the park, and I didn't become a Velvet Underground fan because "Heroin" made me feel chipper.

Maybe it's just a difference in philosophy. When it comes to rock music (or the panoply of styles which now fall under the vague umbrella of rock music), I like to be punched in the gut, even if that punch only comes after many listens. In some ways, I have to admit, "Berlin" accomplishes that delayed punch. Many years after first hearing it, I can't seem to shake the album, and from time to time I go back to see if my tolerance for this recording has improved. So if Reed's ultimate point was to create something that nags at the listener (a perverse and very Lou Reed-ish thing to do), then he succeeded. My difficulty with "Berlin," however, is that there seems to be such squandered potential in these songs. The basic material here is outstanding, and if one listens to earlier versions of "Oh Jim," "Caroline Says" and "Sad Song" as recorded with The Velvet Underground (on the "Peel Slowly and See" box), one can hear these songs in their sparest form, when Reed's fiery spirit was still at work and not about to go on a decade-long binge. When I pick up my guitar and play "Men of Good Fortune" or "How Do You Think It Feels," I think I can hear in the melodies and lyrics the emotions that Reed was getting at before they were buried beneath a morass of instrumentation that seems as gaudy to me as a drag queen's jewelry.

I know I can't slight Reed for changing and trying something different. It's something we all do in one way or another if we're to grow. By that same token, criticizing Reed by comparing his work from one album to another is a dead end, since he has explored plenty of stylistic avenues with varying degrees of success. When approaching "Berlin," then, one has to be careful about which Lou Reed one expects to hear. This is not the literate rock and roller of the Velvets years, and neither is this the mature, reflective street poet of the eighties and beyond -- it's not even the Reed of the previous year's "Transformer" -- though elements of those personas emerge here. To these ears, "Berlin" sounds like Lou Reed at his most cold and distant, bereft of the life blood that has made his best music so compelling. If that's the point, then so be it, but I don't have to listen.