[Jim Carroll and Lou Reed at St. Mark’s Church]
Review by Toby Goldstein
Creem July 1984, p. 48
They weren’t your usual brand of churchgoers, this barely contained mob in leather jackets, black-on-black costumes with white pancake made up faces, all moaning, “Lou-ew-ew!!!” like a herd of demented cows. But then again, this wasn’t the usual session of rapt communication with your favorite non-earthlydeity. What was happening in the vaulted cathedral around the corner from the West side Manhattan YMCA was a rare night of earthly transcendence: over an hour of poetry reading by Jim Carroll–who does this often–and Lou Reed–who has done this sort of performance maybe twice in the past 10 years.
According to Jason Shinder, director of the Y’s “Writer’s Voice” programs and organizer of the standing-room-only event, he and Jim Carroll–who is arguably more acclaimed for his written words than his three Atlantic albums–decided that getting Lou to present a reading would help create an extraordinary evening and help raise some much-needed funding for the literary oriented program. Because Lou had enjoyed doing a reading with Carroll, Allen Ginsberg and many others at the St. Mark’s church a year and a half ago, he accepted their request.
So there he was, accompanied by his petite, dark-haired wife, Sylvia, and a rather jovial frame of mind. Spotted by the faithful, Reed even smiled when a fan yelled out, “Lookin’ good, Lou!” as he and Carroll entered the room to tumultuous applause.
Artistry aside, the night was planned with a perfect grasp on audience dynamics–namely, Lou would be reading second. Despite their obvious impatience to hear their hero, Lou’s minions responded well to Jim Carroll’s opening set–no less than Carroll deserved, since reading his works comes as naturally to Jim as drawing breath. Unbothered by his peculiar “opening act” status in the program, Carroll deftly played to the audience, draping his rangy body over the microphone podium, switching rhythms as he told his strange tales, inserting perfect pauses to maximum effect.
Carroll’s written output is heavily concentrated on his dope encrusted youth, when he ran wild in the streets and hung out with the Warholian scenemakers back in the early ’70s. He began with excerpts from the “New Diaries”–“when I was 18 and still not being a good boy,” and was quite aware of how bizarre some of his exploits must have seemed to us quasi-normal types. “It’s true,” he playfully added, after relating a particularly gross sexual adventure, then grinned when he sllipped and referred to Warhol’s “Factory” by name, instead of keeping it thinly anonymous, as he satirized the group who demanded their 15 minutes of fame.
As Jim displayed perfect control over his performance, he moved into more visionary and serious material from his “Book of Nods,” and ended with an emotional narrative called “Just Visiting.” Sitting on the sidelines with his wife, paying close attention to Carroll’s delivery, Lou absorbed his colleague’s interplay with the audience, and put it to good use when his hour approached.
Reed’s relative inexperience in working without a band meant that it took him awhile to establish his own reading rhythm. Despite his nervousness at concentrating all the attention on vocal presentation, Lou jumped into the pool with both feet by commencing with the liner notes from Metal Machine Music. “Not too many people got to see this: it wasn’t on MTV,” he cracked, leveling the first of many digs at the music business. Freed from the usual constraints tied to his “difficult” rock ‘n’ roll identity, Lou was able to speak his mind, knowing that he was among the kind of friends who graciously accepted such warnings as “Most of you won’t like this, and I don’t blame you at all.”
Unlike Jim Carroll’s sequence, which involved writings apart from his songs, almost all of Lou Reed’s readings were his songs–given a new, crisp focus by being offered nakedly, accompanied only by fascinating little smarmy asides: “I was really pissed,” he said good-naturedly, referring to a stupid individual mentioned in “The Murder Mystery.” Again, he butchered the record biz, saying with sarcastic wonderment, “I’m always amazed, but never amazed enough,” as he dredged up incidents which occurred during various album productions. He introduced “Dirt,” “speaking of music business associates,” and the crowd just ate it up. For the first time, Lou’s snarls and dry references were revealed as an integral, very natural part of his remarkable creative process.
Though most of the lyrics/poems were necessarily brief (he and Sylvia sorted through all his songs and picked the ones which read the best), Lou did a masterful job reading “Street Hassle,” played to its dramatic climax–that cold verdict of BAD LUCK–with the audience eagerly chiming in. After concluding with several numbers from his newest album, Reed was loudly called back for an encore, and recited “The Gift,” an absurdist melodrama straight out of Alfred Hitchcock Presents, with a spectacular interlude of Yiddishy Yenta dialogue. Roots, Lou.
He left us laughing, which was the biggest surprise of the night.