"He's never early, he's always late.
One thing is certain, you always have to wait
I'm waiting for my man....."

Waiting for the man, Lou Reed, in his office in downtown Manhattan, is a bit like waiting for the dentist. You're not going to back out now, but it probably is going to be painful.

For one thing, he has a professed loathing for journalists. "Show me a critic and I'll show you an asshole. They are the vermin of the century."

Lou is perfectly capable of getting through an entire interview giving only monosyllabic answers. That's if he doesn't swear at you, or just walk out. The only thing Reed does seem to like to talk about - at mindnumbing length - is the technical details of recording technique.

So why bother? Because Reed has written some wonderful songs --- and poetry as well. Since the 1980's he is also a quiet, but influential member of Alcoholics Anonymous.

In Reed's office, he is eating Japanese takeaway. Although I'm expecting it, it is still unnerving when he goes into his monosyllabic schtick. The only real answer I get from the first five questions is when I ask him about the title of of the collection New York Man. "You mean you can't imagine anyone doing an album called London Man?" Not really, no. "Well, you gotta admit it's better than Akron Man."

Why does he find interviews such an imposition? "Maybe when the internet's better I won't have to. You have a new record out, you want people to know about it." Then he drawls, "I enjoy talking about music."

"What kind of barbaric age are you talking about?" Lewis continues, "You are missing the point. Even if most people are deaf. That's like saying why spend time with the lighting for the camera, Marty? What's the big, fucking, deal?"

Does he actually like making music? "Coming up with the idea. That's not the bitch. Unless you can't do it. Everything else is the bitch."

We talk about the music business and he says, "People here argue about which is more disgusting - the movie business or the music business. Just depends which way you would rather be raped and pillaged."

"You thought you'd make money?" he wonders. "How sweet. How cute of you."

I try a high-risk question. "You realise that if you had overdosed on all the drugs you took in the '70s," I suggest, "it would have been a great career move."

"Yeah, think of the number of records I'd have sold. I'd be a legend. Thank you very much." He tells me he's fit now, he's given up drinking and smoking and all the grief in Pennsylvania.

Another pause. "I don't give a shit. I've always done what interests me. I wanted to combine Edgar Burroughs and Allen Ginsberg with rock. I mean, here was this great music with not much going on lyrically, and here's a book like Last Exit To Brooklyn. You'd have to be retarded not to see the possibilities. I'm amazed," he says, "that I pretty much still have the field to myself."

Lou Reed was born on March 2, 1942 on Long Island, lived as a teenager in New York City, and studied English literature at Syracuse University with the the great poet Delmore Schwartz, author of In Dreams Begin Responsibilities. There Lewis Allen Reed joined Reserve Officer Training Corps.



His 1960's mentors were Andy Warhol and Jean-Paul Belomondo. How important was Warhol for you, I ask. "My God, what luck was that - of all the people to adopt you as his band. It was fantastic. He did it all - we played the same music we had been fired for and beaten up elsewhere. The first week he projected films onto us and we wore black: that was the first multimedia show. People hated him, but now he's dead, he's maybe the greatest American artist."

Thanks, Lewis, for caring. So, Lou, you're now a poet? "Well," he says, "a few of my friends are people, actually".

Last updated 28 May 2004