Re: OT: Lou Reed BERLIN
Date: June 11, 2008 00:04
July is correct and it does sound like it won't be a straight concert film -- more info here:
From The Sunday Times
June 8, 2008
Lou Reed: Waiting for the man
Lou Reed's live version of Berlin, now a film, is hailed as his masterpiece. So, is he any easier to interview? Not really...
To anybody unfamiliar with the stratagems that Lou Reed regularly adopts to unsettle journalists, the scene unfolding in this chic Greenwich Village restaurant would seem pretty weird. Even I, a veteran of four previous encounters with one of rock's most truculent interviewees - and hence no stranger to his bleak stares, sudden interruptions and blank refusals to answer this or that - am confused.
We were scheduled to meet at 12.30 to talk, over lunch, about Lou Reed's Berlin, a concert movie directed by his friend, the artist and film director Julian Schnabel, which opens in UK art-house cinemas in July. After various phone messages to the effect that "Lou is running late", at 3 o'clock a middle-aged stranger walks up to my table, introduces himself as Reed's manager and leads me over to another table on the terrace outside, where he and his client are tucking into their tagliatelle starters. Reed looks up briefly, mumbles something and resumes his conversation with the manager.
Perched beside them, cradling the glass of mineral water that has kept me company for the past 2½ hours, I soon realise that there will be no lunch for me today, and possibly no proper interview, either. What is the old goat playing at?
It's not as if the press, or anybody else, has been giving him a hard time recently. The reviews for his sellout tour last summer, when he performed his 1973 song cycle Berlin in its entirety for the first time, were unanimously glowing. The story of junkie Caroline's grisly relationship with Jim, told with the help of a 25-piece orchestra and a children's choir, was hailed as "one of the most chilling but absorbing shows in rock history".
Reed's status as rock royalty has been honoured since by an appearance in March as a keynote speaker at America's hottest music event, the South by Southwest festival, at which he also joined Moby on stage for a dance update of Walk on the Wild Side. In the same month, his friends at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame invited him back to induct Leonard Cohen. Then, in April, he got another big thumbs up when his companion of the past 10 years, Laurie Anderson, became the third Mrs Reed in a private ceremony in Boulder, Colorado.
At 66, Reed looks better now than he did for most of his middle years. His bad-hair decade, the 1990s, during which he persisted with a dyed black mullet, is behind him. He is now back with a greyer version of the tousled mop he wore in his Velvet Underground days. He has long since kicked all of his bad habits, smoking being the last to go, in 2001; and, thanks to his exercise programmes, tai-chi work-outs and fastidious eating habits, his lean, slight figure means he can just about get away with the teenage gear he is wearing today – a noisy ensemble of baggy, brilliant-white tracksuit bottoms, orange and green trainers and a khaki windcheater.
Reed has now finished his starter and, hallelujah, the manager signals that an interview can proceed. The first 10 minutes pass uneventfully, as Reed explains how the collaboration with Schnabel came about. "We've known each other for 15 or 20 years, and he now lives across the street from me. Julian's always loved Berlin, and talked about wanting to make a movie movie, not a concert, because I think he saw the story intertwining with his life in some way. But nothing came of that."
When a plan to perform Berlin at a former church, St Ann's Warehouse, Brooklyn, took shape in 2006, Reed asked Schnabel to design the sets and film the event. Schnabel, who at this point was in Paris directing The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, agreed: "He said, 'One way or the other, I'll get this done.'" Schnabel flew back to New York and invited Reed over to his studio. "He'd hung these couches and Chinese prints from the 24ft ceiling and dripped resin over them. It was perfect. He'd got the look of Caroline's hotel, with the greenish walls and the bathroom down the hall." Schnabel's other big contribution was to project filmed images of Caroline - played by Emmanuelle Seigner, the actress and wife of Roman Polanski, who stars in The Diving Bell - across the back of the stage. "She more than fulfils how Caroline should look and act," Reed says. "She just has 'trouble' tattooed across her forehead."
He certainly knows a thing or two about that. No sooner has Reed started to recall the conversations he has had over the years with Bob Ezrin - Berlin's producer and arranger, who originally suggested that he weave the songs into "a film for the ear" - than another, more painful memory barges in. He fixes me with a fierce stare. "Did you write that review of The Raven [Reed's last studio album, from 2003] which said, 'Don't quit your day job'?" He stares down my startled denial. "I remember these things. I don't mean to, but people send me this stuff. It's like your great-aunt just loves to see your name in the paper. But anyway ... Look at that!"
Reed has just spotted a new Mini Cooper driving past the restaurant. "They're really fun to drive, but you don't wanna be in one for more than an hour. You can't see out the back and you can't move." Cue another scenic detour, in which Reed reminisces fondly about his biker days, and in particular a trip to Australia with a group of fellow Harley-Davidson enthusiasts in the 1980s. He gave up motorcycling, he says, after breaking his fingers in a crash two weeks before going on tour to promote his 1984 album New Sensations: "That was stupid stuff. They had to set my fingers so I could strum." Reed says he hasn't owned any vehicles since 1992, when he moved back to Manhattan after his second wife, Sylvia Morales, took the car and his three motorcycles as part of their divorce settlement. He then tells a rather old-fashioned joke about a man who turns up in hell after his death, but resists all of the devil's attempts to frighten him. "The devil says, 'Why aren't you scared?' And the guy says, 'I've been married twice!'"
It's highly unusual for Reed to allude in interviews to his private life, and, sensing an opportunity to get the interview back on track, I interrupt his enjoyment of his fish dish to ask whether the character of Caroline might have been based on a real person? (The attempted suicide of Reed's first wife, Betty Kronstadt, in 1973, has often been cited as the inspiration for the gruesome finale of Berlin.)
"Why would I tell you?" Reed shoots back, stony-faced. "It's just writing. I really love acting, and, if I could have, I would have done that, but I do it in my songs instead. I write monologues for myself. Nobody else will, so I do. I've had a lot of bad luck. There are maybe seven women who make up Caroline. But these 'Did it really happen?' questions really don't interest me. That's what everybody kept asking me when I did a Q&A at South by Southwest. I got off a couple of one-liners, like, 'I've got a BA in dope, but a PhD in soul.' I'm good at those. Nowadays, they call them soundbites." Reed pauses, then produces another of his eccentric non sequiturs. "Very few people ask me anything any more. I'm kind of out of fashion."
Nothing could be further from the truth, of course. Reed is as highly, and widely, revered now as he has ever been. Hip young bands such as Killers and the Raconteurs have recently invited him into the studio to record with them. The avant-garde German string ensemble Zeitkratzer has transcribed and rerecorded his 1975 feedback opus, Metal Machine Music. Berlin has spawned one of the most successful tours of his career and, now, his first big-screen movie. And, in the week I meet him, the New York edition of Time Out is, yet again, celebrating the Velvet Underground as the city's most important rock band of all time.
As the manager announces that Lou has to leave for an important meeting on the roof of his apartment building, with his tai-chi instructor, I ask Reed whether the murky content of his most famous songs feels different to him now that he has banished murk from all areas of his life?
"That's complicated," he says. "I don't know that the context makes much of a difference. I like the undercurrents running through them." Reed has baited the hook, and, like a sucker, I duly ask how would he describe these undercurrents? "I wouldn't."
Lou Reed performs Berlin in the UK this month. Dates include Edinburgh Playhouse (June 25), Nottingham Royal Centre (26) and Albert Hall, SW7 (30). The film Lou Reed's Berlin opens nationwide on July 25