Lou Reed was one the greatest American artists in any medium. Slate invited me to compile a playlist of 10 of his post-Velvet Underground songs as way for newcomers to sample his 40-year solo catalog. I was honored. You can read that here.
When Rolling Stone reported Lou’s death at the age of 71 yesterday morning — it’s not like I knew him personally, but something about his songwriting, especially on The Blue Mask album from 1982 and everything afterward, makes me feel first-name intimacy with him — I started tweeting my recollections as a longtime admirer. I was introduced to his work and his wry worldview by New York in 1989. I heard the single, “Dirty Blvd.,” on the radio, and I got the CD from the Columbia House mail-order club.
Years later, I took a beach trip to South Carolina for a week with a bunch of friends right after we all graduated from high school. It was my first overnight trip sans adult supervision. I didn’t do any drugs because I just wasn’t interested, but I did buy Reed’s Between Thought and Expression boxed set at a record shop in Charleston during that trip.