Every week, the ŏracult provides you with a definitive guide to the best in international music, with artist profiles, album reviews from our renowned team of music critics. We are inclined to focus lesser known artists or the lesser known elements of mainstream artists. For example, we will give you limitless info on the little known yet incredibly talented Reykjavik Underground Scene, while at the same time looking deeper into various aspect's of Radiohead's older songs. Music, being the most abstract of arts, is certainly the most easily abused. We delve deep into artists who have not limited their artistic freedom in striving to communicate through music.

This week, we focus on the rise of Interpol - the hot new New York City Rock & Roll foursome, and their latest masterpiece - the guitar tapestry that is Turn on the Bright Lights... more

Dear Catastrophe waitress may be different when compared to their earlier works but the morrissey-esque lyrics and charming tunes remain.

A fine day in Glasgow. Feels like it’s all kicking off. I don’t think I’ve ever been so busy with band stuff, but then maybe I’m just kidding myself. The stuff that I’m busy with is stuff that I just make up and then feel a compulsion to do. My overall project just now is akin to Chicken Licken in the nursery story. You remember Chicken Licken? He got a fright or had a small accident or something, and he decided the sky was going to fall on his head, so he went off to find the king. He was a major panic merchant. He alerted the whole countryside to his lunatic raving. But everyone he met was as daft as he was. And, crucially, they all had nutty rhyming couplet names like Licken did, only according to their species. So we had Henny Penny, Cocky Locky, Turkey Lurkey, Goosey Loosey, etc. And each one of them as mad as the little Chicken fellow. They went for his story in a big way, and dropped everything to join the lunatic band.

Ok, my analogy has gone a little far. Now that I got into the story of Chicken Licken I realise that. But there’s a couple of things about the Chicken I like. I like the fact that he’s trying to keep the momentum up. He’s trying to keep the party going. You don’t see his friends complaining much, do you? Fact is, it’s probably the most excitement they’ve seen around the farmyard for quite some time. They’re totally into it. They’re getting a day trip out of it and it’s costing them nothing.

I’ve been taking pictures and knocking about on my bike bumping into one person after the next and drinking tea and trying to get things going. Feeling a little like Chicken Licken, specifically. But one has to be careful. In the end the chicken gets eaten by a fox. I wonder if I’ll reach a foxy end?

Actually, I don’t care because I’ve been having a lot of fun. Glaswegians are nuts to want to leave this town at this time of year, when the city is reaching its most sublime point, where the sandstone and vegetation combine to create one big indie playground. That’s how I found myself describing it to a friend the other night. She admitted to being ‘geeky’ about the town as well. I don’t know why I used ‘indie’ as an adjective here, but then as I mentioned elsewhere, there are moves to keep changing the meaning of that word until it either doesn’t mean anything or it means all things to all people!

And that reminds me, one of the ‘lunatic band’ I bumped into during photographic adventures last week was Jason from V-Twin. Actually I bumped into him a couple of times, once in the caff with V-Twin Donald and Michael, and once when he was walking Fawcett, admittedly the cutest little indie raver of the lot. (Fawcett is a West Highland Terrier.) We got talking about our favourite words. I can’t remember the context, but Jason’s was ‘obsequious’ or ‘meticulous’ or one of those ‘ouses’. (Shit, sorry Jason, I can’t remember which one exactly.) Whatever, you can bet the conversation did nothing to contribute to the GNP of the Glasgow area. There was nothing economy bolstering about that hour and a half. We were just shooting the breeze over expensive coffees just like we’d been doing since ‘93 when I first knew Jason. I don’t see him around so much anymore since he switched cafés.

There is a boring stereotype going around that says that guys don’t talk about stuff. If you get the right combination of people though, you can have a good old chat. It just takes a couple in a group to get it going. And I like Jason because he likes to pull the barriers down anytime anywhere. It can be nine fifteen in the morning at a rainy bus stop and he will be grinning from under his parka hood, talking about girl trouble, band trouble, dog trouble!

Justin Currie from Del Amitri was knocking about the caff. Different era from us lot. It’s funny that we still sit about chattering about people like kids. I should grow up a little. I can’t imagine having a coffee with Justin Currie. Not in this present situation. Well I could, of course. But I’d have to behave myself a little and not talk rubbish. I put him in with the Lloyd Cole brigade, with Edwyn, Horne, Bluebell, Kirk. It’s a different generation! It’d take being drunk at a wedding to really break the ice.

Anyway, Jason said a funny thing. “Del Amitri are really underrated. They really had their moments. ‘Always the Last to Know’. It’s a great song.” Then he proceeded to quote the lyric, like John Gielgud on Radio 4 or something. What was equally disturbing is that Donald was quietly but steadfastly backing him up. I just don’t know where I stand! I had ‘Sense Sickness’ which was like early Orange Juice. That’s about it. What was funny was that Jason said “I mean, you’ve got to hand it to him, he’s a big fucking handsome dude! If I was a girl, I’d bang him!” Ha ha!

My favourite word... actually I have two just now, but one of them would give away my present unhealthy obsession. My favourite word has a Gielgud connection. (Two in one diary!) He used to read the Bible on Radio 4. I mean, right from the start. They had him on for ten minutes everyday reading from Genesis onwards. I like the word ‘creepeth’. It’s one that you would have trouble fitting into everyday conversation. But he just used to roll the ‘r’, and it was good. Back in Genesis, everything and everyone was always creepething around when everything was dark and lush and overhanging, and the snakes talked and you strucketh your brother for the smallest of reasons, and the smallest of smotes would almost always kill! I’ll try and fit that word into the next few diaries. And because you’ve read this you will be in the know. Everyone else will probably think I’ve just lost my head for a minute.

Like I was meant to say something at the John Peel Christmas Party thing that was meant to be a secret signal to my friend Marisa. She gave me a list of words that I had to use so she would know I was signalling her. But I didn’t manage it. I can’t remember the words right now but I remember we did have quite a funny time devising them. It would have been just too unlikely. I would have been wheeled away!

It’s absolutely pouring down outside. “Here comes the juice!” the punters cry. Typical Glasgow Fair Monday. It always rains.

So, like I was saying, my major thing in the last few days was taking pictures. I had the shoot for the front cover of the lp on Friday there, and for the single, on the Tuesday before. And the whole week I was toying with the idea of buying a new camera. Now this was quite a big deal to me. I knew the advantages of having this camera, but to be honest I didn’t know how to work the frigging thing, and even going into the shop to buy the thing was proving an ordeal. I mean, the first time I went into the shop the guy did everything in his power to not sell me the camera. He didn’t even get it out the case! And all the time I’m standing there sweating like a paedophile in a creche! Like I was going to be found out as the non photographer I so clearly am. What the hell would I want with a Hassleblad?

I think I went in there about four times before I actually got the thing. And each time I took a different person to chum me. It must be said, the underground artsy camera set in Glasgow rallied to the cause last week. Stand up Martin, Roxanne, Tris and Ian at the lab. And Marisa of course, though she’s in Boston.

Marisa’s pretty much the perfect subject. She hands you the camera, primed and ready to shoot. Then she strips off and poses meticulously. It was she that opened my eyes to the possiblity of the medium format. Usually I would imagine professionals are sniffy about lending equipment or handing over their tools. But Marisa must just be comfortable in the knowledge that she can do it either side of the lens. And she can, she’s a talented girl.. Sorry, I know I’m being a bit cartoonish here, but being able to pose is a definite skill, and one that I admire all the more because I can’t do it. I’m lucky to be around such photogenic people.

The day I actually bought the thing I was meant to meet an acquaintance of an acquaintance, the aforementioned Tris, so he could give the camera the once over, and talk knowledgable bollocks to take the heat off me. But he stood me up! Later on, his friend Roxanne told me that his aquarium had broken, which is a hot one! I’m going to use that the next time I can’t make it to something. Though I’d never be able to not giggle. It was true though, his aquarium had broken, threatening both flat and guppy. He came along to the shoot on Friday to make up for it, and for a bit of moral and technical support. As it turns out, everyone that I had spoken to the previous week turned up, so there was an embarrassing surfeit of the knowledgable and the artsy. Thank God we got some beers in. I felt a little self conscious as I ponced about on top of a table, ordering the group around. They were very, very good.

Trouble with Glasgow at this time of year is that you never know how many layers to put on when you leave the house. Now, I’ve had to become a layer expert over the years on account of my eskimo blood. And in Glasgow the sun can go in and the wind can blow up in minutes. And you can go from one to four layers accordingly. At least I can. Why can I already anticipate my own kids taking the piss out of me? Imagine I raise a real bruiser who has just no sympathy whatsoever? I would have nowhere to hide.

Well this particular sensitivity has even put the strain on that most tolerable of friendships, that between a boy and his best friend. Even Ciara feigned to lose patience with me this one particular incident. I had gone into town, it had been a little overcast. But the sun came out and showed no sign of going back in and I felt a little ripped off that I should have to lug my jacket around all day while I did my indie errands. So I went to the post office and bought a sheet of brown paper and posted my jacket home. That was a few years ago now though, and I was less robust than you thankfully find me today.

It was a beautiful three button jacket of my dad’s that I posted. I subsequently lost that jacket, and of all the things over the years I have lost it is the one I have come to miss the most. Such a perfect item, I’ve never seen its like since, though I have searched. And all the more annoying that it should have been my dads. I left it in a football changing room. It disappeared instantly. It’s definitely in my Top 5 items of clothing of all time. Now even I might hesitate to list that list in this diary as that would surely put a strain on your readership. Maybe we can swap Top 5’s and the stories they contain? That way I wouldn’t feel so bad about talking about something which can’t possibly have any interest to anyone but me. Ok, tell you what, send me your Top 5’s and a few lines on each if you are so moved.

I just came back to the house to have a little lunch and there’s a package here from Bob, who’s making a little film that I’m helping with. He’s sent me a Felt dvd called ‘A Declaration’. This to me is very interesting. It’s almost too much to take. Lawrence looks so good, it’s too much, it’s like a dream. I can’t believe this band ever existed. They’re so perfect. Fuck the Smiths, fuck Orange Juice, Felt, FELT, FELT!! I have to stop watching. I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack today. They just take me to a different place. “I wasn’t fooling when I said. All the people I like are those that are dead”. The dvd’s shit quality by the way, so don’t go there unless you can join the dots for yourself.

Larkin, Cohen, Lawrence and Moz. The rest of you boys can leave your quills in your tunics.

Oh, no, I’m in the park and I’m being checked out by a baldy headed guy. I must be in the pick up zone. Serves me right for saying how beautiful Lawrence is. C’mon, you know what I meant. I’m a bit nervous actually. What if he tries to wrench the laptop from me? Why do I never get propositioned by women? I suppose it’s a law of nature. It would make life too easy, huh? Like, what is the point of feedback? Why can’t we just make everything louder without the squeals? Like, what is the point of depth of field? Why can’t the lens just capture everything flat, no matter how dark it is? But then we wouldn’t strive. Digital has made a lot of things easy, but then without having to strive, the art has become worse. Apart from the art that is digital to the core. Like computer games and such. Am I wrong?

So I rambled on to the steps to Park Circus, and on the way I bump into Allen, our drum tech, and his two mates, Robin and Edgy. They are in exactly the same spot as I saw them in the last time I was in the park a few days ago. They realise this and are a bit bashful as I approach.

They laugh. They are perched on the edge of the fountain. They had just been to the transport museum, but they were disappointed the man wouldn’t let them get in the cars and blow the horns. The subject moves round to ‘The Two Towers”.

“I mean, what were the Two Towers anyway? In the film it makes out they were Saruman’s bit and Sauron’s bit. I always thought it was meant to be Minas Tirith and Minas Morgul.”

I kind of agree with him. That would make the most poetic sense. There are four towers to choose from though. Orthanc, Morgul, Tirith and Barad-Dur.

They are twelve ways you can pick two towers from four, right? Pick one from four then one from three remaining. Three times four is twelve... I got to get out more. But I am out! Maybe I’ve got to stay in.

Allen is one of the gang I was talking about earlier. He was helping me with both the pictures. We were in the same spot last Tuesday, the bandstand, where the baldy guy was trying to pick me up. Me and Allen, and Katrina, Roxanne, Hannah and Bob, who were all modelling. Bob was wandering about in a straw hat smoking a rollie. Allen motioned towards him, and says to me:

And it’s true. He just walks this land. Which reminds me, I was going to try and talk a bit about the other dudes in the group for a while, but I’m going to go and make dinner for a friend, so it will have to wait.

Antwerp based avant-grunge, whatever that means. dEUS are the first Belgian indie act to sign to a major international label. oracult will be looking deeper into this band and will be bringing you the latest. Try the singles Suds & Soda as well as Via and Put the Freaks up Front. Here's a bio we found..

Formed in Antwerp, Belgium, in the early 90s, eclectic alternative rock band dEUS originally comprised Tom Barman (b. 1 January 1972; vocals, guitar), Stef Kamil Carlens (bass), Julle De Borgher (drums), Klaas Janzoons (violin) and Rudy Trouvé (b. 31 July 1967; guitar). Barman only really became interested in music in his late teens when he discovered the Velvet Underground and Violent Femmes. The first incarnation of dEUS, indeed, specialized in cover versions of those groups' material. Their earliest performances were at the Music Box in Antwerp, a regular haunt of actors, musicians and artists, from whom the band subsequently took much of its bohemian bent. At this time Barman had been joined by Carlens and the duo embarked on writing songs together. One of their first demos reached the finals of the domestic RockRally competition and afterwards they set out on an ill-fated tour. On their return to Antwerp they recruited De Borgher (previously their van driver), established painter Trouvé (the band's only "real" musician) and Janzoons to cement the line-up.
Sharing a mutual affection for the works of Captain Beefheart and Tom Waits, as well as jazz musicians including John Coltrane, the band set about writing a wide-ranging set of songs that zigzagged between a number of musical traditions.

The first single to achieve widespread recognition was "Suds And Soda", which was followed by the similarly bracing "Via". Signed to Island Records, the band embarked on work on their debut album, the well-received and stylistically diverse Worst Case Scenario. However, touring to promote it was delayed when De Borgher broke his ankle in Berlin. Instead, the band members concentrated on their array of solo and collaborative projects (Barman in General Electric, Carlens in Moondog Jnr., and Carlens and Trouvé in Kiss My Jazz). In the interim, dEUS issued a mail-order-only album, titled My Sister = My Clock. Trouvé and Carlens subsequently departed, although both have continued to collaborate with the band. Danny Mommens (b. 20 April 1973; bass) and Craig Ward (guitar) were brought in as replacements. In A Bar, Under The Sea opened with what initially sounded like a reworking of the Velvet Underground's "The Murder Mystery". Other tracks (such as "Gimme The Heat') hinted at Smiley Smile-period Beach Boys, yet these influences failed to detract from the startling originality of dEUS" sound. The band returned in 1999 with The Ideal Crash, another superbly imaginative collection which suffered from poor promotion as Island was in the process of being swallowed up by the Universal group.

Guitarist Tim Vanhamel, who had already toured with the band, replaced Ward early the following year.

Guitar-woven tapestries of sound come a dime a dozen and end up, more often than not, hanging lifelessly in the air. My Bloody Valentine's churning guitars emulate the warm fluidity of cellos, creating limpid membranes of sound driven by undulating, visceral rhythms. Since their inception, they've spawned a myriad of languid imitators, none of whom have ever achieved such a lulling din.

This album is the result of nearly three years of meticulous toil, thanks to Kevin Shields' notorious perfectionism, and remains one of the decade's most influential albums. Stereolab has surely benefited from Butcher's ghostly vocal stylings and "Loomers'" vast swath of tape loops.

The wavy "To Here Knows When" rivals any of Dinosaur Jr.'s hazier concoctions, and though O'Ciosoig's drumming is often relegated to the gullies of Loveless, he emerges adamantly on this track, refusing to be enveloped by the overpowering hum. The band rely heavily on wispy leitmotifs, threading them deftly through seemingly impenatrable layers of guitar, and on "Touched" and "When You Sleep," these sampled themes divulge Shields' familiarity with Fripp and Eno's ambient recordings of the late 70's.

Long live Bertrand Cantat - a true poet. Check out the album Des Visage des Figures. A full review of some of their earlier work coming up soon.

( ) comprises eight untitled songs which sigur rós have been playing at concerts in the past 2-3 years. a 30 second period of silence divides the 71 minute album in two halves, each half containing four tracks. the first half is light and optimistic while the second half is bleaker and more melancholic, "plays more with your emotions", as jónsi worded it. there is some experimentation of instruments in the first half of the album, with some sampling of jónsi's voice and more emphasis on keyboard than guitar (drummer orri plays keyboard on tracks 1 and 3). there is more of the typical guitar, bass and drums line-up on the second half, jónsi bowing guitar as usually.

comparing ( ) to the band's last album, ágætis byrjun, it can be described as more minimalistic and atmospheric than its predessessor. it's a rawer and darker album and considerably less accessible than ágætis byrjun; drum beats are usually slow (tracks 1 and 3 are drum-free) and the songs take their time to progress into the trademark sigur rós emotional climaxes, making for a more challenging but more rewarding listen. with its intense highs and lows and its mood ranging from brittle to brutal, ( ) is very much a headphone album.

the album's entire packaging is completely free of text and markings. you won't find album credits or tracklistings anywhere on the album. the only thing representing the album is jónsi's handwriting of "sigur rós" on the front cover and a symbol cut out in the slipcase most accurately described as a pair of parentheses, or two semi-circles. the symbol can be interpreted as either an emphasis on the album's untitled (the listener is free to make up his/her own title since there is essentially none) or an emphasis on the division of the album, the two semi-circles symbolizing the album's two halves. or maybe it doesn't "mean" anything. every listener is of course free to make up their own mind.

there are no lyrics on the album. jónsi sings in the made-up "language" which the band calls hopelandic. this is of course not really a language in that sense, since it is essentially just babbling vocals that fit with the music, like another instrument. since there are no lyrics, the listener is invited to write in or illustrate his/her own interpretations of the songs onto the blank pages in the album's 12-page booklet. sigur-ros.com featured an interactive option where fans could send in their own lyrics and a computer program recognized the most common words and phrases to form the actual lyrics.

artwork on the album (which is basically just the image inside the parentheses and the spreads in the booklet) is based on photographs the band took outside their studio in álafoss, which they have manipulated and distorted to their liking. the images are close-ups of natural elements such as grass, bushes and ponds. four different versions of the album's packaging will be distributed around the world, one in each of the following regions of the world: Europe, America, Australia and Japan. Iceland won't have its own special packaging but all four versions will be available to buy there. there are different images inside the brackets for each region and the spreads will also differ.

( ) is the first sigur rós album which was recorded in the band's converted swimming pool studio in álafoss, mosfellsbær (a small rural town located near reykjavík). the band calls this studio 'sundlaugin', or 'the pool', and the studio has its own website up on sundlaugin.com. the album was produced by sigur rós and engineered by ken thomas, who was also their engineer on ágætis byrjun. on the majority of the album the band is accompanied by the string quartet amina, which comprises four icelandic young women [you can read more about amina here]. ( ) was mixed at peter gabriel's real world studios and mastered at abbey road studios.

quotes from the band about the album (taken from various interviews 2001 & 2002)

"we didn't want to put titles on the record just because there are supposed to be titles on the record. besides, when i refer songs to my friends i always say "check out track 5", or whatever." (kjartan)

"i think it's nice to have no titles on the record, it's just the music. but it will be interesting to see how it goes, it's probably going to be difficult for the radio people. nothing to hold on to, just music." (jónsi)

"the production on ( ) is a lot less polished than on ágætis byrjun. the sound is much more bare and alive and there are far fewer little slick things and much less sweet stuff. i think playing the songs a lot at concerts and then recording them hasn't been a very thrilling experience for us. next time we'll record the songs as we make them. try to keep them fresh for us." (jónsi)

"i think when people listen to our music they take us as really serious persons, they put us in that "composers" and "artistes" league, which is crap. we make fart jokes all the time you know, we are not very serious people. when we make music there is nothing behind it, there is no concept at all." (kjartan)

"we feel this album is a progress from the other album. we didn't *try* to develop of course, it just happens. it's difficult for us to explain how or why progress is made because we never think about what we're doing when we make music and we never analyze or discuss our music among us." (kjartan)

"we took 2 weeks to record the strings for ( ) but we had to do them in 2 days when we did ágætis byrjun. we used people from the Icelandic symphony orchestra for ágætis and they had to have everything written out note by note. this time we used the girls that have been touring with us and just let them "jam" in the studio until everybody was happy." (jónsi)

"the recording process was faster on ágætis byrjun, for example we did the bass and drums in only one weekend. this time we spent more time looking for the right sound and mood. the songs have become really old now and we've played them so many times so it was a bit difficult to get in the right gear to start recording them." (jónsi)

"we don't care about the media's expectations of this album, we just did this album like we wanted it to be and that's it. we're confident it's a good album. aren't follow-up albums always criticized anyway?" (georg)

"the only expectations we have to deal with for this album are our own. we never think about things like the expectations other people have towards us. we released a good album last time and we did even better this time." (jónsi)

"it's pretty fun confusing people with having no titles on this album. the listener just names the song based on what he or she hears. we of course have our own names for the songs but we probably interpret them in a different way than other people." (jónsi)

"we really loved the responses to ágætis byrjun we received from foreigners. we got all kinds of interpretations from people who didn't understand Icelandic and thought we were saying other things and it turned out these people were interpreting the songs based on their own lives and atmospheres, which was very precious for us. this is partly the reason why we decided to give people the chance to write their own lyrics in the booklet." (jónsi)

"i think our music is really simple, a little bit naïve. we like to kind of look at different areas, explore things, just like children do." (jónsi)

"the booklet in ( ) is empty so people can write down or draw their interpretations of it. it's a kind of "human experience". everyone has their own opinions and when people buy the album it's kind of unfinished so people have to finish it themselves. it's not the singer telling stories, it's sort of a soundtrack for each person's life. so they can write lyrics for their own lives." (jónsi)

below are are the titles the band has for the otherwise officially untitled songs themselves. they need something to write on the set list, don't they? :)

untitled 1 - vaka (the name of orri's daughter)
untitled 2 - fyrsta (the first song)
untitled 3 - samskeyti (attachment)
untitled 4 - njósnavélin (the spy machine)
untitled 5 - álafoss (the location of the band's studio)
untitled 6 - e-bow [georg uses an e-bow on his bass in this song]
untitled 7 - dauðalagið (the death song)
untitled 8 - popplagið (the pop song)

We also take a look at the latest in Japanese Nu-Jazz and the amazing music of Gnu.

I gave up speaking to journalists. They are a species of foul vermin.
- Lou Reed

Thanks, Lou. We love you too.

We loves you when you’re good. We loves you when you’re bad.

We love you when you trash other rock icons as you do in the following statement: “Dylan gets on my nerves. If you were at a party with him, I think you’d tell him to shut up.”

And we love you when, some 20 years later, you do an about face and say that you “always go out and get the latest Dylan album. [He] can turn a phrase, man.”

VU and Beyond

But what we really love about Lou Reed is the amazing breadth of his work. Co-founder and main creative force behind the legendary Velvet Underground, Reed has managed to defy all odds during his protracted career. Just surviving through an upbringing that included electric-shock therapy, and a rise to fame that included addictions to heroin and alcohol, are impressive feats by themselves. But, moreover, Reed has managed to retain his creative spark, reaching new heights in his popularity in recent years.

In the Velvet Underground, Reed scored with such classics as “Sweet Jane,” “Heroin,” “White Light/White Heat,” “Waiting for the Man” and “Rock n’ Roll.” Later, as a solo artist, he penned “Walk on the Wild Side,” his biggest hit to date.

The Old Lou

Born in Brooklyn on March 2, 1942, Reed co-founded the Velvet Underground with John Cale in the mid-sixties. The band’s first album -- with the famous banana peel cover -- was designed and supposedly produced by Andy Warhol, although it’s generally assumed that Warhol’s production duties on the record were somewhat limited. Although the Velvets never attained superstar status, they remain one of the most influential bands on rock music today.

It is during this earlier period in Reed’s career that he delivered the lion’s share of his barbed-tongued statements. One classic diatribe was aimed at the Bay-area rock movement which had been rapidly gaining momentum during the late sixties. “People like Jefferson Airplane, Grateful Dead,” he said, “are the most untalented bores that ever came up. Just look at them physically. I mean, can you take Grace Slick seriously?”

About his entourage, Reed commented, “Who can you talk to on the road? Long-haired dirty drug people wherever you look. The boy passes over a bag of green powder and passes out. Don’t take that, it has horse tranquilizer in it. Oh, I shot up to your song. Oh, please bless me and touch me and make it all go away.”

The New Lou

But the years have mellowed Lou Reed as they do even the hardest members of the human race. He now seems light years from the caustic persona characterized by the aforementioned quotes.

The new Lou has managed to cultivate the look and locution of a serious academic, as far as it is possible when one is a working rock star. He has a continuing friendship with Czech leader Vaclav Havel and often devotes his energies to humanitarian causes such as Amnesty International. Reed has found his way into literary circles, having had a book of his lyrics, Between Thought and Expression, published a few years back and quite recently contributing an article to the New Yorker, in which he pretty much chronicles the back problems of an aging rock star.

Reed has surprised many by making it through to the other side alive after reigning so high for so long on the top of the next-rock-star-to-go list. “They wanted me to OD,” he claims. “They even expected me to do it with my own dope.”

But Lou Reed has not gone gently into that good night. Instead, he remains a creative force to be reckoned with, currently enjoying perhaps the highest level of popularity and recognition in his career. He is embraced by critics and fans alike and, with the help of an Olympic trainer, is showing great signs of improvement with his back-related problems. By the way, Lou’s real name is Louis Butch Firbank -- just thought you might like to know.

b. Lewis Allen Reed (also Firbank), 2 March 1942, Freeport, Long Island, New York, USA. A member of several high-school bands, Reed made his recording debut with the Shades in 1957. Their "So Blue" enjoyed brief notoriety when played by influential disc jockey Murray The K, but was lost in the multitude of independent singles released in this period. Having graduated from Syracuse University, Reed took a job as a contract songwriter with Pickwick Records, which specialized in cash-in, exploitative recordings. His many compositions from this era included "The Ostrich" (1965), a tongue-in-cheek dance song that so impressed the label hierarchy that Reed formed the Primitives to promote it as a single. The band also included a recent acquaintance, John Cale, thus sowing the early seeds of the Velvet Underground. Reed led this outstanding unit between 1966 and 1970, contributing almost all of the material and shaping its ultimate direction. His songs, for the most part, drew on the incisive discipline of R&B, while pointed lyrics displayed an acerbic view of contemporary urban life.
Reed's departure left a creative vacuum within the band, yet he too seemed drained of inspiration following the break. He sought employment outside of music and two years passed before Lou Reed was released.

Recorded in London with UK musicians, including Steve Howe and Rick Wakeman from Yes, the set boasted some excellent songs - several of which were intended for the Velvet Underground - but was marred by an indistinct production. Nonetheless, an attendant UK tour with the Tots, a group of New York teenagers, was an artistic success. David Bowie, a long-time Velvet Underground aficionado, oversaw Transformer, which captured a prevailing mood of decadence. Although uneven, it included the classic "Walk On The Wild Side", a homage to transsexuals and social misfits drawn to artist and film-maker Andy Warhol. This explicit song became a surprise hit, reaching the UK Top 10 and US Top 20 in 1973, but Reed refused to become trapped by the temporary nature of the genre and returned to the dark side of his talents with Berlin. By steering a course through sado-masochism, attempted suicide and nihilism, the artist expunged his new found commerciality and challenged his audience in a way few contemporaries dared. Yet this period was blighted by self-parody, and while a crack back-up band built around guitarists Dick Wagner and Steve Hunter provided undoubted muscle on the live Rock n Roll Animal, Sally Can't Dance showed an artist bereft of direction and purpose.

Having sanctioned a second in-concert set, Reed released the stark Metal Machine Music, an electronic, atonal work spaced over a double album. Savaged by critics upon release, its ill-synchronized oscillations have since been lauded by elitist sections of the avant garde fraternity, while others view its release as a work of mischief in which Reed displayed the ultimate riposte to careerist convention. It was followed by the sedate Coney Island Baby, Reed's softest, simplest collection to date, the inherent charm of which was diluted on Rock 'N' Roll Heart, a careless, inconsequential collection that marked an artistic nadir. However, its successor, Street Hassle, displayed a rejuvenated power, resuming the singer's empathy with New York's subcultures. The title track, later revived by Simple Minds, was undeniably impressive, while "Dirt" and "I Wanna Be Black" revealed a wryness missing from much of the artist's solo work. Although subsequent releases, The Bells and Growing Up in Public, failed to scale similar heights, they offered a new-found sense of maturity.
Reed entered the 80s a stronger, more incisive performer, buoyed by a fruitful association with guitarist Bob Quine, formerly of Richard Hell's Voidoids. The Blue Mask was another purposeful collection and set a pattern for the punchy, concise material found on Legendary Hearts and Mistrial.

However, despite the promise these selections offered, few commentators were prepared for the artistic rebirth found on 1989"s New York. Here the sound was stripped to the bone, accentuating the rhythmic pulse of compositions that focused on the seedy low-life that Reed excels in chronicling. His lyrics, alternately pessimistic or cynical, reasserted the fire of his best work as the artist regained the power to paint moribund pictures that neither ask, nor receive, pity. New York was a splendid return to form and created considerable interest in his back-catalogue. The following year's Songs For "Drella was a haunting epitaph for Andy Warhol on which Reed collaborated with John Cale, and the downbeat mood carried over to the superb Magic And Loss, an album inspired by the death of legendary songwriter Doc Pomus. Both albums demonstrated another facet of the dramatic regeneration that had placed this immensely talented artist back at rock's cutting edge.
In 1993, Reed joined together with his legendary colleagues for a high-profile Velvet Underground reunion. Although it was short-lived (rumours of an old feud with Cale resurfacing abounded), Reed had the benefit of being able to fall back on his solo work. Set The Twilight Reeling saw Reed in a remarkably light-hearted mood, perhaps inspired by a romantic partnership with Laurie Anderson, although he was still capable of causing controversy with the satirical "Sex With Your Parents (Motherfucker)".

Anderson also appeared as one of several guest singers on a cover version of Reed's "Perfect Day", released in 1997 to promote BBC Radio and Television. Perfect Night documented a 1996 concert at London's Royal Festival Hall. Ecstasy received some favourable reviews, although the ultimate result was a patchy album, very good in places ("Paranoia Key Of E", "Baton Rouge") and poor in others, notably the 18-minute-plus "Like A Possum". His first new recording of the 21st century, a sprawling multi-media epic inspired by the work of 19th century horror writer Edgar Allen Poe, drew an equally mixed response.
Reed's future work will always be scrutinized and chewed over by rock critics, young and old; he is, after all, one of the most important rock poets of the modern age. His influence is immense and his capacity to surprise remains just around the corner.