For years, i’ve gravitated around people who loved music. I got given mix tapes, then CDs, then USB sticks full of musical finds. For some reason, I never felt confident enough to make and give one myself.
So for my birthday, I made a playlist. The broadcasting was a failure – Twitsfm had hiccups, and i didn’t do what it takes to stream the list in time. I might stream it here at some point if i get round to it, maybe.
But anyway, the good side of such an exercise is that you rummage through your mp3’s, and sometimes you find forgotten gems. A friend introduced me to Lou Reed a long time ago (as well as to other important singer-songwriters, like Bob Dylan and others).
This one strikes me as a little bit of perfection: the grating violins, the slow, languorous pace, and the lyrics:
Pure poetry, you must admit (apparently it’s based on a book).
Just to be clear, I’m not into what he describes, myself. But you can imagine Lou Reed, and the Warhol crowd he was part of in the 70s, consciously pushing decadence back as far as it would go. Until they’d tried everything, and they became so blasé that heroin was the only thing that kept them interested.
Lou Reed later kicked the habit, and is still touring, but only for small-scale and sometimes very expensive shows.
It’s been a while since i’ve been to a (pop/rock) concert, so last night I jumped on the occasion to go and see
Ghent jazz festival last night, and i’m not at my freshest.