Lou Reed – Transformer review

Secret Meeting score: 96

by Philip Moss and Joseph Purcell

In 1972, Lou Reed found himself at a crossroads. Two years earlier he’d walked away from one of the seminal art rock bands of all time, the Velvet Underground and was now on the back of heavy public and commercial criticism for the monumental flop of his self titled debut solo album- a collection of VU outtakes (and stuff which didn’t make the grade) which lacked the thematic brilliance of his best work.

However, in Britain a new phenomenon had taken over: glam rock. A movement which took elements of punk’s rebellious nature, but added sequins and androgyny. A movement which also heavily leant on the Velvet Underground’s influence, and where his protégés were proud to hail his influence.

Along with Marc Bolan of T Rex, perhaps the most outspoken in his love for Reed was David Bowie who was at the peak of his powers having just released The Rise And Fall of Ziggy Stardust. Bowie had even included the Reed penned VU song, White Light/White Heat throughout the Ziggy tour. So when Reed reached out to Bowie to help form his new direction, Bowie – along with Ziggy’s sidekick/guitarist, Mick Ronson – took up the production reigns for possibly the most successful record of Reed’s entire career, Transformer. In many ways, this was a brave move from Reed considering it was over five years before Bowie would take up production on the commercially successful Lust For Life project with Iggy Pop, and at this point had no production credits beyond the co-producer work he’d carried out on his own records.

Despite being intrinsically linked to New York in every way, with its incredible culture and tapestry of individuals from all walks of life at the record’s heart, the album was ironically recorded at Trident Studios, London at Bowie’s request, following sessions on his own records, Hunky Dory and Ziggy Stardust taking place there.

Before even listening to the album, Mick Rock and Ernst Thormaheln’s cover art is one of the iconic record sleeves – depicting Reed as a demon or, as Rolling Stone coined, ‘an effeminate Frankenstein’s monster’ and hints at the essential music within. Yet in contrast to the black and white image of Reed that adorns the sleeve, the characters Reed describes are in vivid technicolour. None more so than Transformer’s opener, Vicious, which introduces itself with a pugnacious riff of razor sharp guitars which cut through the traditionally scuzzy feedback that was such an allure in many of Velvet Underground’s greatest works. The song is also the first of a number throughout the record to touch upon the playful bisexual lifestyle Reed was flirting with at the time – ‘When I see you come, baby I just wanna run… You must think that I’m some kind of gay blade.’ Reed also told Rolling Stone that the song’s origins date back to his days with the Velvet Underground, and that the song was influenced by picking up bits and pieces from those around him- crediting one of New York’s other creative forces of the time (and producer of the Velvet Underground’s debut), Andy Warhol. Describing a conversation with Warhol, Reed commented that Warhol had, in typical Warhol style, asked ‘Why don’t you write a song called vicious? You know, vicious like I hit you with a flower!’ It is a fantastic scene setter that acclimatises the listener with its juxtaposing imagery from the opening moments.

Andy’s Chest begins with almost hushed delivery- ‘If I could be anything in the world that flew, I would be a bat and come swooping after you’, continuing the beautifully emotive yet gobbledygook lyrics of Vicious– taking us on an acid trip with him. As the song reaches its crescendo, Reed’s voice is at its finest, with a power that intertwines with the music along with the continually unfathomable lyrics, ‘And bats, that with a kiss turn prince for you’. As the song peaks it bursts into an all-out glam pop groove, ‘Swoop, swoop- oh, baby, rock, rock’.

Perhaps the most famous cut from Transformer is three minutes and 47 seconds of music at its most stunning. Perfect Day is an achingly vulnerable masterpiece. That rare song that somehow feels incredibly personal to everyone who hears it- lyrically identifying and hitting the most raw, intense human emotions and backed by musical perfection. It is a truly beautiful song. ‘It’s such a perfect day – I’m glad I spent it with you,’ Reed croons through the chorus, however, there is quite the debate about whether the lyrics refer to his battle with heroin at the time or a relationship and the emotions evoked by someone you love. And whether the obsession is with heroin or a person, the song’s character experiences incomparable joy through their love, but is left empty and vulnerable without it, and the ambiguity adds to the magnificence and majesty of the song and its lyrics- ‘You made me forget myself, you thought I was someone else, someone good.’

Following on from the haunting balladry of Perfect Day, the guitar driven Hangin’ Round channels raunchy, ferocious guitars over a tale about the characters that latched onto Reed’s new-found fame. ‘You keep hangin’ round me, but I’m not so glad you found me. You’re still doing things I gave up years ago,’ seemingly referencing the cocktail of drugs and extra-curricular activities that Reed and his cronies had been exposed to since the late 60’s.

And if Perfect Day is the most famous song on the record, Wild Side is the most instantly recognisable track on Transformer, and certainly one of the biggest commercial hits of Reed’s career due to its opening over possibly the most iconic bass line in rock history. Again, Reed takes us out at night time to pay tribute to the many uniquely curious characters he had encountered and engaged with in the New York sex scene- ‘Holly came from Miami F.L.A. Hitchhiked her way across the U.S.A. Plucked her eyebrows on the way, shaved her legs and then he was a she. She said, hey babe, take a walk on the wild side.’ Yes, it is a homage to those thriving in the underbelly and melting pot nature of New York’s 1970’s counter culture – the junkies, drag queens and hustlers – but also emphasises Reed’s ideals in that you should be who you want to be, no matter what anyone else thinks about it.

As touched upon earlier, Bowie and Ronson’s contributions as producers cannot be underestimated. Their fingerprints are subtle and the songs’ key elements are given space to breathe with the musical flourishes perfectly nuanced. This is evident no more so than on the centrepiece of the record, Satellite of Love, as Bowie’s harmonic backing vocals bring the song to life. The song also sees Reed break from the spoken or often abrasive, yet magnificent, vocal delivery and reminds the listener of his incredible gift for poignant melody. Commenting on the commercialism that is taking over his city, Reed jokes how there is no escape from it- ‘Satellite’s gone way up to Mars. Soon it will be filled with parking cars.’

Homosexuality was still receiving a negative media portrayal in the 1970s (it had only been legalised just five years before in the UK and was very much a taboo subject), but was very much a part of the lifestyle that Reed lived. And in order to combat the representations in the press, Reed wrote Make Up – depicting the story of a drag queen who would transform into a ‘slick little girl’. Art has the power to change the way we think and Reed was prepared to stand up for his beliefs as the song refrains, ‘we’re coming out of our closets!’ Another example of why he is such a uniquely brave, respected and powerful artist.

Transformer continues with the glam infused Wagon Wheel, before Reed’s descent mid song into an almost hushed prayer as he whispers, ‘Oh heavenly father, what can I do? What she’s done to me is making me crazy’. I’m so Free is musically the closest to Bowie’s own output with its guitars evoking Hunky Dory’s Queen Bitch, and the strangely big band influenced Goodnight Ladies evokes imagery of a 1940’s New York smoke filled bar. Whilst New York Telephone Conversation once more puts the city that inspired Reed at the centre of his thoughts as Bowie and Reed mimic the idle gossip that envelops the city’s inhabitants- perhaps something they both had been on the receiving end since their careers hit a trajectory.

Either way, New York is engrained in Lou Reed, and its a theme he returned to continually throughout his career – not least on his excellent 1989 LP, New York. Transformer is the quintessential Lou Reed album and despite other solo career highlights, including the macabre masterpiece of Berlin, it is an essential collection of fantastic lyrical imagery that is a fitting ode to one of the world’s most incredible cities.