Reading Is Fundamental: Will Hermes’ Lou Reed: The King Of New York is the best book on the subject yet

The Rolling Stone contributing editor made proper use of the New York Public library’s much-ballyhooed Reed archives to three-dimensionalize NYC’s poet of the perverse.

Lou Reed was The Velvet Underground’s atonal architect, NYC’s poet laureate of the perverse. He was what polite society calls a “complicated man” and the curt simply dismiss as an “asshole.” There was nothing cuddly about Reed. His artistic ascension was littered with fistfights, parentally-induced shock-therapy (apparently to “jolt the gay” out of him, barbaric as that sounds), amphetamine-fueled creative binges and “interviews” with Lester Bangs that more resembled the verbal version of 10 rounds with Sonny Liston. Reed could alternately be this kind & elegiac soul, as well as a dickhead of Ron Jeremy proportions, a holy terror whom wait staff and shop clerks routinely feared. He was also a musical genius capable of both the most tender of melodic gems and coruscating noise violations worthy of a demolition crew handed guitars and amps. Equally, he thought employing Metallica for the Lulu album was a great idea…. *rolls eyes*

It stands to reason that any properly-done Lou Reed biography should not go down smoothly. It needs to be as well-crafted and simultaneously beautiful/hideous as one of his songs. It should be as hard-nosed as the man himself, suffering its subject matter as gladly as he suffered fools who dared cross his path (i.e. – NOT!). Yet it must be equally substantial, boasting literary merit in its own right. It should read the way “Pale Blue Eyes” or “What Goes On” sounds. Will Hermes hits every mark with aplomb on Lou Reed: The King Of New York [$35, 529 pages, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, New York, 2023].

A Rolling Stone contributing editor, talking head for NPR’s All Things Considered and writer for Pitchfork,among others, Hermes wastes no time establishing the full scope of Reed’s life –  his vulnerabilities are here, not just the angry transgressive rock ‘n’ roll poet persona. He opens the book two days before Reed’s death at the East Hampton home he shared with Laurie Anderson. The artist Julian Schnabel cradles the frail musician in his arms, so that he can float in his salt water swimming pool. It triggered a memory of his childhood, growing up on Long Island’s South Shore.

Hermes writes, “‘Y’know, I was on the beach with my dad,’ Reed said, voice diminished to a hoarse whisper. ‘I put my hand in his hand. And he smacked me in the face.’”

Is it any wonder he grew up to be every mother’s nightmare? Shooting drugs, fucking every gender [but especially his own], then routinely fucking them over, becoming a voyeur for all the sleaze and degradation he found on the Lower East Side, then writing beautiful songs about it all? Of course, he lashed out! And consider that Sid Reed was the one who decided young Lou, displaying effeminate tendencies, needed his sexuality “corrected” via electro-shock therapy. Naturally, young Lou Reed was a conflicted mess of Jewish angst and electric guitar dreams, about to become the patron saint of nighttime denizens, owners of solid black wardrobes and wearers of Ray Bans after dark.  

This is the moment you realize Lou Reed: The King Of New York will not be a print episode of VH1’s Behind The Music. Hermes dives headfirst into the grimy gutter of Reed's life, from the idyllic-with-a-dark-undertow Long Island suburbs to NYC’s smack-stained/urine-scented alleys. You'll smell the meth sweat and feel the broken glass crunch under your Cuban heels as Hermes paints a picture of young Lou, channeling his rage into the most beautifully vicious rock ‘n’ roll ever made.

The book succeeds on every level imaginable. Lou Reed is not a one-dimensional stereotype here, nor does Hermes reduce him to a series of personas: The Godfather of Punk in his Velvets days; the Rock ‘n’ Roll Animal of the early ‘70s; the washed-up self-parodist of so much of his late ‘70s work; the elder statesman of outsider rock undergoing an early ‘80s renaissance while permanently alienating guitarist Robert Quine, arguably that re-energization’s catalyst; Laurie Anderson’s loving husband, finding happiness at last, but still possessing an outsized ego and hair-trigger temper. Hermes hangs flesh upon Reed’s bones by capturing the full scope of his life, from his artistic triumphs to his personal struggles, rooting around in the contradictions that made Reed such a fascinating figure. 

We get Reed's extended, insightful, and contentious discourse with fans, fellow artists, critics, and diverse denizens of the bohemian world.  We delve into the intricate tapestry of Reed's collaborations with John Cale, Andy Warhol, David Bowie, and Anderson, unraveling the nuances of their artistic unions. We observe the dispassionate savvy, street-smart authority, and poetic fancy that characterized his artistry, from the Velvets and beyond. We explore the artistic aspirations and self-destructive tendencies that he inherited from his guru, the renowned poet Delmore Schwartz.

Lou Reed: The King Of New York certainly offers fresh perspectives on his work and personal life. This comes from Hermes being Reed’s first biographer to benefit from the New York Public Library’s much-heralded Lou Reed archives. Hermes doesn’t just sling scandal. He paints a portrait, a symphony of Lou's soul in sound and fury. He weaves in the city that birthed The Velvet Underground, a grimy, vibrant canvas for Lou's twisted genius. From opening for Nuggets  habitués The Myddle Class at Summit High School in New Jersey to The Exploding Plastic Inevitable to upstairs at Max's Kansas City and beyond, the pre-gentrified grit that fueled Reed's anthems of alienation/angst/spiritual redemption – Hermes brings it all alive.

He’s not afraid to analyze either, dissecting Lou's lyrics like a surgeon with a scalpel. He peels back the layers of "Walk On The Wild Side" and "Heroin" to reveal the raw nerve endings beneath. He explores the influences, from doo-wop ballads to avant-garde noise, that made Reed's music so potent. This ain't just a biography, it's a music theory thesis disguised as a back alley knife fight.

But Hermes isn’t a voyeur, he's a champion. He recognizes Lou's flaws, his contradictions, his self-inflicted demons. But he also sees the fire in his belly, the unwavering commitment to his art, the raw honesty that made him a beacon for the lost and the lonely. He shows us the man behind the myth, the vulnerable artist beneath the leather jacket.

So, is it perfect? Hardly. It's a Lou Reed biography. Nothing perfect about that. It's long, it's meandering, it'll leave you with a hangover worse than a night at Max's with a bottle of Thunderbird. But isn’t that the point? Lou Reed wasn't a tidy genius, he was a messy masterpiece, and Hermes captures that beautifully.

Interestingly, Lou Reed: The King Of New York is the first biography of this LGBTQIA+ icon since sexual politics became an even more heated issue than in its subject’s heyday. Reed himself would probably be more accurately described nowadays as non-binary, as would his longtime lover Rachel (née Richard) Humphreys. In a special foreword titled “Notes On Process, Myth Parsing, and Pronouns,” Hermes notes, “Rachel claimed the right to all her names, and didn’t seem to care about gender pronouns. Holly Woodlawn, with whom I spoke near the end of her life, was comfortable with ‘she,’ and I found that many trans persons of her generation are less concerned with pronouns than younger people nowadays.” He adds that in every instance, he endeavored to honor the subject's most recent preferred pronoun for self-identification throughout their lifetime, to the best of his ability and based on the information available to him. Which is very cool, considering Hermes had to write of these earlier times from the lens of an era where “Walk On The Wild Side” — written by an artist who publicly considered himself queer, in that moment — could get decried by a Canadian college’s student body for “containing transphobic lyrics!”

In the end, Lou Reed: The King Of New York is the best, most three-dimensional depiction of the man thus far. It’s not a hagiography. It's a warts-and-all portrait of someone who changed the face of music, who dared to drag poetry from the gutter and make it howl through a dimed Fender tube amp. It's a book that forces you to confront the darkness in yourself and the world, but ultimately leaves you with a sense of awe and respect for the sheer, unbridled power of Lou Reed. It's a must-read for anyone who loves rock ‘n’ roll, New York City, or the sound of a needle scraping across vinyl. Especially if that record is a well-worn copy of White Light/White Heat, Transformer or Metal Machine Music. It'll leave you bruised, battered, and begging for more. So don't wear your Sunday best while you read it.

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