Wednesday, 30 October 2013

Lou Reed



When I was little, Transformer was our staple record for long car journeys (along with David Bowie's Hunky Dory) - me and my brother's knew it off by heart, back to front, upside down, and never, ever grew tired of it. Our toy monkey's sang along to "Make-up" through many a rain-swept voyage into darkest Wales, delighted to come out of their closets, bom-bom-bom-bom bombombom.


Later, when I was 17, clumsy and shy, somehow sent floundering after the death of my grandmother and my first visit to New York (one freezing February, central park pristine with snow and bare trees), I listened to a cassette of Lou Reed's New York album on repeat, kept afloat amid a sea of the mean-seventeens (possibly not helped by reading Ken Kesey's One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar and Susanna Kaysen's Girl, Interrupted in quick succession).




My portrait of Lou Reed is now available printed on t-shirts at WeAdmire. 


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