Poe Lou

Lou Reed gets to interpret Edgar Allan Poe. He's excited.

Reed will tell you he did not particularly care for, and certainly did not truly understand, the work of Edgar Allan Poe until Halloween 1995, when Wilner asked him to read "The Tell-Tale Heart" at St. Ann's Church in Brooklyn. Wilner, the only man to make tribute albums that actually honor their subjects (including Kurt Weill and Thelonious Monk), began staging the October 31 events, at which famous people would read famous Poe, because "Halloween is one of those things a lot of us have these strange connections to," he once said. Poe, he insisted, is "very healing, incredibly magical and spiritual."

In 1997, Wilner put together Closed on Account of Rabies, a spoken-word tribute album to Poe that featured such old friends as Christopher Walken, Iggy Pop, Marianne Faithfull and Gabriel Byrne. The NYC happenings would continue 'til '99, when Wilner was forced to abandon the church (the heathen!) and move to Los Angeles (those heathens!), where he would continue the events on the UCLA campus. By that point, the bug had bitten Reed and put the virus deep in his blood, and Warner Bros. had given him the okay to round up his cast and head into the studio. Whether it'd be his next New York or his next Metal Machine Music, his next hit or next shit, didn't much matter to the label, which Reed couldn't believe.

NT: What didn't you get about "The Tell-Tale Heart" that you understood after St. Ann's?

He has a few tales in his heart, too: Lou Reed does Poe.
Timothy Greenfield-Sanders
He has a few tales in his heart, too: Lou Reed does Poe.
"I feel like I discovered America": Lou Reed expands his poetic lexicon.
"I feel like I discovered America": Lou Reed expands his poetic lexicon.

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Reed: In "The Tell-Tale Heart," as far as I'm concerned, the guy's not going crazy when he's hearing the beating of the heart of the guy he killed and buried underneath the floor. What's making him nuts is that he thinks the cop hears it but is making believe he doesn't hear it, and that the cop, therefore, is making fun of him. He says, "You fucking mock me? You mocking me? You fucking piece of shit, you think I don't know you hear that?" That's what it's about, and that just lays me out. I said, "Oh, man. Wow. There you go. I know what that's like." And not just me. Are you mocking me? I mean, you could do this with interviews all day, with any question an interviewer asks. "Are you fucking mocking me, you piece of shit?" I mean, there you go -- Poe, off and running.

NT: I'm going to apply that rationale to everything anyone says to me from now on and see just how quickly that drives me crazy.

Reed: Yeah. I mean, the minute you open that door, you're gone. You know, pull into a gas station and the guy comes over and he's not doing your windshield. You could say, "What is it with you? What the fuck is wrong with you? I'm not goodenough to do the windshield?" You know, you can just go off and running. It's really easy. Once you go in there, it's nonstop.


Maybe at the end of the day, Reed relates to Poe because they're always talking about the same thing: what Poe referred to as an "overacuteness of the senses." Both men account for those who see things that aren't there, smell things that aren't burning, hear things that aren't breathing, fear things that were never even there. Reed and Poe obsess over obsessions, get maniacal about mania. There's always a bit of romance in their work, but broken hearts are seldom repaired, and the desperate are seldom satisfied. These men like their protagonists bent, if not completely broken.

That overacuteness of the senses was what Reed wrote about in the Velvets' "Heroin," what he wrote about on New York, what he meant when he wrote about the satellite that went up to the skies and "things like that drive me out of my mind." Rehabs and 12-step programs are overrun with people who suffer from overacuteness of the senses; so are Reed songs, so are Poe poems. At the end of the day, The Ravensounds like a Lou Reed record, just more of one: It's cockamamie and brilliant, too long and too sprawling and too much of too much. (A single-disc version, composed mostly of songs, serves to rectify that. It's due out at the same time.) But it works because it's such a mess: You're compelled to listen and wonder what kind of madman would attempt such a thing in the first place. Then you remember: Yeah, Lou Fuckin' Reed! NT: I'm assuming you'd like to do The Ravenas a full-blown stage production. It sounds like an album awaiting the production to go along with it.

Reed: Yeah. Or a movie, or a TV thing, or HBO. Time Warner, hmmm. Hmm. Hmm. Does Time talk to Warner? Does Warner talk to Time? Warner, Warner, Warner . . . It's so huge there.

NT: This album, so mammoth and complex, is really an aberration in the industry. How difficult was it to get them to do this?

Reed: Big time, big time. This is big-time aberration. I mean, it's actually amazing it's even out, let me put it that way. I have to give the record company a lot of credit, because this isn't exactly what they're looking for, you know? They're just not. And I don't know if we'll ever get the opportunity to do something like this again. If kids download it, assuming they do anything, then there you go. Something like this, this took too long and too much to do, and if it can't find an audience that appreciates that, it will be pointed to as an example of something that doesn't work. That's just the way it is. So, there you go.

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