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33⅓ Main Series #131
Transformer
Transformer, Lou Reed's most enduringly popular album, is described with varying labels: it's often called a glam rock album, a proto-punk album, a commercial breakthrough for Lou Reed, and an album about being gay. And yet, it doesn't neatly fit into any of these descriptors. Buried underneath the radio-friendly exterior lie coded confessions of the subversive, wounded intelligence that gives this album its staying power as a work of art. Here Lou Reed managed to make a fun, accessible rock'n'roll record that is also a troubled meditation on the ambiguities-sexual, musical and otherwise-that defined his public persona and helped make him one of the most fascinating and influential figures in rock history. Through close listening and personal reflections, songwriter Ezra Furman explores Reed's and Transformer's unstable identities, and the secrets the songs challenge us to uncover.
33 1/3 is a series of short books about popular music, focusing on individual albums by artists ranging from James Brown to Celine Dion and from J Dilla to Neutral Milk Hotel. Each album covered in the series occupies such a specific place in music history, so each book-length treatment is different. Jonathan Lethem, Colin Meloy, Daphne Brooks, Gina Arnold and Alan Warner are just some of the authors who have contributed to the series so far. Widely acclaimed by fans, musicians and scholars alike. More
33 1/3 is a series of short books about popular music, focusing on individual albums by artists ranging from James Brown to Celine Dion and from J Dilla to Neutral Milk Hotel. Each album covered in the series occupies such a specific place in music history, so each book-length treatment is different. Jonathan Lethem, Colin Meloy, Daphne Brooks, Gina Arnold and Alan Warner are just some of the authors who have contributed to the series so far. Widely acclaimed by fans, musicians and scholars alike. More
184 pages, Kindle Edition
First published April 19, 2018
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Displaying 1 - 29 of 72 reviews
April 5, 2021
This is the first book I've read from this series, well actually the second one, but the first was more an essay on taste, and Celine Dion. This one seems more on the spirit of the series, which is pretty great, basically someone speaking about an album from start to finish. I think I started in a perfect one, since Furman has many things to say about this album in particular, and about Lou Reed himself. I can't stop thinking of the very different circumstance in the way I heard this album for the first time, and I love reading someone else talking about the production, the moment in Lou Reed's career, and what was going on in his life. I very much recommend this!
June 7, 2019
Superb study on Lou Reed's essential (well, at least for me) album "Transformer." A queer view of a classic album. I like the 33 1/3 series when they go beyond the album/material and reflect the writer's take on something that is individualistic. I don't need the facts. I just want the writer's take on an album, etc. Good book.
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June 5, 2018A guy called Furman writing about a Transformer - what are the odds, eh? Even when I like the album, I don't normally bother with the 33 1/3 books about canonical records, not least because I generally know the story. But for the first time, I selected this one on account of the writer, not the topic - recently I have been belatedly but heavily getting into Ezra Furman. And it turns out to have been a good call, because this is one of the series' more nakedly autobiographical entries. Furman is quite open about Lou Reed being a lens through which for many years he's understood his own conflicted, queer identity, in turns fascinated and appalled by Reed's transgressive/asshole, cooler-than-thou persona and regular acts of self-destruction (career, personal or both). The book is in many ways an exercise in negative capability, fascinated in the twists and turns of Reed's persona in general and its 1972 iteration in particular. What does 'authenticity' mean when you're an icon of ennui and meaninglessness, when you're being resurrected by and partly remade in the image of a guy who based some of his schtick on yours? Is it significant that Reed was a drunk and speedhead despite being forever immortalised in pop culture as a junkie? The stall is laid out pretty closely in the opening chapter which, in true Reed fashion, starts by telling the reader 'Fuck you', makes clear that Transformer is not the greatest album ever, and then works around all the reasons for that, all the failings and the ambiguities, before concluding that this is exactly why Transformer is the greatest album ever. Granted, many will find this insufferably precious and indecisive; not to worry, I'm sure there are plenty of terribly factual and heterosexual and certain 33 1/3 books about boring muso albums which they can read instead. This one's for the people who find creative uncertainty and rephrased questions far more interesting than dull old answers.
Of course, there's always going to be a tension in a woke young queer guy in 2018 writing about someone who, back in less enlightened days, got electroshock therapy as a kid for his gay tendencies, and clearly never wholly came to terms with them. So Furman doesn't shy away from the fact that Reed's transgressiveness could include outrageous on-stage lines like how he'd rather have cancer than be a faggot, or from the other stuff of which we don't now approve in our idols - most notably the domestic violence, but also how bad the "coloured girls" line in 'Wild Side' sounds now (or even 20 years ago, when I remember him hastily adapting it for a TV performance when he registered the black backing singers on the stage). Furman is aware that for some people this stuff will be a dealbreaker, even while asserting that for him, it's not. There's necessarily a certain amount of tail-chasing entailed in this, but I think the best summation is when he says of Reed that "He's not always compassionate toward his underworld characters, but he sees them, which is notable and powerful in the context of a society that prefers to ignore them." Which is certainly a key part of Transformer's revolutionary power, even if it's now been largely deadened by familiarity (though it's worth noting that, whether deliberately or through happy ignorance, Furman omits any mention of certain covers which 'Perfect Day' might since have suffered). And of course, we must always remember that none of us is perfect, and that for all we should aim for that, a certain charity will always be important too. Case in point: not long after a footnote in which Furman explains that he's aware of the perils of deadnaming in discussing the biographies of the stars of 'Walk on the Wild Side', we get an account of the time he covered a couple of Lou Reed songs with Reed himself in the audience. In which Furman doesn't bat an eyelid when he describes his own version of 'Heroin' as "spastic". And British readers wince, while hopefully understanding all the same that no malice was intended.
Not that any of this should be taken to mean Furman can't also do the close reading or historical detail. His point that Perfect Day would be right at home as the first song on Berlin had never occurred to me, despite that being the only other Reed solo album I care about, but it's dead right. Or discussing 'Walk on the Wild Side' - for all that I said I know the stories behind the canonical albums, it's not in the sort of detail you get here, where it turns out Herbie Flowers was paid by the instrument not the hour, so that double bassline on 'Wild Side'? On one level it's just a temp taking the piss. And yet, it's so much more than that too, isn't it?
Of course, there's always going to be a tension in a woke young queer guy in 2018 writing about someone who, back in less enlightened days, got electroshock therapy as a kid for his gay tendencies, and clearly never wholly came to terms with them. So Furman doesn't shy away from the fact that Reed's transgressiveness could include outrageous on-stage lines like how he'd rather have cancer than be a faggot, or from the other stuff of which we don't now approve in our idols - most notably the domestic violence, but also how bad the "coloured girls" line in 'Wild Side' sounds now (or even 20 years ago, when I remember him hastily adapting it for a TV performance when he registered the black backing singers on the stage). Furman is aware that for some people this stuff will be a dealbreaker, even while asserting that for him, it's not. There's necessarily a certain amount of tail-chasing entailed in this, but I think the best summation is when he says of Reed that "He's not always compassionate toward his underworld characters, but he sees them, which is notable and powerful in the context of a society that prefers to ignore them." Which is certainly a key part of Transformer's revolutionary power, even if it's now been largely deadened by familiarity (though it's worth noting that, whether deliberately or through happy ignorance, Furman omits any mention of certain covers which 'Perfect Day' might since have suffered). And of course, we must always remember that none of us is perfect, and that for all we should aim for that, a certain charity will always be important too. Case in point: not long after a footnote in which Furman explains that he's aware of the perils of deadnaming in discussing the biographies of the stars of 'Walk on the Wild Side', we get an account of the time he covered a couple of Lou Reed songs with Reed himself in the audience. In which Furman doesn't bat an eyelid when he describes his own version of 'Heroin' as "spastic". And British readers wince, while hopefully understanding all the same that no malice was intended.
Not that any of this should be taken to mean Furman can't also do the close reading or historical detail. His point that Perfect Day would be right at home as the first song on Berlin had never occurred to me, despite that being the only other Reed solo album I care about, but it's dead right. Or discussing 'Walk on the Wild Side' - for all that I said I know the stories behind the canonical albums, it's not in the sort of detail you get here, where it turns out Herbie Flowers was paid by the instrument not the hour, so that double bassline on 'Wild Side'? On one level it's just a temp taking the piss. And yet, it's so much more than that too, isn't it?
April 19, 2018
Ezra Furman (@ezrafurman) does two rare things in his analysis of Lou Reed's Transformer: first he willingly grapples with complexity, and second he devotes sustained attention to something. These two things are not something you encounter everyday, especially in connection to each other. The 33 1/3 series is about sustained attention to a particular record, however most of the series are usually a type of hagiography, this book most definitely is not, it is, in fact, extremely critical of Reed and the Transformer album. Furman has a complex relationship with Reed as an artist & person, and this album. Furman proclaims it simultaneously the best album ever AND a seriously flawed work. But this also relates to the complicated nature Furman explores of Lou Reed himself: Reed as a gay icon and a homophobe - Reed as member of the marginalized and a bigot (Furman's description of Reed, not mine). The book takes the time to relate and connect these seemingly divisive aspects of Reed's life and work and coming to the conclusion that they are essential to each other in spite of the seemingly exclusive nature. The path Furman takes to resolve these dichotomies is fascinating and well crafted. If music, pop culture, critical theory, or Lou Reed are of even a minor interest to you, this book is a fantastic read. I'll be reading it again soon.
May 28, 2018
Unlike a lot of people my first Lou Reed song was actually Perfect Day, thanks to the Trainspotting soundtrack, from then onwards, bar The Velvet Underground I heard Lou Reed's solo career in bits and pieces until I bought Transformer in 2001 and then after I invested in Reed's other albums, Coney Island Baby being my personal favourite.
Although I do like Transformer and revisit it, I do understand that it is a flawed album, mostly due to some weak lyrics. Funnily enough while reading Furman's book about Transformer, who by the way, is the perfect person to write this book, I agreed with a lot of things said.
Furman presents a fair look at Reed's work, praising some lyrics while denouncing others as racist not to mention that during the Transformer period he was beating his fiancee while trying to get off drugs and some of these aspects occur in the album, which Furman is conscious of.
As a book, it is well researched as Furman dissects all the tracks on the record and I learnt a good number of new things, especially Perfect Day. There is clearly a love/hate relationship with this album but as I said, Furman is a fair critic.
Definitely one of the essential volumes of the series.
February 8, 2020
“I think Lou Reed is a creep” sang Handsome Dick Manitoba in “Two Tub Man” by the Dictators. Furman wouldn’t disagree, though his is a more nuanced portrait. Transformer is a personal book about a personal hero seen with all his flaws exposed, while exploring in minute detail a breakout hit record. It’s also a look that focuses on queer identity, which for Reed is both explicit and more subtly complex. Furman’s analytical deep dive is never uninteresting even if I veered from his interpretation on occasion. By the end of the book I was unexpectedly moved, but maybe I should have seen the emotion payoff coming. Reed’s cool read by Furman’s hot enthusiasm creates a volatile mix.
December 29, 2024
Furman really nails it! I really enjoyd her queer analysis and personal story to Reed and his music. Furman being a queer musician herself really brings something unique to the analysis of this album (an labum that has been written about in length by straight white dudes for decades). The meeting with Reed after a performance of Heroin in Texas is also a nice treat.
April 16, 2021
"A song is a bad place to hide." - Ezra Furman, p. 152
This was excellent! The third best book I've read in the 33 1/3 series after It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back and Bee Thousand.
I have never gotten Lou Reed. Or the Velvet Underground. After this book I feel like I finally do. I'm not sure it equates to me loving the album here, but it does equate to me feeling some understanding of why it is so revered. That is what this series of books should do: make us appreciate music more. Well, well done.
Note: Extra kudos to the author for not shying away from the problematic or oversimplifying it.
This was excellent! The third best book I've read in the 33 1/3 series after It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back and Bee Thousand.
I have never gotten Lou Reed. Or the Velvet Underground. After this book I feel like I finally do. I'm not sure it equates to me loving the album here, but it does equate to me feeling some understanding of why it is so revered. That is what this series of books should do: make us appreciate music more. Well, well done.
Note: Extra kudos to the author for not shying away from the problematic or oversimplifying it.
January 7, 2025
"Were you a normal teen or did you listen to The Velvet Underground and Lou Reed?"
The latter. Begged my 10th grade orchestra teacher to let me write about Lou Reed for our required term paper. DIY'd my own VU t-shirt because you couldn't find cool shit like that on the internet back then. Actually made my high school friends watch a DVD of a 1983 Lou Reed concert (which they amazingly allowed to happen). I loved his poetic but sometimes harsh lyrics, his achingly romantic love songs, his lack of time for any bullshit but his own, his weirdness, his unconventional-unpretty-but-still-beautiful voice, his utter coolness. I didn't fit in and he didn't either, but he could create a beauty around things that were unseemly, and an ugliness around the conventional that made me feel like I could make it out of high school without suffering too many damages because I had his music.
Transformer in particular was an album I played to death on my little discman, disappearing into the sweeping drama of the strings on "Perfect Day" and biting sarcasm of "New York Telephone Conversation" pumping through my headphones while my siblings squabbled next to me in the backseat of the family car. It's a formative album for me -- something I listened to heavily while I was becoming myself.
Ezra Furman GETS IT. I can't think of a more perfect person to write a deep dive on this album. She is a fan, but not one blinded by her admiration. Lou was a complicated person and his canon is filled with just as many cringe moments (both in his personal life and his art) as there are artistic triumphs. Furman sees all of it clearly and writes beautifully, incisively about it, including what the album personally means to her. I had fun going back to re-listen to songs I know so well, but haven't really *listened* to in years while reading Furman's book. I enjoyed the entire experience!
The latter. Begged my 10th grade orchestra teacher to let me write about Lou Reed for our required term paper. DIY'd my own VU t-shirt because you couldn't find cool shit like that on the internet back then. Actually made my high school friends watch a DVD of a 1983 Lou Reed concert (which they amazingly allowed to happen). I loved his poetic but sometimes harsh lyrics, his achingly romantic love songs, his lack of time for any bullshit but his own, his weirdness, his unconventional-unpretty-but-still-beautiful voice, his utter coolness. I didn't fit in and he didn't either, but he could create a beauty around things that were unseemly, and an ugliness around the conventional that made me feel like I could make it out of high school without suffering too many damages because I had his music.
Transformer in particular was an album I played to death on my little discman, disappearing into the sweeping drama of the strings on "Perfect Day" and biting sarcasm of "New York Telephone Conversation" pumping through my headphones while my siblings squabbled next to me in the backseat of the family car. It's a formative album for me -- something I listened to heavily while I was becoming myself.
Ezra Furman GETS IT. I can't think of a more perfect person to write a deep dive on this album. She is a fan, but not one blinded by her admiration. Lou was a complicated person and his canon is filled with just as many cringe moments (both in his personal life and his art) as there are artistic triumphs. Furman sees all of it clearly and writes beautifully, incisively about it, including what the album personally means to her. I had fun going back to re-listen to songs I know so well, but haven't really *listened* to in years while reading Furman's book. I enjoyed the entire experience!
July 12, 2019
Hmmm, this Ezra should think about making music or something.
What an awesome revelation and confirmation about ambiguities, trauma, and identities this book is! I was more or less ambivalent about Lou Reed but I've been sifting through this album as I made my way through this book and finally, I have received an acceptable laying-out of the problem of art vs. the monster of a person who made it and how to reconcile (or not) the two. It was a pleasure to read.
What an awesome revelation and confirmation about ambiguities, trauma, and identities this book is! I was more or less ambivalent about Lou Reed but I've been sifting through this album as I made my way through this book and finally, I have received an acceptable laying-out of the problem of art vs. the monster of a person who made it and how to reconcile (or not) the two. It was a pleasure to read.
October 10, 2023
A perfect example on how these books should be written. I love how Furman walks through the album song by song, without getting too restricted by it. He offers personal experiences and tells us about his relationship to Lou and the album, in the exact right amount. And maybe the most important part is that he manages to see things from multiple perspectives, and sees Lou as the nuanced person he is.
Ezra Furman, please write more books for 33 1/3. I need them.
Ezra Furman, please write more books for 33 1/3. I need them.
April 12, 2019
Solid essay on Transformer. As much about the author's sexuality as it is about Lou's. A strange time, Bowie and Ronson fresh out of the Spiders meeting with Lou, to save his career. Walk on the Wild Side made Lou a star.
March 30, 2020
The author gives a detailed analysis on the work and insight into the mind of Lou Reed and also an interesting personal reflection.
January 11, 2024
this honestly might be one of my favorites in the series, i really had limited knowledge when it came to the album but the author did a great job of engaging all my interest.
December 28, 2024
Proof that Lou reed is gay (non pejorative)
September 7, 2025
the confluence of two icons! my heart can’t take it!!! loved this EVEN more than I thought I would. and made me miss college — queer analysis!!
October 15, 2018
If you’re interested in Lou Reed, Ezra Furman and/or gender identity, this is a very interesting and insightful read. Furman (an excellent songwriter and musician in his own right) is also a talented prose writer, and combines thorough research with very personal insights to great effect.
October 13, 2023
If you’re at all interested in 1960s counterculture or queer studies, I highly recommend Ezra Furman’s analysis of Transformer. Her connections to Reed’s work show incredible depth and insight.
April 21, 2020
This was an engrossing read on many levels. Ezra wrote such a balanced and nuanced book about an enigmatic, endearing and sometimes problematic piece of music, bringing an analytic, multivalent and gender-plural prespective to an album that desperately needed it. The dominant voice about Transformer has been Rolling Stones bros who idolize Lou's "IDGAF" persona. These writers barely address the queer narrative within, and shruggingly dismiss the "and the colored girls sing" line in "Walk on the Wild Side" for the sake of self-serving boomer nostalgia.
Ezra indicts Lou and the indifferent listeners for failing to dig into how this album is problematic. Ezra is here to do the interesting thing, not the expected thing: criticize the album for how it fails, and laud it for at least failing in some bold ways. I love the book for this choice. I also love the running theme of what it means to be a transformer (and Ezra goes at it from every angle, including electro-conductivity.) It's fascinating to learn one aspect of his transforming: that Lou would habitually try to write songs from the perspective of other people. That's definitely true of his best songs, but not the ones Ezra labels as filler, which I take umbrage with.
Ezra says that Lou Reed makes some lazy-ass choices, ones that Ezra the performer would not. The songs I LOVED as a teenager are the same ones that Ezra loathes. To me, the echoey backup vocals on tracks like Andy's Chest (swoop swoop, baby rock rock) and Wagon Wheel make it sound like some kind of bizarre dream sequence; Ezra criticizes both for having either childish lyrics ("You have a hairy-minded big bare bear") or being lazy. While Ezra looks for meaning in the lyrics of Wagon Wheel and feels disappointed by them, I am delighted by the nonsense lyrics, Lou repeating "please don't let me sleep too long" to me makes it feel like he's performing the song in some kind of waking dream. Ezra does a good job of giving the full-picture context of "Andy's Chest" as an ode to Andy Warhol after being shot by Valerie Solanas, and how it's ultimately just a sweet, funny love song for a friend, but only after calling it dumb.
I'm going to sidetrack. Although I'm going to the root of my teenage adoration of this album, I hope it wont be as myopic as a teenage perspective:
Transformer was my favorite album of high school, but specifically 10th grade, 2001-2002; that was the same year I sat in front of Ezra in health class, where we had to stomach a highly unethical, conservative health teacher stuffing a pro-life, homophobic agenda down our throats. Something I learned in that substanceless health class: Ezra is funny as fuck and always had something insightful and sharp to say. Ezra's comments made me laugh so hard when undercutting our asinine health teacher, that I was called on to explain what I thought was so funny about abstinence, etc. Ezra's humor shines through in this book: I laughed out loud at the Jayne County(transgender Factory icon) quote about Jackie Curtis, one of the characters in "Walk on the Wild Side": "Jackie was a drag queen. She also had an identity crisis where she thought she was James Dean. She thought James Dean's spirit had come back and possessed her body. I don't think he'd do that, do you?"
Ezra and I never had a real substantial convo, except when I remarked once that a brown leather jacket evoked the look of a young Al Pacino. We certainly never discussed Lou Reed, even though at just 15, Ezra was working on a cover of "Heroin". I dove into Transformer before any VU albums, just like I dove into "the Idiot" before any Stooges albums, just pragmatically prioritizing meager babysitting funds for CDs based on the recommendations of the fictional character Hedwig. With a marginal understanding of the context of the Velvets catalog and a LOT of time (I was grounded for 3-to-4-month spells, perpetually), I convinced myself that Transformer was a standalone original, with a combo of pragmatism and youth delusion I declared it was the only Lou Reed I would ever need. I loved the songs where he's over the top eccentric and insular (Andys Chest & Goodnight Ladies were my favs); I liked the interesting songs, just like I liked "Turn Blue" on the Idiot. I pored over the liner notes and was fascinated with the story of how Lou either swallowed his pride or had some kind of rock-star martyrdom by retreating to live with his parents and work for his dad as a typist. (Saturn returns!) Reading about Lou's shock treatment and defeated return to his dysfunctional family, I was convinced of something: while our specific experiences greatly differed, Lou and I basically had the same pedigree of repressed parents. When I'd begged for psychiatric treatment as a teen, I was sent to a career counselor, under the premise of zero confidentiality. That's not equivalent to shock treatment, but I felt like Lou and I were kindred, and that I therefore understood the genesis of Lou's cool persona. When you're a sensitive person raised by stoic, stiff-upper-lip types, you're engaged in an insidious, patriarchal competition of who can sound the most detached, the most shrewd, the most unbothered. You learn to use a poker face in every interaction, and feel that everything you do or say can be used against you to enforce discipline. Given Lou's background, it seemed perfectly normal to me that he would wait until the last minute to say something remotely vulnerable (openly lonely on Goodnight, Ladies). For this reason, I think Ezra's in-depth analysis of the album paints Lou Reed as more calculated and complicated than he really was.
Ezra talks incisively about the duality of queer identity, how the act of "coming out" brings a lot of unsolicited attention and judgment from people who sensationally try to ply salient, intimate details of gay life out of you. I love Ezra's perspective about grappling with this as a seasoned performer, and loved the line, "I am intimately familiar with how hard it is not to submit, in your answer, to the interviewers' tone and thus their worldview." Ezra writes about how Lou mimicked Andy Warhol's detached response with interviewers and said, "just give me the answer, tell me what you want me to say and I'll say it.", and Lou claiming that he had no personality. Ezra points out that Lou would equivocate when talking to people who were all too eager to define him, how he had this dual perspective, seeing himself through the eyes of judgmental pricks and knowing how to act in order shield himself from them. That experience sounds like pure hell, but I doubt that Lou ever examined his own repression as much as Ezra has, or calculated ways to closet himself. Sure, Lou's "IDGAF" attitude is disingenuous at times, but I don't think it was ALL an act that he used to circumvent homophobia. He's just too convincing and Popeye and "I yam what I yam" to care that much. Plus, Lou was primed by repressed parents; that kind of upbringing teaches you to slip into a tough persona like it's second nature, albeit unhealthily. Ezra also suggests that Lou Reed did some Daniel Day Lewis-level method acting by playing the role of a straight person and having decade-long marriages with women in order to conceal his queerness. Ezra might be right, I just don't see how an uncompromising artist like Laurie Anderson, who is CONSTantly challenging listeners, would ever reconcile a partner suppressing their real self like that. I'm sure Lou internalized the homophobia of society, and I'm sure straight marriages feel like a cop-out, from the perspective of a queer fanbase. I believe Lou Reed is just not that complicated of a person to consciously suppress his own queerness for decades; maybe it's his listeners who just saw in him what they wanted to see, but in a fun house mirror kind of way where Lou had the last laugh. Ultimately, we have to surrender to the fact that we can never know the whole story: maybe Lou Reed had open marriages and was just in his own specific corner of the Kinsey scale. Maybe he felt that songs about his mundane reality would just be too boring and THAT's why he opted to be a Transformer, taking on the perspectives of his charismatic friends.
My thesis statement that Lou Reed is simple is not an idea that could unfold to span an entire book.
Examining the meaning behind being a Transformer and posessing dualities and multitudes is much stronger. Ezra portrays Lou raising a fist at a highly corporate and highly unpunk SXSW event and proclaiming, "I. love. punk rock. And I was the first one!" Does that sound like a complicated person to you?
This book report is brought to you by Covid-19 quarantine season, and the desire to connect w others' opinions about this book. I appreciate any recommendations of other 33 1/3 books that are as in-depth as Ezra's.
Ezra indicts Lou and the indifferent listeners for failing to dig into how this album is problematic. Ezra is here to do the interesting thing, not the expected thing: criticize the album for how it fails, and laud it for at least failing in some bold ways. I love the book for this choice. I also love the running theme of what it means to be a transformer (and Ezra goes at it from every angle, including electro-conductivity.) It's fascinating to learn one aspect of his transforming: that Lou would habitually try to write songs from the perspective of other people. That's definitely true of his best songs, but not the ones Ezra labels as filler, which I take umbrage with.
Ezra says that Lou Reed makes some lazy-ass choices, ones that Ezra the performer would not. The songs I LOVED as a teenager are the same ones that Ezra loathes. To me, the echoey backup vocals on tracks like Andy's Chest (swoop swoop, baby rock rock) and Wagon Wheel make it sound like some kind of bizarre dream sequence; Ezra criticizes both for having either childish lyrics ("You have a hairy-minded big bare bear") or being lazy. While Ezra looks for meaning in the lyrics of Wagon Wheel and feels disappointed by them, I am delighted by the nonsense lyrics, Lou repeating "please don't let me sleep too long" to me makes it feel like he's performing the song in some kind of waking dream. Ezra does a good job of giving the full-picture context of "Andy's Chest" as an ode to Andy Warhol after being shot by Valerie Solanas, and how it's ultimately just a sweet, funny love song for a friend, but only after calling it dumb.
I'm going to sidetrack. Although I'm going to the root of my teenage adoration of this album, I hope it wont be as myopic as a teenage perspective:
Transformer was my favorite album of high school, but specifically 10th grade, 2001-2002; that was the same year I sat in front of Ezra in health class, where we had to stomach a highly unethical, conservative health teacher stuffing a pro-life, homophobic agenda down our throats. Something I learned in that substanceless health class: Ezra is funny as fuck and always had something insightful and sharp to say. Ezra's comments made me laugh so hard when undercutting our asinine health teacher, that I was called on to explain what I thought was so funny about abstinence, etc. Ezra's humor shines through in this book: I laughed out loud at the Jayne County(transgender Factory icon) quote about Jackie Curtis, one of the characters in "Walk on the Wild Side": "Jackie was a drag queen. She also had an identity crisis where she thought she was James Dean. She thought James Dean's spirit had come back and possessed her body. I don't think he'd do that, do you?"
Ezra and I never had a real substantial convo, except when I remarked once that a brown leather jacket evoked the look of a young Al Pacino. We certainly never discussed Lou Reed, even though at just 15, Ezra was working on a cover of "Heroin". I dove into Transformer before any VU albums, just like I dove into "the Idiot" before any Stooges albums, just pragmatically prioritizing meager babysitting funds for CDs based on the recommendations of the fictional character Hedwig. With a marginal understanding of the context of the Velvets catalog and a LOT of time (I was grounded for 3-to-4-month spells, perpetually), I convinced myself that Transformer was a standalone original, with a combo of pragmatism and youth delusion I declared it was the only Lou Reed I would ever need. I loved the songs where he's over the top eccentric and insular (Andys Chest & Goodnight Ladies were my favs); I liked the interesting songs, just like I liked "Turn Blue" on the Idiot. I pored over the liner notes and was fascinated with the story of how Lou either swallowed his pride or had some kind of rock-star martyrdom by retreating to live with his parents and work for his dad as a typist. (Saturn returns!) Reading about Lou's shock treatment and defeated return to his dysfunctional family, I was convinced of something: while our specific experiences greatly differed, Lou and I basically had the same pedigree of repressed parents. When I'd begged for psychiatric treatment as a teen, I was sent to a career counselor, under the premise of zero confidentiality. That's not equivalent to shock treatment, but I felt like Lou and I were kindred, and that I therefore understood the genesis of Lou's cool persona. When you're a sensitive person raised by stoic, stiff-upper-lip types, you're engaged in an insidious, patriarchal competition of who can sound the most detached, the most shrewd, the most unbothered. You learn to use a poker face in every interaction, and feel that everything you do or say can be used against you to enforce discipline. Given Lou's background, it seemed perfectly normal to me that he would wait until the last minute to say something remotely vulnerable (openly lonely on Goodnight, Ladies). For this reason, I think Ezra's in-depth analysis of the album paints Lou Reed as more calculated and complicated than he really was.
Ezra talks incisively about the duality of queer identity, how the act of "coming out" brings a lot of unsolicited attention and judgment from people who sensationally try to ply salient, intimate details of gay life out of you. I love Ezra's perspective about grappling with this as a seasoned performer, and loved the line, "I am intimately familiar with how hard it is not to submit, in your answer, to the interviewers' tone and thus their worldview." Ezra writes about how Lou mimicked Andy Warhol's detached response with interviewers and said, "just give me the answer, tell me what you want me to say and I'll say it.", and Lou claiming that he had no personality. Ezra points out that Lou would equivocate when talking to people who were all too eager to define him, how he had this dual perspective, seeing himself through the eyes of judgmental pricks and knowing how to act in order shield himself from them. That experience sounds like pure hell, but I doubt that Lou ever examined his own repression as much as Ezra has, or calculated ways to closet himself. Sure, Lou's "IDGAF" attitude is disingenuous at times, but I don't think it was ALL an act that he used to circumvent homophobia. He's just too convincing and Popeye and "I yam what I yam" to care that much. Plus, Lou was primed by repressed parents; that kind of upbringing teaches you to slip into a tough persona like it's second nature, albeit unhealthily. Ezra also suggests that Lou Reed did some Daniel Day Lewis-level method acting by playing the role of a straight person and having decade-long marriages with women in order to conceal his queerness. Ezra might be right, I just don't see how an uncompromising artist like Laurie Anderson, who is CONSTantly challenging listeners, would ever reconcile a partner suppressing their real self like that. I'm sure Lou internalized the homophobia of society, and I'm sure straight marriages feel like a cop-out, from the perspective of a queer fanbase. I believe Lou Reed is just not that complicated of a person to consciously suppress his own queerness for decades; maybe it's his listeners who just saw in him what they wanted to see, but in a fun house mirror kind of way where Lou had the last laugh. Ultimately, we have to surrender to the fact that we can never know the whole story: maybe Lou Reed had open marriages and was just in his own specific corner of the Kinsey scale. Maybe he felt that songs about his mundane reality would just be too boring and THAT's why he opted to be a Transformer, taking on the perspectives of his charismatic friends.
My thesis statement that Lou Reed is simple is not an idea that could unfold to span an entire book.
Examining the meaning behind being a Transformer and posessing dualities and multitudes is much stronger. Ezra portrays Lou raising a fist at a highly corporate and highly unpunk SXSW event and proclaiming, "I. love. punk rock. And I was the first one!" Does that sound like a complicated person to you?
This book report is brought to you by Covid-19 quarantine season, and the desire to connect w others' opinions about this book. I appreciate any recommendations of other 33 1/3 books that are as in-depth as Ezra's.
Read
June 17, 2022The 33 1/3 series is a body of work that I've been curious about for a while. The only times I've ever really heard anyone talk about these books is to use their existence as a means of defending their taste. "Of course by is good; they have a book written about them!" Which is a funny attitude considering it's not even a page in before Ezra Furman confesses that Lou Reed's Transformer isn't one of her favorite albums; it's not even her favorite album from 1972. So here you have a piece of criticism where Furman is trying to justify Reed's place in the musical canon, while also describing an ambivalence to his work.
What I liked about this book is its subjective analysis of art. Is Transformer the greatest record ever? No, but despite its shortcomings there's a personal value to be found. Reed's second solo outing post-VU is contextualized through a personal lens relating Reed's somewhat contradictory phases on his career to Furman's experiences as a self-conscious queer person figuring out her own identity. A blend of musical critique, textual analysis, and personal memoir, this was an interesting read, especially as a fan of Furman's output. Though I do wonder how someone might respond to this without being a fan of her or Reed.
What I liked about this book is its subjective analysis of art. Is Transformer the greatest record ever? No, but despite its shortcomings there's a personal value to be found. Reed's second solo outing post-VU is contextualized through a personal lens relating Reed's somewhat contradictory phases on his career to Furman's experiences as a self-conscious queer person figuring out her own identity. A blend of musical critique, textual analysis, and personal memoir, this was an interesting read, especially as a fan of Furman's output. Though I do wonder how someone might respond to this without being a fan of her or Reed.
July 26, 2019
This is simply great, Ezra gets personal about himself, about queerness, but it's mostly about Lou Reed, this album, rock and America and Bowie and queerness. Well-written, never boring or too self-centered, not too music-insidery; humble and smart.
December 22, 2023
A lovely little book, mixing an analysis of a record & a musician with personal biography and a very quick history of LGBTQ life in America.
March 26, 2023
Another book from the wonderful 33 1/3 series of "biographies" of albums of note from Bloomsbury. And I cannot think of a better person to write about this particular album than the wonderful Ezra Furman! They give new resonance to the "trans" of Transformer and reading this shed new light on some of my formative years and experiences.
First, I LOVE that Furman opens with an Introductory Chapter entitled "Fuck You Leave Me Alone Don't Read My Book" because it totally captures the running thread of Lou Reed's life and work and pretty much was (is?) a core philosophical bent of my own. I mean, I was writing about punk and outside/avant music from the late 70s through mid 80s, hanging out at Mudd Club and Danceteria wearing Herman's Boots and flannel shirts, initially being turned away by bouncers till I told them, with a sneer, "I'm on the guest list". Yeah, "fuck you if you can't take the joke!"
The opening line from Furman's book about Transformer is: "Let me clear the air from the outset: I don't think Transformer is the greatest record ever made. I don't think it's the greatest album of 1972" and two pages later, after enunciating her thesis that what animates this album is an "ambiguity that elevates it beyond simply being a good record to make it an utterly unforgettable one" because the whole album is an embodiment of ambiguity, it is about ambiguity." It is, as he writes: "... an album about total freedom, a rejection of all terms and categories, a declaration of indenpendence from anything and everything you thought you had to say about it."
And it is for this reason that s/he concludes: "And that's why it's the greatest record ever made."
Furman too rejects easy categorization. Her identity is as malleable as all of ours if we were honest. They write about their absolute obsessive fandom around Lou while not at all whitewashing his vile nature. The first part of this book has chapter titles: "Lou the Queer", "Lou the Failure", "Lou and Bowie" articulating the history of Lou up to the making of this trans album. I remember so many people talking about the inconsistency of Lou's work and it's true, he can follow a masterpiece with a piece of shitty fluff and often that's on the same album! But I wrote years ago (when I wrote music criticism) that Lou's failures usually were more interesting than most other's best work.
Then, Furman goes through each song from Side One and while writing about one of the most beautiful love songs, "Perfect Day" (it too isn't as straight.... forward as you might first think), Furman includes one of his longest footnotes:
"It pains me to call this man a genius just as I acknowledge his spouse abuse. He habitually attacked a woman who loved him and, being eight years younger than him and must less established as an artist, probably looked up to him. It makes me ethically uncomfortable to write this book, and it probably should cause you some discomfort to read it, and even to call yourself a Lou Reed fan. I am willing to praise a man who has done terrible things. I refuse to deny the power of art because of the moral violations committed by its creator. However, I respect those who turn away from art made by sometimes reprehensible people. It's a personal choice that is difficult for me, but in the end I am able to embrace the art even as I condemn the artist, though not without confronting some real ethical ambiguity."
Finding the early Velvet Underground albums when I was 11 years old and getting to see them a few months before I turned 14 was a pivotal life experience for me. I didn't know anything about Lou at the time. I just know that he bought me pop corn when I saw him that night at The Barn and Beanery. I saw him countless times over the years. I knew he was married a few times, once to a drag queen (would we now call Rachel transgender?). I know someone I love and respect, Laurie Anderson, had a long and happy marriage with Lou, so as I wrote in my review of the Victor Bockris biography, Transformer, it seems people can change. But yeah, it hurts to think the fucker could be such a vile predator and abuser.
Between covering the songs of side two, once he finishes with "Walk On The Wild Side," she has a "Side Break: Lou in the Closet/Transformer in Code" and it reminds me of my high school days (I was a sophomore when this album came out) when I was ostracized as a "faggot" and most of my best friends were gay and that perhaps it wasn't a mere accident of history that my first bartending gig was at a drag queen bar previously owned by the grandmother of Jackie Curtis, "just speeding away."
It's one reason I'm so critical of identity politics. We are, all of us, when honest, not one thing.
If you are a Lou Reed fan. If you like even some of his albums. If you like this album. If you like Ezra Furman's music, then you really should get this book and despite anything Furman says, Read it! After all, fuck what she thinks!
First, I LOVE that Furman opens with an Introductory Chapter entitled "Fuck You Leave Me Alone Don't Read My Book" because it totally captures the running thread of Lou Reed's life and work and pretty much was (is?) a core philosophical bent of my own. I mean, I was writing about punk and outside/avant music from the late 70s through mid 80s, hanging out at Mudd Club and Danceteria wearing Herman's Boots and flannel shirts, initially being turned away by bouncers till I told them, with a sneer, "I'm on the guest list". Yeah, "fuck you if you can't take the joke!"
The opening line from Furman's book about Transformer is: "Let me clear the air from the outset: I don't think Transformer is the greatest record ever made. I don't think it's the greatest album of 1972" and two pages later, after enunciating her thesis that what animates this album is an "ambiguity that elevates it beyond simply being a good record to make it an utterly unforgettable one" because the whole album is an embodiment of ambiguity, it is about ambiguity." It is, as he writes: "... an album about total freedom, a rejection of all terms and categories, a declaration of indenpendence from anything and everything you thought you had to say about it."
And it is for this reason that s/he concludes: "And that's why it's the greatest record ever made."
Furman too rejects easy categorization. Her identity is as malleable as all of ours if we were honest. They write about their absolute obsessive fandom around Lou while not at all whitewashing his vile nature. The first part of this book has chapter titles: "Lou the Queer", "Lou the Failure", "Lou and Bowie" articulating the history of Lou up to the making of this trans album. I remember so many people talking about the inconsistency of Lou's work and it's true, he can follow a masterpiece with a piece of shitty fluff and often that's on the same album! But I wrote years ago (when I wrote music criticism) that Lou's failures usually were more interesting than most other's best work.
Then, Furman goes through each song from Side One and while writing about one of the most beautiful love songs, "Perfect Day" (it too isn't as straight.... forward as you might first think), Furman includes one of his longest footnotes:
"It pains me to call this man a genius just as I acknowledge his spouse abuse. He habitually attacked a woman who loved him and, being eight years younger than him and must less established as an artist, probably looked up to him. It makes me ethically uncomfortable to write this book, and it probably should cause you some discomfort to read it, and even to call yourself a Lou Reed fan. I am willing to praise a man who has done terrible things. I refuse to deny the power of art because of the moral violations committed by its creator. However, I respect those who turn away from art made by sometimes reprehensible people. It's a personal choice that is difficult for me, but in the end I am able to embrace the art even as I condemn the artist, though not without confronting some real ethical ambiguity."
Finding the early Velvet Underground albums when I was 11 years old and getting to see them a few months before I turned 14 was a pivotal life experience for me. I didn't know anything about Lou at the time. I just know that he bought me pop corn when I saw him that night at The Barn and Beanery. I saw him countless times over the years. I knew he was married a few times, once to a drag queen (would we now call Rachel transgender?). I know someone I love and respect, Laurie Anderson, had a long and happy marriage with Lou, so as I wrote in my review of the Victor Bockris biography, Transformer, it seems people can change. But yeah, it hurts to think the fucker could be such a vile predator and abuser.
Between covering the songs of side two, once he finishes with "Walk On The Wild Side," she has a "Side Break: Lou in the Closet/Transformer in Code" and it reminds me of my high school days (I was a sophomore when this album came out) when I was ostracized as a "faggot" and most of my best friends were gay and that perhaps it wasn't a mere accident of history that my first bartending gig was at a drag queen bar previously owned by the grandmother of Jackie Curtis, "just speeding away."
It's one reason I'm so critical of identity politics. We are, all of us, when honest, not one thing.
If you are a Lou Reed fan. If you like even some of his albums. If you like this album. If you like Ezra Furman's music, then you really should get this book and despite anything Furman says, Read it! After all, fuck what she thinks!
November 14, 2021
Ezra Furman’s essay of appreciation for this album is informed by his ambivalence towards both Lou Reed and towards his own queer love affair with Reed’s music. Furman has the fan’s adoration for the music and the fan’s disappointment that the artist is a flawed human being - in Reed’s case flawed in ways that are particularly offensive to LGBTQ+ sensibilities - ironised racism (cf. “I Wanna Be Black”) and domestic violence (towards his first wife, Bettye Kronstad, documented in her own words in ‘Lou Reed: a life’ by Anthony DeCurtis). Furman does not excuse these behaviours and is right to acknowledge that they demand that fans make the effort to ensure that their admiration for the work does not extend to idealisation of the artist. However, bad behaviour does not mean a person is wholly bad and some room must be left for redemption. That the marriage between Lou Reed and Laurie Anderson took place and survived, albeit as a living-apart-together relationship, is some testament to a core of decency, however fragile it may have been. Our task as audience is merely to apply critical judgement to the work rather than some new version of excommunication.
Furman’s qualms about his admiration for Lou Reed aside, this little book is a worthwhile comment on the album and, despite failing to pay much attention to Reed’s literary influences, contains information new to me and certainly information that is not often emphasised. The new information was an account of the two different versions of ‘Some Kinda Love’, one of which was a product - we are told - of Reed returning secretly to the studio and re-mixing to bring his voice forward and push the accompaniment into the background. The (elsewhere) under-emphasised information relates to Reed’s interest in the occult ideas of Alice Bailey, renegade Theosophist and author of ‘A Treatise on White Magic’. (It is touched on, in passing by DeCurtis and there is more detail on this in Ryan H Walsh’s excellent “Astral Weeks, a secret history of 1968”). The occult is a frame of reference that is helpful across a lot of Reed’s work, well beyond ‘Sister Ray’ and ‘Ocean’, with its refrain ‘it’s the beginning of a New Age’.
The big gap in Furman’s approach to Reed’s work though is in his surprising neglect of his literary influences. Furman acknowledges that Reed aspired to apply literary standards to rock lyrics and notes a couple of glancing references to T S Eliot and Shakespeare in ‘Goodnight Ladies’ (pp. 151-2) but - unless i missed it - the entire discussion of ‘Walk on the Wild Side’ fails to note that the title derives from Nelson Algren’s novel of 1956 and makes little reference to the fact that, thematically, ‘Walk on the Wild Side’ and many other of Reed’s best lyrics drew on subject matter familiar from Algren, Kerouac, Ginsberg and, perhaps above all, from Hubert Selby jr.’s 1964 novel ‘Last Exit to Brooklyn’. Having been born in 1942, and having studied under Delmore Schwartz, these were the progressive writers important for Reed’s generation. You do not have to dig deep into the Beats and other progressive literary circles of the period to be confronted by racism and misogyny, a scraping at the surface will disclose all you want. Reed’s character flaws seem wholly in tune with the literary works that were produced by and consumed by the gay/drug sub-culture. The occult / religious interest also persisted throughout Reed’s life and later work. As well as his adoption of Tai Chi, Reed is described, by De Curtis, as being strongly influenced by Laurie Anderson’s attachment to a Tibetan Buddhist teacher. Anderson’s interest in eastern religion leads to an odd loop back to the Beat generation that provided the literary model for Reed’s approach to lyric writing. The mysterious and enigmatic Maretta Greer was some time companion of Allen Ginsberg and taught him Hindu mantras acquired on her travels in India. Anderson, following the death of Maretta Greer on 28 March 2021, wrote a moving memorial on a legacy website, addressing her as (spiritual) mother.
Furman’s qualms about his admiration for Lou Reed aside, this little book is a worthwhile comment on the album and, despite failing to pay much attention to Reed’s literary influences, contains information new to me and certainly information that is not often emphasised. The new information was an account of the two different versions of ‘Some Kinda Love’, one of which was a product - we are told - of Reed returning secretly to the studio and re-mixing to bring his voice forward and push the accompaniment into the background. The (elsewhere) under-emphasised information relates to Reed’s interest in the occult ideas of Alice Bailey, renegade Theosophist and author of ‘A Treatise on White Magic’. (It is touched on, in passing by DeCurtis and there is more detail on this in Ryan H Walsh’s excellent “Astral Weeks, a secret history of 1968”). The occult is a frame of reference that is helpful across a lot of Reed’s work, well beyond ‘Sister Ray’ and ‘Ocean’, with its refrain ‘it’s the beginning of a New Age’.
The big gap in Furman’s approach to Reed’s work though is in his surprising neglect of his literary influences. Furman acknowledges that Reed aspired to apply literary standards to rock lyrics and notes a couple of glancing references to T S Eliot and Shakespeare in ‘Goodnight Ladies’ (pp. 151-2) but - unless i missed it - the entire discussion of ‘Walk on the Wild Side’ fails to note that the title derives from Nelson Algren’s novel of 1956 and makes little reference to the fact that, thematically, ‘Walk on the Wild Side’ and many other of Reed’s best lyrics drew on subject matter familiar from Algren, Kerouac, Ginsberg and, perhaps above all, from Hubert Selby jr.’s 1964 novel ‘Last Exit to Brooklyn’. Having been born in 1942, and having studied under Delmore Schwartz, these were the progressive writers important for Reed’s generation. You do not have to dig deep into the Beats and other progressive literary circles of the period to be confronted by racism and misogyny, a scraping at the surface will disclose all you want. Reed’s character flaws seem wholly in tune with the literary works that were produced by and consumed by the gay/drug sub-culture. The occult / religious interest also persisted throughout Reed’s life and later work. As well as his adoption of Tai Chi, Reed is described, by De Curtis, as being strongly influenced by Laurie Anderson’s attachment to a Tibetan Buddhist teacher. Anderson’s interest in eastern religion leads to an odd loop back to the Beat generation that provided the literary model for Reed’s approach to lyric writing. The mysterious and enigmatic Maretta Greer was some time companion of Allen Ginsberg and taught him Hindu mantras acquired on her travels in India. Anderson, following the death of Maretta Greer on 28 March 2021, wrote a moving memorial on a legacy website, addressing her as (spiritual) mother.
October 8, 2020
Lou Reed's Transformer (33 1/3 series #131) by Ezra Furman is another edition to Bloomsbury Academic's album series. Furman is an American musician and songwriter. He currently performs solo and tours with his band The Visions.
I remember hearing Lou Reed on AM radio shortly after Transformer was released. Of course, the song that got the airplay was "Walk on the Wild Side". At that young age, I didn't understand the lyrics but the song was catchy. The song would become another song like the Kinks' "Lola". Guys would sing along even after realizing the message. (To be fair, girls did the same thing with Meatloaf's Paradise by the Dashboard Lights or The Knack for that matter). The battle over a cool song and a gay message was won out by the song. In case anyone missed the message, Reed repeated it with "Make Up" on the B side. At a time when gay was still criminalized Reed hid two songs in plain sight.
Furman's interpretation of the album is interesting he manages to give it a Lou Reed review. It's not the best rock album or the best album of 1972, he explains, it was ordinary music and it was like Reed, true to his form, didn't give a f*ck. That is what makes this a great album according to Furman. Any serious look at the songs would find the same. "Andy's Chest," a tribute and olive branch to Warhol contains some of the most ridiculous lines:
Yesterday, Daisy Mae and Biff were grooving down the street
And just like in a movie, her hands became her feet
Her belly button was her mouth
Which meant she tasted what she'd speak
But the funny thing is what happened to her nose
It grew until it reached all of her toes
Now, when people say her feet smell, they mean her nose
and the bear lines that precede these makes one wonder what was Reed thinking? "Satellite of Love" also has interesting lyrics but more importantly it is playing along with his friend's "Starman". Bowie and Reed seemed to circle each other in music. Likewise "Perfect Day" in form with "Life on Mars." "Perfect Day" also is interesting in that it has no violence of "Vicious" or open hidden meanings. It is mundane -- a girl, the zoo, a movie, sangria. It's very unReed like. Perhaps it falls in line with the Reed attitude -- You want something more vicious or underground or counter culture? Well, you can have this instead.
Furman describes to the reader how this mix of music came to be such a great album despite what it is. He also details Reed's and Bowie's collaboration and explores Reed's sexuality. It is not only a look at the Godfather of Punk but a look at Furman himself and what he sees as important and influential in his work.
I remember hearing Lou Reed on AM radio shortly after Transformer was released. Of course, the song that got the airplay was "Walk on the Wild Side". At that young age, I didn't understand the lyrics but the song was catchy. The song would become another song like the Kinks' "Lola". Guys would sing along even after realizing the message. (To be fair, girls did the same thing with Meatloaf's Paradise by the Dashboard Lights or The Knack for that matter). The battle over a cool song and a gay message was won out by the song. In case anyone missed the message, Reed repeated it with "Make Up" on the B side. At a time when gay was still criminalized Reed hid two songs in plain sight.
Furman's interpretation of the album is interesting he manages to give it a Lou Reed review. It's not the best rock album or the best album of 1972, he explains, it was ordinary music and it was like Reed, true to his form, didn't give a f*ck. That is what makes this a great album according to Furman. Any serious look at the songs would find the same. "Andy's Chest," a tribute and olive branch to Warhol contains some of the most ridiculous lines:
Yesterday, Daisy Mae and Biff were grooving down the street
And just like in a movie, her hands became her feet
Her belly button was her mouth
Which meant she tasted what she'd speak
But the funny thing is what happened to her nose
It grew until it reached all of her toes
Now, when people say her feet smell, they mean her nose
and the bear lines that precede these makes one wonder what was Reed thinking? "Satellite of Love" also has interesting lyrics but more importantly it is playing along with his friend's "Starman". Bowie and Reed seemed to circle each other in music. Likewise "Perfect Day" in form with "Life on Mars." "Perfect Day" also is interesting in that it has no violence of "Vicious" or open hidden meanings. It is mundane -- a girl, the zoo, a movie, sangria. It's very unReed like. Perhaps it falls in line with the Reed attitude -- You want something more vicious or underground or counter culture? Well, you can have this instead.
Furman describes to the reader how this mix of music came to be such a great album despite what it is. He also details Reed's and Bowie's collaboration and explores Reed's sexuality. It is not only a look at the Godfather of Punk but a look at Furman himself and what he sees as important and influential in his work.
August 22, 2023
Furman’s highly personal but extremely smart, tough-minded appreciation of Reed’s breakthrough solo album has met with acclaim from Velvet Underground lifers who have no clue about Furman’s own music, and I’m thrilled to say that the accolades are well deserved. By focusing on the most under-investigated element of Reed’s life and music, his queerness, Furman is able to bring a kind of unique perspective of identification; fans of both artists will love the opportunity to delve into their demons, so to speak, and the frankness and honesty exhibited here is a rare thing indeed to read in rock criticism that nevertheless maintains an appropriate scholarly distance (it never fawns). I also appreciate how engaging and conversational Furman’s writing is without becoming casual — on top of defining the experience of being a teenage Velvet Underground fan with deadly accuracy, he finds other universal elements in the album’s legacy in regard to growing up, to challenging norms, and to one’s complicated relationship with music itself, and specifically to a flawed hero. (It’s wonderful that Furman calls out Reed directly for his misogyny and racism while confessing to how these complications somehow enhance his relationship to the work; I relate eerily, less so with Reed — always thought of him as a brilliant fraud and asshole who mellowed out, like so many, in old age — than with John Lennon, whose personal failings are obvious and socially unforgivable, yet I don’t just love Lennon’s music, I’m fascinated and enraptured by him and always will be while simultaneously knowing I wouldn’t want anyone like him anywhere near my own life.) The 33 1/3 books are hit and miss, and usually those that are as much about the author as about the subject are rather tiresome, but this is a significant exception — Transformer turns out to be the perfect vehicle for Furman to explore the act of putting up a front, of exposing oneself, the vulnerability of that, and the maturity of learning to accept how many people will never “get it.” I hope he writes again.
March 5, 2024
I've scanned several of the titles from the "33 1/3" series in bookstores over the years, and they never felt compelling enough for me to actually buy one. Somehow, this volume on Lou Reed's Transformer album (from 1972) made me put down my money, but in retrospect my earlier hesitation would have been the better choice.
My scans of other titles in this same series led me to believe that they focus more on the authors than on the records that they're supposedly writing about*, and that holds true for Ezra Furman's take on Transformer. Furman is transgender, and writes primarily about Reed's lyrics through a lens of sexuality. That's not completely amiss given that the songs on Transformer feature many characters (and often the narrative voice itself) that exhibit fluid sexual behaviors and manifestations. But where Furman seeks definitive statements about gay liberation and related topics in Reed's words, I detect something rather different when I listen to Transformer: I hear a series of character portraits of bohemian New Yorkers. Those portraits are rendered with a sly wit and a perfect acceptance of each character's eccentricities, well in sync with Reed's own malleable lifestyles and personas in the early 1970's.
So while I think Furman is too narrowly focused on Reed's sexuality and sexual mores, oddly enough they deliver a couple of sentences in the chapter on "I'm So Free" that hit the nail on the head:
If the book as a whole was built around such insights, it would be a worthwhile read, but as it is, it's rather perfunctory.
*I fully acknowledge the same point holds true for the vast majority of pop music criticism!
My scans of other titles in this same series led me to believe that they focus more on the authors than on the records that they're supposedly writing about*, and that holds true for Ezra Furman's take on Transformer. Furman is transgender, and writes primarily about Reed's lyrics through a lens of sexuality. That's not completely amiss given that the songs on Transformer feature many characters (and often the narrative voice itself) that exhibit fluid sexual behaviors and manifestations. But where Furman seeks definitive statements about gay liberation and related topics in Reed's words, I detect something rather different when I listen to Transformer: I hear a series of character portraits of bohemian New Yorkers. Those portraits are rendered with a sly wit and a perfect acceptance of each character's eccentricities, well in sync with Reed's own malleable lifestyles and personas in the early 1970's.
So while I think Furman is too narrowly focused on Reed's sexuality and sexual mores, oddly enough they deliver a couple of sentences in the chapter on "I'm So Free" that hit the nail on the head:
Lou Reed finds freedom via constant transformation, which amounts to a kind of constant failure. If you don't commit, you don't get hurt; you never have to fully be anything, and you never get to fully be anything. Reed's ambitions are negative; they are to not be what he despises rather than to be anything he affirms.
If the book as a whole was built around such insights, it would be a worthwhile read, but as it is, it's rather perfunctory.
*I fully acknowledge the same point holds true for the vast majority of pop music criticism!
January 1, 2020
This book is surprisingly personal, connecting Furman’s own queer identity with the music and lyrics of Reed’s most iconic solo album. This is a quick, immersive read that had me returning to the album for a careful listen of the lyrics and instrumentals. For regular readers of rock history, I imagine there’s nothing new to be found in this book — Furman curates details of Reed’s life from a variety of existing sources — but it was all new dirt for me. I’m ashamed to say that I’ve never given Reed’s orientation much thought in relation to his music. I took the stoic machismo he presented to the world at face value. Reed as a gay icon never occurred to me. Of course, Lou Reed’s music and life are much more complicated than any one label or genre categorization, and Furman notes this as well. Where this book really shines, in my opinion, are in the moments between the songs and their histories, when Furman deconstructs the album through his own psychic growth. Furman too is a talented musician, who sees his own passions and anxieties reflected back in Reed’s music. This makes his book as much a memoir on queerness and creative expression as it is a piece of music criticism on a single album.
January 29, 2025
Mega fan Ezra Furman pours her obsession with Lou Reed into this book of commentary on Lou Reed's best known album.
Reading this book was like time travelling back to the early seventies, I was 12 when 'Walk on the Wild Side' hit the UK charts. I enjoyed the music but what the lyrics were about went straight over my head. In contrast, when Ezra Furman discovered Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground she thought Reed could answer important unanswered questions about herself. So I started asking myself why I was so wilfully deaf and blind - because Reed could have opened my mind to a bigger world than the nice middle class middle England world of my childhood. (In my defence, there was no internet to ask questions like: what does giving head mean)
The book has two strands: Ezra's relationship and thoughts about Lou Reed - culminating in meeting him! A track by track review of each track, how it was written, what it's about and what it tells us about Reed.
Both topics are a bit niche and I would not have read the book - if it hadn't been chosen by my book group. Having said that, I am a bit of a seventies rock geek and it was good to listen to Perfect Day again and know the full story behind it.
Reading this book was like time travelling back to the early seventies, I was 12 when 'Walk on the Wild Side' hit the UK charts. I enjoyed the music but what the lyrics were about went straight over my head. In contrast, when Ezra Furman discovered Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground she thought Reed could answer important unanswered questions about herself. So I started asking myself why I was so wilfully deaf and blind - because Reed could have opened my mind to a bigger world than the nice middle class middle England world of my childhood. (In my defence, there was no internet to ask questions like: what does giving head mean)
The book has two strands: Ezra's relationship and thoughts about Lou Reed - culminating in meeting him! A track by track review of each track, how it was written, what it's about and what it tells us about Reed.
Both topics are a bit niche and I would not have read the book - if it hadn't been chosen by my book group. Having said that, I am a bit of a seventies rock geek and it was good to listen to Perfect Day again and know the full story behind it.
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