1978: The Year After Punk

In the midst of all the punk-rock press excitement of New York in 1978, Lou Reed could have easily ridden the new sound to re-newed superstar status. He had, after all, been the single most important figure in the Manhattan underground rock scene for a decade already, and a number of punks were happy to point fingers in his direction (as well as toward Iggy Pop, the MC5, and the New York Dolls) when asked who had influenced this new challenge to radio-friendly pop.

But Reed was deep in his own trajectory. He’d shunted fame before, after all, by following his super-hit Transformer with the somber and introspective Berlin. After this pair of opposing masterpieces, he dumped Sally Can’t Dance — one of the single worst records ever recorded — on the public and then took it a step further with Metal Machine Music, an unlistenable double-album of guitar feedback. Throughout the early 70s, as if running from his own “Walk on the Wild Side” shadow, he made a name of being confrontational with the press, shaving swastikas into his hair, and putting on a stage act that was somewhere between Times-Square-hustler and biker-gang-leader. Then he went jazzy with Coney Island Baby, a rather melodious and hip record with an R&B tinge as well as that Lou Reed lyrical content that had helped make the Velvet Underground so ahead of their time. This solid album was followed by the equally jazzy Rock and Roll Heart, a collection of songs that is as timeless now as it was out of place upon its release.

Then came ‘78’s Street Hassle. Here, Reed looped his jazzy songwriting of these last couple of records back into the garage-and-gospel sound that had given him prominence both in the Velvet Underground and his early solo work. (By the way, if you can find it, you should really hear his first solo record, the self-titled Lou Reed.) He added another element to the mix, however, that pushed this and ‘79’s follow-up The Bells into the stratosphere of his own illustrious career. Street Hassle has an operatic feel to it just as Berlin had before. It doesn’t mind wearing emotions on its sleeves. The songs move with an artfulness that show a musician at the top of his career, and with the guts of a man who doesn’t have anything to lose.

Side A gets started with “Gimme Some Good Times,” a fuzzed-out sing-along with one foot in 60s pop and another in late-80s psychedelia. Sadomasochistic themes and drugged-out lifelessness manage to join forces here, and with the help of Reed’s nagging voice, create a dark mirror-image of shimmering pop.

The garage quality continues on “Dirt,” with its heavy guitar noise and off-kilter back-up singers. It is also one of the better Lou Reed insult-songs, featuring the refrain, “You’re just cheap, cheap, cheap, cheap, uptown dirt.” Did I mention how much this song sounds like New York in the 70s? It’s filthy, loose, and criminal. In place of hope, there’s nothing but cement and rock-and-roll. It’s own completely unsanitized environment.

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