"Well It Was All Right" - Well, baby, you know it was all right

Lou Reed performs Shooting Up onstage in San Francisco, 1974 (Photo by Michael Zagaris)

By Drew Lyons

Look, Lou’s death hit me hard. I loved that guy. As far as I am concerned, he was New York City, and a giant impetus for my adult choice to wanna be there. He still is NYC, even post-mortem. That is the depth of his representation of that funky, crazy, cool town for me. I am still unable to think of New York City without simultaneously thinking of Lou Reed. It’s true.

I’ve read everything on the topic of my rock hero, trust me. One could even consider me obsessed on this subject. Andy’s Factory? Please. Lou was ten times the artist that Andy was (or could ever hope to be; and Andy knew that!). And that fucked Andy up, knowing that his protégée was far more clever and brilliant than he could ever be. Ah, the balancing of the universe.

Lou knew it too. That’s why he created the body of work that I still find to be far more fascinating than any of Andy’s work, ever. I defy anyone to put the Campbell’s Soup Cans up against the Velvet Underground, objectively.

Tut-tut-tut…don’t even try to give me that lame argument that, oh, well, they’re totally different art forms. Painting and Music are completely different, right? Bullshit.

I dare you to tell me that the soup cans win.

But let’s be fair here. Andy was a Fagan, everyone knows this. But without the Fagan, we wouldn’t have Lou. I get it. Same with Edie Sedgwick. And we all know what happened to her. So sad.

But Lou. Sweet, sweet Lou. He had nothin’ at all. Until Andy “discovered” him. On the gritty streets of the Lower East Side, poor, hungry, with a thousand ideas in his head. Barely able to shower and comfortably write his music, so very poor.

So Andy “created” this new crazy band, The Plastic Underground. To play gigs in the East Village. And Lou was his Justin Beiber. Okay, Andy. You “discovered” Lou? Again, please.

He manipulated Lou, for his own ends. And Lou rose above, and proved how seminal he was to be. For me to listen to, when I was 13, and couldn’t even keep my feet solid under me.

What did he just say?! Amazing. Amazing!

The night I met Lou was one of the greatest nights of my mortal life.

I was circa 35 years old, Lou was circa 58 years old (but it was so hard to tell with his giant black sunglasses on; it’s a best guess). We were both at the afterparty for the TriBeCa Film Festival, which I scored some pass from my friend to get into.

I lasered in on The Louness pretty much the minute I walked in. Holy shit. That’s Lou Reed.

He was everything I would have hoped, wanted, needed Lou Reed to be in real life. Standing 20 feet away from me.

Lou was standing off to the side of the bar, in a black leather jacket, black t-shirt underneath, with black skinny pants on, and the most badass motorcycle boots on. And those giant black sunglasses on. It was Lou, there could be no question about that.

Wow. And who is that six-foot, gorgeous, black female model (I guess) gently stroking his hair? Is Lou married? To her? I realized that I didn’t know. I knew he hung out with Bowie and Jagger back in the day, but it occurred to me that I didn’t really know which way he swung. No matter, there was Lou. And I was determined to buy him a drink.

I summoned everything I had in me, no joke. And I casually walked over to Lou and the giant black model:

“Excuse me, Mr. Reed, I understand that this is annoying, so I will keep it short…”

“Okay, kid.”

“May I buy you a drink? And your companion too, of course.”

Huuurrrrmmmppphhh. From Lou. True.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Reed, I didn’t meant to bother yo……”

“No, it’s okay, kid. I was just laughing at your nervousness. Relax, alright? I’ll take a Maker’s neat, and she’ll have…Sweetness, what are you gonna have, huh?”

She shook her head back and forth, very laconically. As if to suggest something narcotic, but one of the happy ones.

I seized the opportunity then.

“So Mr. Reed, that’s one Maker’s neat for you? I will go get it, and be back in less than 5 minutes. Should I bring some water too?”

“Nah, kid. We don’t need no water. We’re leavin’.”

“Now?”

“Haha! Not now, but hurry up with that Maker’s, alright?

“Yes sir! I mean, yes, of course, Mr. Reed.”

“Call me Lou, kid. And go get my goddamn whiskey. Now.”

I did fly fly away to the bar, faster than I am sure I have ever made a bar run in my life. I ordered two Maker’s Mark, neat, please.

Walking back with the drink that I knew I was about to have with Lou Reed, I think, was one of the most exciting moments of my entire life. This is true, and is also probably the reason why I am writing this little story down.

“Here’s your Maker’s, Mr. Ree… Lou. Sorry.”

“Thanks.”

He chinked my glass. We looked each other into the eyes/giant black sunglasses, we raised the whiskey to our lips, and we sipped. Deliberately. Our glasses slowly descended.

I smiled big at Lou.

Lou smiled big right back.

I’m cool with this, between Lou and I.