1. “Love Makes You Feel” (1972)
Lou Reed’s death this week has triggered an upsurge of eulogies, epitaphs, and encomiums. As well it should. One of the most vital and influential singer-songwriters of his era, Reed and his work will likely be reassessed by every generation of pop-culture scholar from here to eternity. One thing that often overshadows Reed’s music, though, is his image—and specifically, his unassailable cool. From his start in The Velvet Underground to solo classics like “Walk On The Wild Side” and “Perfect Day,” Reed never dodged his sex-drugs-and-sunglasses persona, even as his status as street-poet icon morphed into elder statesman of rock in his later years. There’s more to Reed’s work, though, than decadence and snarl; some of his songs are downright uncool. Take, for example, “Love Makes You Feel.” Recorded as a demo during the sessions for Reed’s final album with The Velvet Underground, 1970’s Loaded, the track didn’t officially appear until his solo debut, 1972’s Lou Reed. It would have been right at home on Loaded, though—especially next to that album’s sweet, smiley “Who Loves The Sun.” Here was Reed, dark avatar of rock’s sordid underbelly, singing about sugary, mushy stuff like emotions and romance. There’s not a trace of sarcasm to “Love Makes You Feel”; as promised by that title, all that’s missing is a puppy dog. That doesn’t make the song bad—on the contrary, it’s fantastic. But it flies in the face of the über-cool stereotype that Reed seemed happy to both propagate and subvert throughout his career.
2. “I Wanna Be Black” (1978)
Sometimes Reed’s uncoolness manifests itself as old-fashioned corniness. Other times it takes far shadier forms. “I Wanna Be Black” opens with the lines, “I wanna be black, have natural rhythm / Shoot 20 feet of jism, too.” It’s all downhill from there—up to and including “I wanna be black, wanna be like Martin Luther King / And get myself shot in the spring.” It’s clearly a joke, and it’s clearly a horrible one—and it’s only thanks to Reed’s commercial decline in the late ’70s that he was able to get away with “I Wanna Be Black” without most people noticing. Transgression is one thing, but this reeks more of trolling desperation.
3. “Disco Mystic” (1979)
There’s nothing inherently wrong with a rock artist wanting to make dance music: For every Rod Stewart, there’s a David Byrne. Reed doesn’t come anywhere near justifying his dalliance with disco, however, on “Disco Mystic.” Over a rubbery beat and a crybaby saxophone that feel more like off-brand Frank Zappa, Reed growls and grunts in a bizarre parody of either Saturday Night Fever or himself—it’s not clear which. And the fact that such a sad attempt at disco comes a year after “I Wanna Be Black” certainly doesn’t uphold his legendary cool cred.
4. “Teach The Gifted Children” (1980)
In 1980, Reed began to address the shortcomings of his ’70s work (although, on the whole, he made excellent albums that decade) by releasing Growing Up In Public. The album is his first hint at self-conscious maturity in his songwriting, which in and of itself is about the least cool thing imaginable. That said, the record has some solid songs on it—but “Teach The Gifted Children” is not one of them. Like Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young’s “Teach Your Children” updated as an ’80s PSA, “Teach The Gifted Children” is the slack, lackluster sound of Reed trading in his leather pants for dad jeans.
5. “Women” (1982)
“Love Makes You Feel” isn’t the only example of a decent Reed song that also happens to be glaringly uncool. “Women” appears on The Blue Mask, an album that marked the comeback of the Reed of old: poetic, confrontational, mysterious, and bristling with noise. Musically, “Women” fits perfectly on the album, full of ethereal guitar and Reed’s oddly conversational speak-singing. But the lyrics fall flat on their face: In trying to extol the virtues of the female gender—and even explicitly owning up to his own teenage sexism—he comes across as paternalistic and objectifying. “I love women, I think they’re great / They’re a solace to a world in a terrible state,” he sings lamely. But the worst part of “Women” is its assumption that “We love women / We all love women.” Coming from an artist who once openly trafficked in queerness, it’s a scuttling retreat into societal normality.