The Trouble with Classicists

So, I was just sitting around, crying (which I find I do all the time now), and listening to this amazing record, which was one of the first truly interesting/out there/"alternative" late-'80s/early '90s (I think it was 1990; it was certainly right near the end of high school) I ever bought and really identified with. And anyway, though the VU remain unimpeachable, and always an intense, amazing source of pleasure, I'm not really sure how I feel about all those Lou solo records I was so painfully, powerfully attached to 10-12 years ago (have you made it all the way through Berlin lately? That record used to blow my mind), and there are probably only three or four Cale solo things I've ever been able to get into in any serious way (and by things I mean songs, not records--part of this is based on the embarrassment of seeing him playing live, not once but twice). Still, Songs For Drella seems like the best of both of these guys. The heavy narrative keeps Lou focused, while the stripped down aesthetic puts Cale's best instrumental instincts on display. The piano work is astounding. Unlike the VU reunion from 92 or whenever it was, this project finds them keeping each other honest. Making music about Andy Warhol, who never really holds my interest in real life, forces them to reckon just how much their entire careers were founded on one charlatan's pop art whim 25 years prior. Reed is so good here, so obviously vulnerable and feeling, but sharp and cold, too. He slips in and out of Andy's voice and his own narration with such purpose and grace, alternately scolding, apologizing to/for, celebrating, and fondly remembering his old sissy svengali. "I Believe" starts off as a screed against Valerie Solanas ("I believe life's serious enough for retribution... I believe I would've pulled the switch on her myself"), but becomes a lament for his own failure to come to his friend's aid at a time of real need ("Andy said, 'I think I died. Why didn't you come to see me?'"); the final refrain—"visit me/ visit me/ visit me/ why didn't you visit me"—is brutal, but perfect. I love how this record sounds like the good things about the '80s. It belongs in the capsule with Spalding Gray, David Lynch, and Spy Magazine, and all those other things I don't remember. It's very white dress shirt with the top button buttoned. I like that, though.