The one note that changed a classic Lou Reed song: “Very few people could do that”
Lou Reed always had this inexplicable ability to enhance any song or story with a sort of invisible punctuation, like, written down, his words are musings of someone making it up as they go; a natural storyteller who knows exactly where to place emphasis to keep you intrigued. “It’s nice to luxuriate in the story,” he once said. “Whatever is being sung should be really visual.”
Unlike most songwriters, Reed often played around with the different pieces that made up a bigger story, sometimes writing mini musical plays where he was the central character, including monologues and twists and turns, simply because it was fun to explore. He then applied this to music, embellishing his words and arcs as much as possible because, in his words, “so they can see the action that’s going on”.
Perhaps that’s why, when you think of Reed, he’s an inherently visual and visceral performer, and you can sense the theatricality of his songs and words even when there’s no accompanying image, when they’re emerging from the speaker like a world you’re secretly being let in on, even if the words themselves are fairly simple, or straight-forward, or repeated in a way that makes Reed seem in a trance singing them. Like he’s beckoning you to zone out too (“Satellite’s gone up to the skies / Things like that drive me out of my mind”).
In fact, ‘Satellite of Love’ brought all of these elements together perfectly, not only as a song linked to the space fixation but because it saw the joining of forces of another master in the game, David Bowie. His involvement felt fated, particularly as the song looked to merge current affairs with the more relatable experience of jealousy within a relationship; the kind of layering Bowie knew well within his own work and knew exactly which buttons to press to make sure Reed achieved the same in his too.
According to Reed, Bowie was actually the missing piece that elevated the song and gave it its abstract feel, his voice making it seem more whimsical and wayward in ways that bolstered it and stopped it from falling flat. Anyone would probably think he did this intricately with different approaches that made the track flourish, but Reed later recalled how it was much simpler than that, and how much of this was achieved by the way he contorted his voice in the studio.
“He has a melodic sense that’s just well above anyone else in rock and roll,” Reed said. Praising his contemporary, he also went into how his voice completely transformed ‘Satellite of Love’: “Most people could not sing some of his melodies. He can really go for a high note. Take ‘Satellite of Love’, on my Transformer album. There’s a part at the very end where his voice goes all the way up. It’s fabulous.”
In all fairness, the track came about because of something Reed hardly ever does, or is associated with, after realising he hadn’t done very well recently when it came to radio play. Written while in The Velvet Underground, ‘Satellite of Love’ was intended to be accessible with a flair that made it feel relevant, hooked into something real that people already had an interest in. But Bowie took something with potential and made it shimmer, with a vocal ability that gave it more of a fantastical element, like Reed always dreamed of when crafting wayward stories in music.
