The two rock legends Lou Reed called talentless: “He can’t play rock ’n’ roll because he’s a loser”
The late Lou Reed was many things: a songwriting phenomenon, an urban poet, a struggling hedonist and, at times, a cantankerous brute. As a huge fan of The Velvet Underground and much of Lou Reed’s solo material, I have often wondered whether separating the art from the artist is the right thing to do with Mr Reed – after all, he did punch David Bowie in the face. Yet, Reed’s art was so reflective of its creator that it is difficult and ill-advised to do so.
Like most musicians of his ilk and era, Reed dabbled with drugs, entering into several periods of addiction throughout his career. As the early Velvet Underground piece ‘Heroin’ might suggest, he was extremely open about this part of his life in his songwriting. Such substance dependencies can elicit erratic behaviour, a short temper and a lack of judgement – damaging, if entertaining, attributes in the interview arena.
In the 1970s and ‘80s, Reed sat for several iconic interviews, in which he could usually be found wide-eyed behind the shades, cigarette in hand, and disdainful leer at the ready. His forthright yet changeable opinions during this period compromised a sincere countenance, and I, for one, like to find the comedic value in Reed’s scathing over-exaggeration.
In one infamous interview feature from 1973, Reed uncapped his large bottle of vitriol to criticise some of his revered rivals. Alongside praise for his former Velvets bandmates, pop artist Andy Warhol and his companion David Bowie, Reed showed unmitigated distaste for West Coast rock outfits and some of his contemporary stars.
Perhaps most surprisingly, Reed spared some time to slander Frank Zappa as “untalented”. Much like the jazz he so adored, the experimental guitarist was certainly not to everyone’s taste, but it is impossible to deny his instrumental talent. “He’s probably the single most untalented person I’ve heard in my life,” Reed said in his appraisal. “He’s a two-bit pretentious academic, and he can’t play his way out of anything.”
Zappa defied genre classification, fusing jazz, rock, classical, do-wop, and avant-garde into improvised packages of psychedelia. Reed seemed to have his tongue in his cheek while voicing his opinions but didn’t seem to like Zappa’s approach one bit. “He can’t play rock ‘n’ roll because he’s a loser,” Reed added, “and that’s why he dresses up funny. He’s not happy with himself, and I think he’s right.”
As it happens, a rift had existed between Reed and Zappa since the 1960s, when The Velvet Underground shared the MGM label with Zappa and his band, Mothers of Invention. During a shared gig engagement on the West Coast, Zappa allegedly made a provocative comment about the Velvets and their association with Andy Warhol’s zany Factory tribe, thus exacerbating a label-based rivalry.
Fortunately, Reed and Zappa seemed to bury the hatchet and recognise the important roles they both played in 20th-century pop culture and musical evolution. In 1995, Reed inducted Zappa into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, lauding the late musician’s artistic integrity and steadfast support for charitable causes.
During his 1973 disdain campaign, Reed took a similar swipe at Pete Townshend. The New York proto-punk poet couldn’t relate to The Who’s masterpiece rock opera Tommy and wanted the songwriter to know just how he felt. “Tommy is such…” Reed began. “Jesus, how people get sucked into that.”
As a 74-minute story of childhood trauma, Tommy featured a range of songs crafted to evoke a cinematic experience. Even Townshend wasn’t happy with every track on the album, taking particular issue with the flagship single, ‘Pinball Wizard’. Still, nobody seemed to despise the record with such fervour as Reed.
Elaborating on his position, Reed called Townshend “profoundly untalented” as a lyricist and “philosophically boring, to say the least”. Taking aim at ‘The Seeker’, which actually appeared on the 1971 follow-up album Who’s Next, Reed quoted some specific lyrics: “‘I ask Timothy Leary…’, I wouldn’t ask Timothy Leary the time of day, for cryin’ out loud.”
Reed and Townshend never entered into a public feud. Both released crucial music on the road to punk and metal genres, but when it came to lyrics, Reed favoured gritty realism while Townshend preferred deaf, dumb and blind pinball gurus and ambitious dystopias. I, personally, am thankful for both.
