Words and Music, May 1965 is a tremendous gift to Lou Reed fans, offering a glimpse into an artist's working process in presenting influences laid bare and songs in their earliest, rawest forms. Reed was one of the very greatest innovators in rock 'n' roll music throughout his long career. With the Velvet Underground he incorporated avant-garde sounds and outré subject matter into both extended jams and gorgeous pop ditties alike. Truly, the band encompassed multitudes, wrote the rulebook, created genres decades before they even existed, and (insert your own storied cliché here).
As a result of how perfect and varied the four studio Velvets records are, fans absolutely devour what live tapes, studio outtakes, and even different mixes exist. This extends to all of the recordings Reed made for small labels before the Velvets, notably with the Primitives, whose song "The Ostrich" is a total scorcher. Words and Music, May 1965 should probably not be the first solo Lou Reed record you listen to, or even the fifth. For fans, however, the tape the recordings come from is something of a holy grail.
When word emerged in the music press that Reed's careful archivists had unearthed a reel-to-reel tape still inside of a notarized package that Reed had mailed to himself on May 11, 1965, with his parents’ Long Island home as the return address, everyone wanted to know its contents. The tape, it turns out, followed the now-long standing tradition of the "poor man's copyright," where artists would mail a recording of their material to themselves to prove date of possession.
These are the earliest demos of many classic Reed songs, performed in a blues-folk manner with occasional help from John Cale. It's extraordinarily interesting to hear Reed's iconic songs "I'm Waiting for the Man," "Heroin" and even "Pale Blue Eyes" in these plaintive, first versions. Voices crack, one acoustic guitar is strummed, and the melodies veer upwards in an Everly Brothers/Greenwich Village street corner vein that is often as joyful as it is serious.
The initial tape transfer and mastering are as perfect as can be, considering the fragile and funky original source. Even earlier recordings have been included in the set, from doo-wop inspired short gems from 1958 (when Reed was just 16 years old) to no less than three takes on Dylan songs from 1963 (the same year Reed saw Dylan perform live). Reed originals like "Men of Good Fortune" show a stronger Zimmerman influence than most might expect. Cale sings along on a handful of the demos, even taking lead on the enigmatic "Wrap Your Troubles in Dreams."
Every Reed original here with the exception of "Men of Good Fortune" does sound like a sketch; these really are demos, drawings first applied to the canvas before the paint comes on. But how lucky are we that the paint has been peeled away and we can experience the skeletal origins of these great works? And to eavesdrop on a simpler, weirder time—the New York City of 1965 where some kid and his strange friends were about to change it all (not that the world itself would really take notice for another ten years or so). © Mike McGonigal/Qobuz