Reviews of Todd Haynes’s documentary The Velvet Underground, Bruno Dumont’s France, a satire-drama about the news industry, and Nature, Artavazd Peleshian’s graceful parade of natural disasters.
Stuck in a world where regular shopping was rare and live performances extinct, the right path seemed to be the curls and swirls of mentions and references that led to surprising new or little-known artists and fascinating new levels of famous ones.
Two recent biographies take very different approaches as they revel in the wild lives and examine the distinctive songs of two of rock music’s most enigmatic figures: Lou Reed and Warren Zevon.
“Since the late ‘60s I’ve been up and down the Northeast corridor, and Boston’s always one of our favorite stops.”
Nico, 1988 lays bare the ravaged body and brooding soul of a woman who may yet be remembered as among the most iconic musicians of the twentieth century.
Anthony DeCurtis wants to do justice to his subjects’ extensive catalogue, but the book begins to feel less like exegesis and more like Lou Reed 101.
We learn, over and over, that the author of the song “Vicious” dispensed his legendary acts of cruelty with sadistic aplomb.
Lou Reed has left us, but the truths he took pains to show us about ourselves and our society – much as we try to cover them up – remain.
Remembering Lou Reed, who died Sunday at the age of 71.