Lou Reed at 58: Electric Ecstasy in the New Millennium

 

Lou Reed welcomed the year 2000 with an album titled Ecstasy: his 18th solo work, marking his return after nearly four years of silence. This record is not only musically dense but also visceral in its lyrics, dissecting human relationships with the sharp scalpel of someone who has lived too much and observed even more.

The enigmatic, unsettling, and amusing cover showed Reed's face emerging from a black background, in a state of ecstasy. Sexual? Chemical? Spiritual? The ambiguity was intentional. What truly electrifies this album is the pure, raw, unfiltered energy that Reed projects in every second of the recording.

Reed and his musical accomplices, Mike Rathke on guitars, Fernando Saunders on bass (perhaps the musician with the most presence on the album besides Lou himself), and Tony "Thunder" Smith on drums, opted for a basic, visceral, and energetic approach. Guitars, bass, and drums weave an uncompromising electric tapestry, a sonic wall that neither asks for permission nor offers apologies.

Part of that rawness recalls earlier gems like New York and The Blue Mask, but Ecstasy has its own charm: dark, sexy, intoxicated, and dangerously honest. An organic album in the midst of an increasingly digital and processed musical era. At 58, Reed refused to age quietly.

"Paranoia Key of E" condenses elements of jazz, funk, and rock, the pure fuel of his best 1970s albums, but with a crucial difference: the reduction to a powerful quartet gives Reed absolute control and protagonism over every note, every silence, every breath. His guitars are sharp, repetitive, and hypnotic: a minimalism close to Jim O'Rourke's experimental pop (think albums like Bad Timing and Eureka). Had Reed listened to O'Rourke at that time? It's more than possible. An elegant touch: a brass section reinforces the track with unexpected sophistication.

"Mystic Child" is even more insistent. At times it evokes O'Rourke, at others the adventurous spirit of John Frusciante in his golden era with Red Hot Chili Peppers. It's clear: Reed wasn't resting on his laurels. Ecstasy is not a nostalgic recreation, but a work aimed at a dynamic, risky, and unsettling future.

In fact, a fascinating question: Could Reed have recorded an album with Red Hot Chili Peppers in that era? I'm convinced he could have. Ecstasy arrived almost a decade before his surprising (and controversial) collaboration with Metallica on Lulu, but it already contained elements suggesting a notable synergy between Reed and the Chili Peppers. Lou was attentive, alert, hungry for the contemporary.

Reed's urban and direct poetry is not far from the spoken/sung poetry of Anthony Kiedis. And I'm sure: Frusciante was a big fan (during the Blood Sugar Sex Magik era, he appeared in interviews wearing Lou Reed T shirts). The rhythm section of Flea and Chad Smith isn't far removed from those jazz-funk musicians who were part of Reed's bands in the 1970s. "Mad", a quasi introspective ballad, would fit perfectly on The Blue Mask, and it's not hard to imagine Flea and Smith infusing it with their playful, dynamic, and deep groove.

In spirit, Ecstasy harks back to New York, though less raw and with greater mystery and decadent elegance. Reed enters a trance with tracks that gradually raise the temperature, building tension like a master of suspense. He dares to experiment, to create discomfort, to do genuinely different things. Sublime. Ethereal. Ecstasy.

"Modern Dance" finds him at his most introspective: pure poetry where he bares his thoughts without masks or pretensions. More spoken word poetry that would surely have delighted Kiedis. Was Reed the original rapper of rock? Lou used to joke about that. In Ecstasy, we find a Reed obsessed with words and poetry, even beyond traditional songs: some tracks are more urban monologues accompanied by music, without choruses or conventional structures.

"Future Farmers of America" is high caliber furious rock. The guitars set an accelerated pace, an inspired and apocalyptic urgency. One of the most devastating tracks on the album, a pure adrenaline rush.

"White Prism" is unique in his entire discography: it starts with Hendrixian pyrotechnics, then steps back into undeniable purity. Reed plays with levels of tension almost magically, in full control of his ability to surprise and provoke contradictory emotions.

"Rock Minuet" explores sonic territories that Reed would deepen in his final years: ambient, drone, free improvisation. In Ecstasy, we witness Reed's transition from rock musician to pure sound artist, from composer to sculptor of frequencies.

"Like a Possum" is the other side of the coin: maximum volume, chaotic distortion, and limitless adrenaline, with guitar lines that sometimes recall the raw brutality of Neil Young in his wildest moments. It's said that the unreleased original version of this track was even more strident and savage, a barely controlled beast.

For many critics and fans, Ecstasy is Lou Reed's last great album. I always include Lulu (with Metallica) in that conversation, but if his solo career had ended here, it would have done so with beautiful irony: "Big Sky", an unusually optimistic song in his catalog. It's not hard to hear it as his great musical farewell, a luminous ending to a dark, electric, and, deep down, strangely hopeful journey.

Ecstasy was not a goodbye. It was a new threshold, a half open door to unexplored territories. At 58, Lou Reed proved that danger and creativity have no expiration date. Not for him.