LOU REED, "WALK ON THE WILD SIDE," & ME

In the winter of 1973, I was almost eleven years old, and lived with my family in rural Wisconsin. I found nothing too much to like about the season as it would drag on into March and sometimes April and the snow piles on the side of the streets would become grey and ugly with road grime. I impatiently waited for the day when the snow would finally melt away for good and I could get my bike out again and be free, to the degree I was allowed, perhaps a half-mile or so.

My brother had joined the junior high basketball team, which meant lots of after-school practices and games played at night, which for me only meant that I had to spend even more time cooped up, this time in my mom's car. He didn't want us to come inside the gym and watch him, so we would wait for him to finish, parked on the street at the side of the tall brown brick school building, running the heater to try to stay warm. I would whine endlessly about this to my mother, crabby, cold, and hungry after my own school day. We would sit there in the dark, the car interior illuminated by an orange-tinted street light, not bright enough to read by, so my books were no good. The sole redeeming perk to this was my being able to commandeer the car radio to WOKY-AM, my favorite Top 40 station out of Milwaukee.

I was totally a sucker for a story song, and there were quite a few on the charts at this time: "The Night That The Lights Went Out In Georgia," "Tie A Yellow Ribbon 'Round The Ole Oak Tree," "You're So Vain," "Space Oddity." But one of these story songs blasted through the airwaves, as sharp, cold, and dangerous as the blade of a knife, unlike any other. It was Lou Reed's "Walk On The Wild Side." I would sit in the passenger seat, listening intently to every word, delivered in Reed's flat, nasal monotone, and would be transported into what was surely the strangest, craziest place in the world: New York City. I hoped my mother wasn't paying as much attention to the lyrics as I was, for I suspected that if she did, I'd have to change the station. At my age and being a rather sheltered child, I wasn't quite sure about what all of the lyrics meant, especially about Candy Darling's activity in the second verse, but how bad could it be, if it was played on the radio? Ha. By the time radio programmers figured it out, the song was a hit.

Holly came from Miami, F.L.A.
Hitch-hiked her way across the U.S.A.
Plucked her eyebrows on the way
Shaved her legs and then he was a she
She says, "Hey babe, take a walk on the wild side"
He said, "Hey honey, take a walk on the wild side"

Candy came from out on the island
In the backroom she was everybody's darlin'
But she never lost her head
Even when she was giving head
She says, "Hey babe, take a walk on the wild side"
He said, "Hey babe, take a walk on the wild side"

And the colored girls go
Doo do doo, doo do doo, doo do doo

Little Joe never once gave it away
Everybody had to pay and pay
A hustle here and a hustle there
New York City's the place where they said
"Hey babe, take a walk on the wild side"
I said, "Hey Joe, take a walk on the wild side"

Sugar plum fairy came and hit the streets
Lookin' for soul food and a place to eat
Went to the Apollo, you should've seen 'em go go go
They said, "Hey sugar, take a walk on the wild side"
I said, "Hey babe, take a walk on the wild side"

Alright, huh

Jackie is just speeding away
Thought she was James Dean for a day
Then I guess she had to crash
Valium would have helped that bash
She said, "Hey babe, take a walk on the wild side"
I said, "Hey honey, take a walk on the wild side"

And the colored girls say
Doo do doo, doo do doo, doo do doo

Lou Reed, "Walk On The Wild Side"

This is what I think of when Lou Reed is mentioned, even 40-some years later: sitting in the car in the middle of the country in the middle of nowhere, in the dark, in the cold, with the heater blasting, with the radio playing, and my eyes darting over to my mother to see if she was frowning or not, trying to imagine a world I was so far removed from, and hearing somehow the humanity and freedom within Reed's freaky, damaged characters. It is a brilliant piece of urban poetry, set in a cool-as-cool-can-get beat-gen jazz arrangement. A perfect single.

Many years later, I found myself in New York City at Ray Davies' first "Storyteller" shows at the Westbeth Theater. In the seats in front of me were Lou Reed and Laurie Anderson, holding hands and smiling.

Lou Reed died today at age 71. RIP.