Notes

---

This is a reasonable quality 1972 audience recording.

A couple of weeks into their UK tour, ostensibly to promote the as-yet unreleased "Transformer".

"..uh - tonight is going to be oldie time...."

Lou Reed: guitar, vocals
Vinnie Laporta: guitar
Eddie Reynolds: guitar
Bobby Resigno: bass
Scottie Clark: drums


###############
The Wait For The Man Is Over

Leicester University, Saturday 14th October 1972. A chill wind. The rain which has been threatening all day has held off. Down at the hall there is little obvious sign of activity - a Hetrtz truck parked at the back, a few Ents Committee people hanging around, a poster of the Phantom Of Rock flapping in the foyer. Onstage, a tired-looking kid in a white T-shirt and blue denim trousers plays a slow, slow ballad, his voice almost lugubrious in the empty hall......."Jack's in his corset, Jane is in her vest - and me I'm in a rock'n'roll band....." The amps are turned right down, a few people stand round pre-viewing a myth.
Outside, a cold dank midlands night. A few people gather in a windswept huddle around the ticket window, but otherwise the campus is empty, lit only by an occasional pale lamp. A couple of newcomers arrive, buttoned against the cold - "Hey, who's playing?" "Lou Reed". "Who?"
Back in the hall, the soundcheck is over and the band troop off-stage. Lou, carrying his guitar case, picks up an old flying jacket off the back of a chair, and lights another cigarette. Scottie Clark leaves his drums and, with bassist Bobby Resigno wanders upstairs to the bar. Lou walks out alone to the dressing-room, fumbling with a bunch of keys, looking non-commital and shut-in. Two young chicks round the corner of the passage, giggling and chattering. They spot Lou, quieten immediately and sidle past him, their eyes glued to the floor, and as they round the next corner the breathless giggling begins again. "Did you see?" breathes one, "Did you see?" I lean over the stairs, debating whether to speak to him or not. When I look up again, the Phantom of Rock has disappeared.
Upstairs in the bar, Scottie and Bobby sit at a corner table, drinking halves of lager, smoking No 6, talking and laughing. The bar begins to fill up, and I go out to get a ticket.
The hall is small and bare, the twin to a thousand gig halls across the country, green and white paint, wooden chairs along the walls, a small tired balcony. Down in the body of the hall a few people sit around the floor in bunches, drinking pints of Double Diamond and nodding to the deafening piped distortion from the PA. More people drift in, suss that nothing is happening, and drift out again. Everyone looks fairly clean, fairly together, fresh-faced kids who were coping with first-form maths when Lou was electro-shocking New York from behind the screens at the Cinematheque. One chick is dressed up in foil, but looks oven-ready rather than freaky - it's that kind of place. The talk is of seminars and essays, of dating and of the Christmas vacation, no-one ventures theories on The Myth. Mosly, people just sip warm beer and gaze at the empty stage. It's a long way from Max's Kansas City....
Down in the Gents someone has scrawled "Marsha Bronson is OK" with a black Magic marker. Lou would've liked that. Outside in the hall someone is talking about Lou's gig in Cambridge the night before. His tone is hushed, almost reverential. "Oh", says someone, "I just loved "Loaded", didn't you....it was so ...obtuse, you know?" I notice some people wandering around on their own, clutching cameras or bulging with ill-concealed bootleg equipment. Usually alone, often in black; the Lou Reed freaks. I take my seat, feeling happier.
A Cheech and Chong track blares interminably over the PA, two Ents guys fiddle with Heath Robinson-ish spot lights, dropping tinted filters, chain-smoking, swearing. Latecomers stagger in, waving recognition to those already seated, squeals and groans from the piles of Marshalls onstage. And now, at last, the lights go down. The two guys give up on the spots, - "It's the mains" shouts one, "get Tony...." Shadowy figures appear onstage, a scattering of applause, the record dies abruptly and Philip Goodhand-Tait says "Hullo".
His band play a pleasant set, a refreshing change from the mindless noise of most support bands, but all through it there is a curious atmosphere, an anticipatory tension and I realise I have under-estimated the audience, for there is no doubt about just whom we have come to see, and it becomes clear that tonight will be, at the very least, a success. Goodhand-Tait goes off to warm applause, but no encore is asked for. There is a small exodus to the bar, but most people stay where they are, unwilling to risk losing their places, reluctant to dispel the atmosphere that is growing in the darkness. Gazing into the blackness of the stage with the tiny un-blinking red lights on the amps. Waiting for the Man.
More rock over the PA, loud conversations in the near-darkness, the guys work feverishly with the spot-lights. Then the record finishes, and apart from the murmur of conversation all is quiet. Movement onstage, the glow of a cigarette-end, abrupt clicks as guitars are plugged in, some applause, a few shouts. Some experimental chords in the dark, some cheers, the guy with the spot-light says "OK" and a red spot hits the satge, followed by a green, and amidst a roar from the crowd Lou Reed and the Tots launch into WHITE LIGHT/WHITE HEAT. It's loud, and the little hall is doing its job well for the acoustics are near-perfect.
Picked out by the spots, the band stand like statues, the two lead guitarists to the side, Bobby right-stage in his wicked white satin suit, Scottie to the back thrashing his kit unmercifully, and left-stage, in his black leather suit and silver boots, the Man himself. No theatrics now, no excessive movement, and the result is a vastly improved sound, both Lou and Bobby concentrating more on their instruments, and it all comes out hard, fast and fully-formed. Occasionally, Lou raises his hand, a brief gesture of authority , a reminder that this night is his, and his alone. And as they go, without a pause, into LONESOME COWBOY BILL, everyone knows that tonight is going to be something very special, an Event. A slow-burning version of WAITING FOR THE MAN follows with a haunting vocal from Lou and a tight rhythmic work-out at the end, and as the applause dies down the stage darkens and Lou moves hesitantly to the mike. His voice quavers a little as he stands with just his guitar and a lone spot-light for company. "Uhh - tonight is going to be oldie time," he says, and it's a safe bet that several people out-front take a secure grip on their seats as he continues, his voice on the point of dissolution. "Like to mellow it out a little now and do a few quieter songs. This is one I wrote about a friend of mine....it's called "PALE BLUE EYES". Cheers from the crowd, and with an unobtrusive bass figure from Bobby as sole back-up Lou sings a wistful, masterly version of the old classic, and follows, unbelievably, with a solo version of I'LL BE YOUR MIRROR. Then, with several people in the audience in the last stages of mental euphoria: "This is one of my own favourites...." and a hesitant, but utterly compelling rendition of CANDY SAYS, sung to reverential silence and acclaimed with howls of delight.
Lou is grinning now, as the band return, and they blast into a killer SWEET JANE, Lou, one hand on hip, one arm waving free above his head, throwing away the words with supreme arrogance. "And this," says Lou, "is a song called HEROIN". And there follows easily the most powerful rock performance I have ever seen in my life, everything working in a manner almost magical, Lou holding back each climax until the very last moment, to nerve-tingling playing by Laporta and Reynolds, holding it, holding it, until the crowd are shrieking with joy, and then letting it all come at once....."Hey..." he shouts, half grinning, half sneering, "Now I'm gonna tell you about a junkie's dream..." (roars of approval) "In case you haven't heard one before...." (shrieks of delight) "A friend of mine once told me about it...." (people on their feet) "Or else I would never have known ..." (pandemonium) And then the song moves into a cataclysmic, deafening final climax, Lou, both arms waving above his head, shouting those words as the little hall goes crazy with joy. But the evening has only just begun and Lou is not about to take us all the way just yet, and as the lights dim again we are transported to BERLIN, and thence out into the warmth of WHO LOVES THE SUN. Now it's back to the heavy stuff, with a driving super-rhythmic I CANT STAND IT, and then with hardly a pause, into a mind-wrecking WILD CHILD, the twin guitars of Laporta and Reynolds trading riffs, the epitome of tension. Now it's ROCK AND ROLL, Lou, his arms draped above his head, part faggot, part crucifix, bringing the idiot dancers to their feet. Deafening applause, shouts and screams, and the band go off. The standard encore procedure now, but tonight it means something... a non-stop roar, a thunder of stamping, a certain knowledge that it can't end here. And it doesn't. Back they come, groans from the amps, unrestrained joy from the audience. Lou is grinning at us, bathed in livid green light, the band grind into a heavy sinister riff, dirty, hypnotic and nasty, and somehow familiar....For some minutes it goes on, the people grooving, but unknowing.... Lou goes to the mike. "This is a song with a couple of characters...one of them's called Duck; the other's called Sally...and there's Rosie.....and a sailor..." A few howls of recognition from the crowd, a growing static charge of joy...of disbelief...."Listen..." says Lou, "to the sad, sad story of SISTER RAY." Something like a heavy electrical charge sweeps through the hall, the roars of delight almost drown out the music, the guy next to me falls off his chair...it isn't much like the original, but it's heavy and dramatic and exhiliarating, and nobody in the hall will be the same afterwards. The band go off, but everyone's on their feet, more stamping, and back they come again. "Hey - " someone says "Why do they keep going off?" LISA SAYS follows, and then a violently exciting version of HEAD HELD HIGH, taken at lethal speed and rounded off with a piercing scream from Lou. A guy scrambles onstage and grabs him, a girl makes it and plants a kiss on Lou's forehead, and is shoved back into the crowd. And then the band is gone again, but they are not going to be allowed to go....it can't be over. And it isn't, Lou Reed leads the Tots back, and here comes a real killer version of OCEAN, that darkly haunting tale of madness and suicide, long and hypnotic with a majestic climax, the band caught in a web of slowly weaving cones of coloured light...but now the lights are white and Lou, arms reaching out to touch the sea of adulation surging round the stage....."Bye-bye" he giggles "Bye-bye"...and then he is gone. And it's over.
People gather up their belongings. Glasses litter the floor. In the brightness, people sit sweaty and wrecked, coming down. Some sit pale and tranfixed, as if they have been facing into a strong wind. Slowly, reluctantly, the hall empties. Down at the front, a few people still ring the stage, gazing as the roadies dismantle the gear. I walk slowly downstairs. A single policeman stands in the foyer, looking bemused. People button their coats against the weather. Nobody says much.
There is nothing left to say

Nigel Trevena