Lou Reed

Hammersmith Apollo, London

Towards the end of Lou Reed's concert a man behind me began repeatedly shouting: “Play something we like.” There were boos and catcalls amid the warm applause when Reed and his band took a bow. What had rock's great curmudgeon done to upset this vocal minority of fans?

The show, part of a brief European tour, started uncontroversially. Reed's guitar-playing and stage presence were as granite-like as ever, he delivered his lyrics in the same old gravelly drawl and his Spartan backing band (drums, guitars, cello) was highly accomplished. But as the set continued, and the Velvet Underground classics remained stubbornly unplayed, it became clear that the singer, without a new album to plug, was digging deep into the more obscure corners of his back catalogue.

Reed's solo work, dating back 30 years, has been deeply variable. Some of the songs he played were superb, such as “Turn to Me” and “Dreamin'”. Intense, direct rock'n'roll about love and death, they showed how fruitfully he uses music associated with youthful rebellion to write about themes such as ageing and marriage.

But there is a dour, challenging side to him too. “Magic and Loss” culminated in an explosion of infernal drumming and guitar solos so wild and wailing you wanted to flee. “The Valley of Unrest”, from last year's concept album about Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven, was hectoring and tuneless. He played only two Velvet Underground songs, one a magnificently eerie version of “Venus in Furs”, about sadomasochism, suggesting that whatever pleasure we derived would be mingled with pain. He ended by rewarding us with “Satellite of Love”, “Walk on the Wild Side” and “Perfect Day”, but this was too little, too late for the enraged nostalgia-lovers in his audience. Any 60-something rock legend who can provoke a reaction like theirs must be doing something right. ★★★☆☆

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