Lou Reed, Ornette Coleman and David Bowie: After Walking On The Wild Side 8/18/72

British saxophonist Ronnie Ross had just locked down his now iconic baritone solo on Lou Reed's soon-to-be overplayed rock classic, "Walk On the Wild Side" when co-producer David Bowie snook up behind Reed and whispered excitedly "Ornette's here." Reed, intently tapping a vein and hitting the rush, replied like only a stoned kid from Queens could. "No sh**." Yeah, no sh**. And that is just the beginning of the fascinating story behind After Walking On The Wild Side 8/18/72.

It may come as a surprise to most that Lou Reed, who was in London recording the first of his 70s darkly moving masterworks, was more than a major fanboy to the man who seared The Shape of Jazz to Come (Atlantic, 1959) into the collective consciousness. Mesmerized by the album's idiosyncratic lead-off track "Lonely Woman," Reed not only published a mimeographed literary mag Lonely Woman Quarterly while attending Syracuse College, but he attested later in his life to humming the tune every day. It is also no classified secret that Coleman's holistic approach to sound and music fascinated Reed and was one of the major inspirations for the Velvet Underground.

"Sidewalk Hustler" barely comes into focus, yet the droning yowl of Reed's electric in knotted tandem with Coleman's metallic growl flashes back to the Velvet Underground's contorted psychedelia. On "Sewer Rat Socialists" Bowie on sax and second co-producer guitarist Mick Ronson double up with Reed and Coleman for what could be considered a foretaste of Reed's fractious, clangorous, clamorous, and divisive feedback missive Metal Machine Music (RCA,1975) Coleman, in fits and starts, throws squalls of noise up against Reed's amped up distortions as Ronson arpeggiates like a ballerina fighting for his/her life. 

Bowie, perhaps powered by any or all of the era's glam intoxicants, trips out on the Echoplex, creating a feverish roving cloud of sinister swirling noise from which both guitarists, hanging on E and cranked to ten, collide with Coleman to create "Banshee Negligee," a maddening twelve minutes of pure . . . what? Cacophony? Symphony? Biblical warning? A Train screeching into Fourteenth Street? Like a ten-car pile-up on the M1, you can't help but stop and listen.

"Ornette's Opus: Trident 1" finds Coleman tape looped and doubled, soloing freely above himself while Reed scats ala a Lexington Avenue dealer—"There is better sh** on Tenth n Third / There is better sh** on Tenth n Third"—as  Bowie, seemingly loosed from the entirety, pursues his runaway muse on electric piano. "Ornette's Opus: Trident 2 & 3" are guttural collages as session bassist Herbie Flowers and future Rutles drummer John Halsey throw rhythm to the wind. It is a combatant stance that Reed and Coleman challenge successfully with a blitzkrieg of modal unwinding. 

The closing kicker "Brittany's Stiletto" cuts like a high-heeled lady should. Reed slashing behind Coleman's surgical shiv. Bowie baiting both. Ronson baiting Halsey baiting Flowers baiting Ross. It is a clash of titans and a war of equals. It is, except for the noise of dreams, something never heard before and quite simply, never heard again.After Walking On The Wild Side 8/18/72. Thus its transcendent dark beauty.

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