Something I love about our new comp, Why Don't You Smile Now: Lou Reed at Pickwick Records 1964-65, is that every song is a banger in the way that tried and true oldies are bangers. My mom instilled a very healthy love of doo-wop, Motown, and pop hits from the 60s & 70s in both her daughters. I didn’t even know about contemporary rock ‘n’ roll until I saw the “Last Dance With Mary Jane” music video in my friend’s basement one fateful day after school in 1993. Oldies were life for the first ten years of mine.
As a proofreader and label coordinator, I never know what to expect when Matt says, “We’re working on a new project…” I certainly wasn’t expecting to be working in any capacity on the Lou Reed Archive releases these last few years, and I really wasn’t expecting a Lou Reed-penned collection of genuine oldies to be on heavy rotation, but here we are!
Most of what I do as a proofreader and label coordinator is solitary and can be isolating. Our label operates remotely now, but when I used to work in the LITA LA office, I would wear noise-cancelling headphones to drown out the chatter so I could focus on the minute details of every word, comma, and semicolon. Obsessive attention to detail is a blessing and a curse.
A few weeks ago, we were invited to a private release party in NYC in honor of Why Don't You Smile Now: Lou Reed at Pickwick Records 1964-65. I am here to report from the other side that this proofreader was brought out of her hidey-hole and into the big city for 24 hours, and what a 24 hours it was! The moment that really did it for me, though, was “the program” portion of the evening.
Halfway through the party, a kind gentleman came around to alert all the guests that “the program” was about to start downstairs. We were ushered to the host’s living room where we heard friends and colleagues of Lou Reed share memories. Not only was this party honoring the record’s release but also the anniversary of Reed’s death 11 years ago.
Towards the end of “the program,” our hosts played a Pickwick demo by Lou that held everyone in the room rapt. We hung on every note of a seemingly simple recording, complete with a whimsical, singer-songwriterly harmonica flourish, that would evolve to become “Why Don’t You Smile,” the title track.
During this listening portion, I looked around the room. I saw people listening intently, eyes open, eyes closed, some smiling fondly, some in awe at what they were hearing. We all take things in differently, all the unique beings that we are suddenly finding ourselves amidst one another for this sole purpose, a celebration of Lou. As the song continued to play, I glanced up and was surprised to meet the eyes of Lou himself gazing directly at me from behind the glass of a framed photo. I moved a bit; his gaze followed. The Mona Lou-sa.
It was a perfect evening, complete with public (private party-public) acknowledgement of the hard work we’ve all poured into this album. In that moment, I think I may have actually peaked as a career proofreader. My only regret is that I couldn’t get a dance party going despite my excellent pony and mashed potato skills, also imparted to me by my oldies-loving mother.
Where do I go from here? I’m not sure, but I’ll tell you where we went. We walked a few blocks to Little Owl, a candlelit hole in the wall across the street from the former residence of one Elizabeth “Connie” Converse. I’m a huge fan who just finished the biography by Howard Fishman, and I needed to see 23 Grove Street with my own eyes. It was in that building that Connie Converse wrote most of the songs on How Sad, How Lovely.
The next day, it was back to reality on a flight back to NC where I live in a small, rural town. For now, this proofreader is signing off, but I’ll certainly be back again soon with more tales from the LITA archives.