Their faces drooping in disbelief, the fans shook their baffled, bewildered heads. "If we hadn't seen him with our own eyes we never would have believe it." They were commenting on Lou Reed's Transformation from a wrestling hero to a savage villain.--"Teenage Wasteland Gazette," Vol.2
Lou Reed has undergone assorted transformations. At one time he was a pirate, and another time he became a transvestite, and even a Lou Reed pamphlet was printed and distributed, claiming that Lou actually had a double who was really responsible for his first album. This year, on the other hand, Lou Reed must carry the role of a social deviant who hides in closets and jerks off at the mere mention of Marilyn Monroe. Essentially, it's back to those blissful days of Warhol legends when living was clean, and everybody could be zombies with black circles around their eyes. That's showbiz, and Lou Reed always did wanna appear in a Broadway musical.
Transformer is further proof even that Lou Reed has turned into something sicker than a homicidal-rapist-mass murderer-porno editor. Far gone is that prevailing commercial bubblegum flair so evident on the first album (e.g. – 'I Love You', 'Lisa Says', 'Love Makes You Feel', etc.). Instead, it's more like what the third Velvet Underground album would have sounded like if David Bowie had been in charge of production back then. There's a couple of cute ditties on here that perhaps belong on We're Only In It For The Money (dumbshit show tunes in which Bowie gets to fill in all the vacant gaps with chugging trombones and tubas), but other than that this album proclaims itself as most masterpieces proclaim themselves: IT GROWS ON YA!!
After many years of being a full shoe-gazing participant in the sweaty-palmed carnival of freaks known as rock fandom, I’ve come to realize that Ultimate Sin # 1 a band or artist can commit in the eyes of those-who-know is to blow away fringe or cult categorization and actually score a hit, i.e., create a song or an album that sells. Committing that Ultimate Sin # 1—achieving a modicum of popularity—will result in posters being torn down, websites shut off, compact discs tossed away, while also unleashing a steady, whiny, siren song that generally goes “He/She/Their not half as good as they used to be when I saw ‘em play in front of twenty college kids and a coupla half-zonked rock scribes at the cool daddy rock club that’s now a Starbucks.”