Not such a Perfect Day

It was also the least anyone could expect after enduring 120 minutes of his most recent work delivered in the style of a parental sermon: as if it would somehow be good for us even if we were not actually enjoying it. Grinding riffs, chugging rhythms and a muddy sound balance, that prevented us hearing his lyrics, meant they all merged into a metallic morass amid the harsh echo of the Albert Hall auditorium.

Reed does, of course, have every right to showcase his latest album, Ecstasy, and it's as rewarding a collection as any he has produced since his 1989 landmark New York. But surely when your still-loyal audience (despite the horrors of the mullet-and-specs-and-concept-album years in the early Nineties) pay 30 quid for the privilege, they are entitled to expect a balance between Reed performing what he wants them to hear, and actually hearing what they want.

His last visit to London featured nothing but old favourites delicately rearranged; this time the new songs became tedious rock workouts in the hands of Reed, fellow guitarist Mark Rathke, bassist Fernando Saunders and drummer Tony Smith.

There was even that excruciating thing Seventies rock guitarists used to do (and evidently still do) where they stand face to face gazing into each other's eyes in some strange sort of testosterone-crazed "axe" contest: one man smirking, and the other making facial contortions in sync with the twiddliness of his playing.

In the Velvet Underground, Reed used to promise the audience they were all going to have a Real Good Time Together; now, at the age of 58, he seems like he can't wait to get back home. The feeling was mutual.

Lou Reed & Band