A Dark Prince at Twilight: Lou Reed

THE DAY DOES not begin auspiciously. The first flakes of a snowstorm descend as I open the curtains in my hotel room, adding yet another layer to the mounds of white stuff already piled up on New York’s streets. And then over breakfast I make the big mistake of opening the new issue of Vanity Fair, which features a short questionnaire with Lou Reed, the famously unfriendly former leader of the Velvet Underground. Asked what would constitute "the lowest depth of misery" he could imagine, Reed gives this apparently unhesitating answer: "Being interviewed by an English journalist." Which is fine. It’s a perfectly acceptable response. It’s just that I happen to be an English journalist who is about to interview Lou Reed.