The records that have been on heavy rotation in my home since January.
It is extremely difficult to write about the things and people you love. Cynicism, snark, and skepticism afford us the remoteness to approach a subject with intellectual objectivity, but when we love something, talking about it means revealing a part of ourselves otherwise hidden. It means being forced to examine ourselves and reflect upon the reasons we value what we value. I tried to write this piece for a few days and I struggled because my feelings about Lou Reed and his death are too raw and too personal to relay with any semblance of journalistic integrity.