[Though Reed's two solo albums] each have had notable tracks, it's doubtful if many discerning souls, if any, would prefer them to the Velvets' records—a comparison that I daresay he's become heartily bored with. Nevertheless, his malleability is even more exposed on "Berlin."… [Bob Ezrin's] production establishes a sense of nihilism that's underlined by Reed's old, squeezed husk of a voice—a tone of aridity that's well-suited to the downer nature of this album with a "story": two speed-freaks in exile, on the moral and physical decline. A very simple story, in fact; the girl is separated from her kids for not being a fit mother, and her lover then describes how she slashes her wrists.

Now only Lou could have come up with a concept like that, but in the past he would never have treated it as he has here. Instead of observing a detached...