THE VOICE OF CHICAGO'S GAY, LESBIAN, BI, TRANS AND QUEER COMMUNITY SINCE 1985

As an essential component of the Velvet Underground, he has his place in rock history and his solo career definitely has many moments (1972's No. 1 single 'Walk on the Wild Side' sneaking the line, 'But she never lost her head even when she was giving head ... ' on AM radio), but thanks to Reed's insular relationship to N.Y.C. he tends to be arty, distant, eccentric, and humorless.

The new The Raven, his version of Edgar Allen Poe with an all-star cast (Willem Dafoe, Laurie Anderson, Ornette Coleman among others) is the downside of that deadpan art, distance, and eccentricity. Heralded as this year's flagship trainwreck, the critical debate isn't on The Raven's worth but on how Reed could create such a floater unknowingly. The weird part is that when Reed stank he made no bones about it (Machine Metal Music, Sally Can't Dance, Mistrial). What makes The Raven such a nose-holding stinker is Reed's pointed earnestness.

Fortunately the Father's Day gig confirmed that Reed hasn't gone down the toilet in flames just yet. Dressed in black leather from head to toe, he opened the set with a relaxed and laconic 'Sweet Jane.' Shrewdly peppering the set with classics ('How Does it Feel,' 'Small Town,' 'All Tomorrow's Parties,' 'The Day John Kennedy Died,' 'Venus in Furs' with its particularly volatile solo by cellist Jane Scarpantoni), so when the dreaded segments from The Raven turned up, they actually worked. 'Vanishing Act' was all crystalline chimes and timbre, while 'The Raven,' at first a furious rambling read through of the poem, eventually reached a deafening crescendo. It may have sucked on CD but live it popped as art house drama.

But if all that nostalgia and high art made the Skyline Stage feel safe to unpack the zinfandel and the brie, Reed blasted the show with a touch of his sordid charm. 'Dirty Boulevard' was cranky and filthy, and through it you could feel the muck under your toes. 'Street Hassle' was even more daring/brilliant with Reed rapping/singing about, among other things, disposing of that girlfriend who has just OD'd on horse. Wicked, sinister, scary ... well, yeah, after all, this is Lou Reed.

The answer to Reed's validity was answered by the night's most elegant moment, a moment he gave away. Introducing the V.U.'s 'Lisa Says,' he commented on how it was a favorite but that he didn't have the vocal chops to do it justice. And with that he turned it over to back-up vocalist Antony. A big lumbering sweet-natured man of childlike grace, Antony's quavering falsetto turned the song into a haunting thing of beauty.

After that it was obvious that Reed will live down The Raven—at some point—and from the show it's apparent that he's still at the top of his game. But instead of re-interpreting long-dead poets. he'd be better off as the remastered N.Y.C. Man; The Collection demonstrates, working his own beat.