Before Metallica played with Lou at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame [in 2009], I'd met him a couple times here and there, socially. I met him at one of the last places you would expect to meet Lou Reed — a Danish amusement park in Copenhagen. I was in there with my kids, and there he was with Laurie, eating a hot dog. It was like, "Oh my God, it's Lou Reed."
As we were leaving MSG after the Hall of Fame performance, he was literally like, "We have to make a record together." It was a little bit, "Okay, Lou. Cool. We're in the Yellow Pages. Call us." And then he fucking called, like two weeks later.
When we were making Lulu, he was very expressive. "I love that!" "I fucking love that!" "Oh, my God!" He would be yelling out and so excited. Being around this guy, I pinched myself a lot. We did a lot of interviews together for Lulu. When the cameras were off and there was nobody else there, he was like the gentlest soul. Almost like a child. Lou had been fucked over by a lot of people, so he built up a barrier to most people to not get hurt or get fucked over again. And once he realized you weren't going to hurt him, he was the sweetest man. He would text me stuff like "I love you, buddy."
He will always be remembered for where he took his lyrics and for the simplicity. But what I could relate to the most is that he was the ultimate outsider. Lou never belonged to really anything other than himself. He never felt like he owed anybody anything. That was why we really ultimately what we identified with because we've always felt like outsiders. Every fucking record he made was different. And every fucking experiment he did he did for nothing else. He just wanted to. And that's the greatest inspiration for us for all of those great years and just being around the absolute definition of autonomy. Put that in your Google dictionary for "autonomy."