LOU REED - LONDON BARBICAN - 28 MAY 03

The guitars strum up, unrecognisably, taking a gentle, beautiful piano line and turning it into fuzz. Instead of a rhythm section, we get Lou's faithful bass-servant hammering out a stuttering beat on an old 80's synth drumpad. We get Lou warbling an off-key Mike-Flowers karaoke version of a song he wrote thirty seven years, sounding for all he can like a seal yelping into a bucket.

Welcome to 'All Tomorrows Parties' sung by a 62 year old man.

It gets worse. As rock follies go, there are many. Pink Floyd performing behind a wall. Michael Jackson doing 'Earth Song' on The Brits and thinking he's Jesus. 'The Raven' by Edgar Allen Poe converted into a double rock CD. But this is the stupidest thing I've seen, ever. And I�m including U2�s mechanised 40 foot lemon.

A flash of red appears stage right. It's moving swiftly, offset by shiny flesh tones. And there before us stands Lou Reed's very own Tai Chi Master, interpreting the Velvet Underground back catalogue with tame moves that would've been dismissed as wimpy by Ralph Macchio. It's even worse than Karate Kid III.

This at the same time as 'All Tomorrow's Parties' is being mangled on stage to sound like a pub drunk at karaoke.

I thought Lou was someone else. Someone good.

The problem is that Lou Reed needs a 'no' man. A man who tells him that what he thinks is cool and groovy is in fact a self-indulgent bit of meaningless twaddle.

Sure, he's one of the best songwriters in the world. And the endless stream of classics he pens shows no signs of abating, with excerpts from his recent 'Ectacsy' and 'Set The Twilight Reeling' albums standing up as strong as anything he's done.

But the problem is the singer, not the song. Flanked by long time production flunky Mike Rathe on guitar, piano, and gizmos, long time session bassist Fernando, a cellist, an entirely redundant vocalist known only as Anthony, and his Tai Chi Master, Lou is indulging himself tonight. He reels out ancient album tracks (and thankfully the quality of the songs doesn't dip, except when he's singing 'The Bed'), and gives us the classics, done in a style that's so irreverent its blasphemy. He doesn't even have a drummer.

You're going to reap just what you sow.

But Jesus. What's this? A five minute bass solo during 'Set The Twilight Reeling'? .Snooze. A 10 minute version of 'Sweet Jane' that features Lou condescendingly deconstructing one of his great songs and cracking jokes to show how banal it really is. I didn't know if I was watching a comedy gig with musical backing' for a while. Except comedy is funny. And this is more black farce. .

I didn't even mention the solo spot where Lou hands over seven minutes of my life to his undistinguished bass-servant to sing a song that sounds like Aaron Neville. Or the fact that Lou can't be bothered to even try to sing for at least a quarter of the set, absolving duties to his falsetto vocalist Antony, who shakes in his chair like a man having a fit and sings with the emotional depth of a puddle.

Sure there's great songs, and Lou is one of the best songwriters in the world, but seeing a near-pensioner recite 'Venus In Furs' and sounding like a man with a stutter reading out his shopping list isn't rock or roll. It's rubbish.

I'll be your mirror Lou, reflect what you are.