WHEN Lou Reed released his album Metal Machine Music back in the mid-70s it divided fans as no album has since.

I say, divided, but, in truth, all but a handful dismissed it as unlistenable.

An entire album of tuneless guitar feedback it was described by Lou as "noise rock", and by the New York Times as "a riot in a shortwave radio factory".

Rumours circulated that this was not so much a piece of experimental rock as Lou having a joke at the critics’ expense - or, more likely, an act of spite against his record company RCA. Certainly company bosses took it off the market three weeks later.

MMM was just a blip in an otherwise illustrious and commercially platinum-coated career for Lou Reed. So, when news emerged that he was going out on the road, fans might have been forgiven for their excitement at the prospect of hearing all those songs which sealed the former Velvet underground frontman’s reputation as a creative genius - you know, Perfect Day, Satellite of Love, Walk on the Wild Side and the rest.

Not so. Even at the age of 68, Lou has lost none of his desire to push back the boundaries. And the work he chose to reinvent for a new live show was his 1975 feast of feedback.

Inspired by the original album, the show at the Oxford O2 Academy, was presented by Lou’s Metal machine Trio - namely Lou on guitars, German saxophonist Ulrich Krieger and techno-wizard Sarth Calhoun on knob-twiddling duties.

Anticipation ran high before the show.

Walking into teh venue, the drone had begun... a loud hum emanting from the stage, as if something had been accidentally left switched on - with the volume up.

But, of course, this was all part of the concept.

The atmosphere crackled before the great man appeared on stage, waving respectfully at the crowd. Here was a legend - and he was playing to a room only half-full.

That initial excitement quickly evapourated though as Lou wandered to the back of the stage, bent down over an amp, and spent the next 10 minutes tweeking the amp and retuning the guitar, before taking his seat behind a bank of gadgets..

Clearly the drone had to be 'just so'.

Starting with a low rumble, the wall of sound built up over the next hour or so into an evolving undulating soundscape – punctuated by clanging and screaming guitar chords and Krieger's free jazz sax blasts.

It was hypnotic, compulsive and mechanical - at best, making the hairs on this reviewer's neck stand on end.

While among the most interesting performances I’ve ever seen, judging by the trickle of people leaving this £25-a-head show,it was not for everyone. It was, regardless of your view of the music itself, a triumph of art over commercialism. And coming from an artist of Reed's stature, in this age of arena residencies, that can only be welcomed.