Many of the two hundred or so gathered there for a public memorial for the rock 'n' roll legend looked stunned, as if it were a call to arms. Before many made sense of the sound, the noise solidified into a roar and dumped into the heavy beat that carries the track. It was a massive signal, a punch in the gut, and a saddening reminder of the force the music world lost on October 27 of this year.

There were few tears, many hugs, few homages (one man with pancake makeup and a black Stetson). Just many people of all ages, of all races, of all colors of hair, respectfully remembering a rock 'n' roll legend in the quiet company of one another. Embraces were common, laughter was much.

Leather jackets and shiny, shiny boots were many. To name drop the downtown art scene faces dotted throughout the crowd cheapens the moment—this was about no one else.

It seemed slightly out of character when, during "Venus in Furs," a man removed his belt and strapped it around his arm in a clear heroin reference. But then, it also seemed out of character when police ushered smokers onto the street—there was no dusky wafting of late rock 'n' roll nights here. This was a moment of purity, down to the air breathed. No speeches given, no covers of Lou's songs, no Velvet Underground tribute bands, nothing other than Lou and his songs. When Nico's voice entered for the first time on "I'll Be Your Mirror," an hour into the memorial it sounded a little funny for the first time ever.