When it was originally released in 1973, “Berlin” was to be Lou Reed’s masterpiece. Following hot on the trail of his smashing glam rock success “Transformer,” Reed said that “Berlin” was going to “totally destroy them [Reed’s fans]. This one will show them I’m not kidding.” Or so he thought.

Instead, “Berlin” flopped—or nearly did, anyway. The album was reviled by many of Reed’s critics as either a missed opportunity or a downright depressing and shockingly awful effort. While it didn’t take 33 years for the music industry and its critics to realize their mistake, it took the curmudgeonly Reed that long to play “Berlin” again as it was meant to be performed: onstage and in its entirety.

“Berlin” smacks of rock operatic, but in a very different way from anything The Who ever dreamed up. Set in the still-divided city for which it is named, “Berlin” tells the story of the drugged up, abusive, and totally depraved relationship between Jim and Caroline. Reed’s cool monotone narrates the whole ordeal. The story spans the opening scenes of their relationship to descriptions of their increasingly fucked up lives—it covers drug abuse, rampant promiscuity resulting in the loss of Caroline’s children, and, ultimately, her suicide. The whole thing is twisted and carnivalesque, but suffused and dripping with all the raw emotionality Reed was able to conjure up in his drug-fueled state.

And it seems the years have been kind to Reed. “Berlin: Live at St. Anne’s Warehouse” lacks for none of the gut-wrenching horror or awe-inspiring lyricism that characterized the original release. Recorded in 2006 at (you guessed it) St. Anne’s Warehouse in Brooklyn, the album is now being released in conjunction with a film directed by Julian Schnabel based on and featuring that same performance. “Berlin: Live” offers a few extended tracks and three that weren’t on the original album, but most importantly, it captures one of Reed’s sharpest live performances ever (he’s notorious for his spotty live shows). Backed by a large musical ensemble, Reed delivers his poetic lines with an enthusiasm equal to the task. And while his voice shows signs of weather from years of abuse, it doesn’t hurt the songs a bit.

The recording quality is pitch perfect throughout, and many of the album’s most poignant moments have benefited from the long hiatus and new appreciation for the work.

Take “The Bed,” where Reed narrates Jim’s thoughts as he recollects Caroline’s suicide and their old life together. The accompaniment of discordant voices provided by the Brooklyn Youth Choir floods the final minute with so much pathos that it becomes almost unbearable. Their overlapping chants of “So Cold” are more than enough to hammer home discomfort in even a stalwart listener.

After all this time, revisiting “Berlin” seems almost a cathartic and vindicating experience for Reed, an even bigger “fuck you” to all the naysayers than his longstanding refusal to perform his magnum opus. But the album is much more than just that. For the rest of us, it’s an opportunity to hear a unique live performance of a long neglected record. And what’s more, it’s an opportunity for each of us to revisit one of the best and most influential albums of the 70s in newly sublimated form.

—Reviewer Joshua J. Kearney can be reached at kearney@fas.harvard.edu.