Posts Tagged ‘James Williamson’

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Iggy Pop is the beating heart of rock ‘n’ roll. Since 1969, his explosive live performances have set a standard that 99 percent of rock artists have utterly failed to meet. He first vaulted into the public consciousness in 1970, when the Cincinnati Pop Festival was broadcast on TV and a shirtless Iggy walked out into the audience, balancing on their hands, caught a jar of peanut butter hurled from the darkness, and began smearing it on his chest, while onstage his band the Stooges kept right on cranking out their slab-like, psychedelic, grunge-inventing riffs. From that moment on, the Iggy Pop cult — small, but fervent was in full force as the man himself spent show after show flipping, writhing, diving off the stage, and gashing himself with broken glass, while still managing to deliver shockingly smart and perceptive lyrics in a leonine baritone.

Iggy’s art balances primitivism and smart popcraft (no pun intended), and avant-gardists have frequently been drawn to his unique fervour. The Stooges effectively ended the ’60s with their sullen, minimalistic self-titled debut, produced by the Velvet Underground’s John Cale; they launched the ’70s with the follow-up, the life-altering “Fun House”, produced by Don Gallucci of garage-rock one-hit wonders the Kingsmen (“Louie Louie”). Sadly, neither album sold very well, and it was up to fan and friend David Bowie to attempt CPR on Iggy’s career with 1973’s “Raw Power” the first of many such interventions. By the following year, the Stooges were fully dead, and Iggy Pop was about to vanish down a rabbit hole of heroin addiction.

In 1977, though, Bowie stepped into the breach again. Eager to retreat from the unmanageable success of his own Ziggy Stardust and Thin White Duke personae, he dragged Pop to Berlin, where he produced Iggy’s first two solo albums: “The Idiot” and “Lust For Life”, released in March and September of that year, respectively. Bowie even played keyboards on the subsequent tour, documented on one of the most half-assed live albums of all time, “TV Eye: Live 1977”.

Iggy spent the first half of the ’80s attempting to strike out on his own with the “New Values”, “Soldier” and “Party” albums, only the first of which was any kind of triumph; the others combined self-pastiche with poorly chosen covers (“Sea Of Love,” “Time Won’t Let Me”). His 1982 release, “Zombie Birdhouse”, was a weird, arty collaboration with Blondie’s Chris Stein and Clem Burke that would be his final statement for four years. In the interim, he survived thanks to royalties from Bowie, who covered “China Girl” (from The Idiot) on 1983’s Let’s Dance, and “Tonight,” “Neighborhood Threat” and “Don’t Look Down” on 1984’s “Tonight,” while co-writing two more songs, “Tumble And Twirl” and “Dancing With The Big Boys,” with him. Two years later, in 1986, Bowie produced Blah-Blah-Blah, Iggy’s attempt at a gleaming ’80s rock album. (It’s better than you think.) The commercial moves continued with 1988’s metallic, Bill Laswell-produced Instinct and 1990’s Don Was-helmed Brick By Brick, on which Iggy strove for Boomer-rock respectability, complete with a backing band of LA studio pros and guest spots by Slash, Duff McKagan, and the B-52s’ Kate Pierson.

The ’90s were tough on Iggy. His albums didn’t sell (and didn’t really deserve to), though he was still a breath taking live act. But in 2003, seemingly out of nowhere, he reunited with the Stooges, 30 years after their ignominious demise. Their live shows were, if possible, even more insane than they’d been during the group’s original lifetime. Of course, he blew it by taking them into the studio for 2007’s misbegotten The Weirdness and 2013’s almost entirely overlooked Ready to Die, but those first reunion shows were life-changing for those who were there. 

He kept his solo career going at the same time, of course, releasing records ranging from the introspective and secretly great “Avenue B” to the nü-metal-ish “Beat ‘Em Up” and the jazzy “Préliminaires”. And the album, Post Pop Depression, a collaboration with Josh Homme.  He is 68, after all.

So what better time to go through his long and surprisingly varied catalogue, and total up the successes and the failures? Let’s get started!


The Weirdness (2007)

When Iggy and the Asheton brothers (guitarist Ron, drummer Scott) reunited in 2003, the rock world basically shat itself. During their original lifespan, the Stooges had been regarded as morons who couldn’t play their instruments or write a song; both the self-titled debut and Fun House had made exactly zero impact on the charts or in the public consciousness, and Raw Power, even with David Bowie’s production help, had been a noisy mess. But in the intervening 30 years, Iggy had transformed himself from rock ‘n’ roll savage to underground rock star, with genuine hits, TV and movie appearances, and a sterling reputation as an unstoppable live force. In the process, the Stooges’ albums had become holy grails, seen as carving out the territory that would later become punk rock. But nobody had expected a reunion, never mind the full-force blast packed by their early shows, with punk stalwart Mike Watt taking over the bass position, and saxophonist Steve Mackay back, too. When it was announced that they were recording a new album, with Steve Albini behind the boards, expectations were high.

And when The Weirdness appeared, those expectations were dashed and then some. If this was just another mediocre late-period Iggy album, it could be shrugged off. He certainly seems to have shrugged when asked to contribute lyrics, as they’re some of the laziest and dumbest he’s ever written, and we’re talking about a guy who sang “Well last year I was 21/ I didn’t have a lot of fun/ And now I’m gonna be 22/ I say oh my and a boo-hoo” on the Stooges’ debut and somehow made it work. But here he’s singing, in a voice more cracked and out of tune than on any album since 1982’s Zombie Birdhouse, about going to the ATM. About needing to talk to Dr. Phil. About how his girlfriend left him for “a Mexican guy.” It’s hard to even pick a worst song from this thing; “Free & Freaky,” “My Idea Of Fun,” and “Greedy Awful People” are all worthy/worthless contenders. But the tone is set early — the first track on the record is called “Trollin’” (though Iggy appears to mean it in the fisherman sense, not the internet sense). The Ashetons aren’t to blame, by the way; their playing is solid, and Ron’s riffs have plenty of punch (though Albini’s booming drum mix doesn’t serve Scott very well; his attack demands a clarity that’s not present here). Sadly, the only song that even approaches salvageability here is the next-to-last track on the CD, “Passing Cloud,” which lets Steve Mackay wail for a while over an almost Fun House-esque groove. But even that is totally inessential, and best just ignored.


Après (2012)

For the second time in his career (the first being the 1975 demos that became Kill City), Iggy found himself unable to convince a label to buy what he was selling. As its title might imply, Après is a semi-sequel to 2009’s Préliminaires, a lite collection of jazz standards and covers, many of them sung in French. It includes versions of Edith Piaf’s “La Vie En Rose,” Serge Gainsbourg’s “La Javanaise,” Cole Porter’s “What Is This Thing Called Love?,” Frank Sinatra’s “Only the Lonely,” Fred Neil’s “Everybody’s Talkin’” (from the movie Midnight Cowboy), and perhaps most surprisingly, Yoko Ono’s “I’m Going Away Smiling.” It’s also extremely short — 10 tracks in less than 29 minutes. And his long time label, Virgin/EMI, was totally uninterested in releasing it, so after a few embittered interviews, he put it out himself, selling it online.

Has Iggy earned the right, after more than 40 years as a performer, to make any damn record he pleases? Yeah, probably. But there’s not that much to recommend Après to 90 percent of music listeners. The version of “Everybody’s Talkin’” is kind of cool, as he adopts a country-ish drawl, and “I’m Going Away Smiling” is a really pretty song that he sings very well. But the French numbers sound like he’s reciting the lyrics phonetically off cue cards he can’t quite read, and there’s not a song here that anyone will hear with brand-new ears based on Iggy’s interpretation of it. Strictly for completists.


Skull Ring (2003)

After the meditative Avenue B and the nü-metal Beat ‘Em Up, Iggy (or somebody at Virgin Records) decided it was time to reclaim his punk-rock throne by linking up with some folks who kinda sorta embodied punk at the time, like Green Day, Sum 41 and…Peaches? Oh, and he reunited with the Asheton brothers for four tracks. Morbid curiosity about those is probably what’s gonna get your average person to listen to Skull Ring, and while they’re better than the absolute tripe on 2007’s The Weirdness, they’re also nowhere near the quality of anything on the original trilogy of Stooges albums. “Skull Ring” at least has a decent chorus, but Iggy sounds like a particularly out-of-breath Alice Cooper on “Loser,” album opener “Little Electric Chair” is fast but forgettable, and features “Whoo!” background vocals, which no Stooges song should ever do. The best one, the one that comes closest to honouring the band’s legacy, is “Dead Rock Star,” which starts out moody and psychedelic before becoming chugging art-punk, with Iggy doing his Goth-crooner thing on top. It’s sort of cool that the Ashetons could — and were willing to stretch in this way; it says a lot for them as musicians, as though Fun House weren’t proof enough of their brilliance. But no matter who’s playing them, these songs are ultimately forgettable. (The track with Sum 41, which is sort of arena-metal meets hardcore, was the single, which tells you a lot about the quality of the Stooges material.)

Honestly, though, the two collaborations with Green Day are the best stuff here, particularly “Private Hell.” Hearing Iggy go trad-punk is amusing, as if he’d made a rockabilly album. The two tracks with Peaches are surprising and also somewhat interesting, in an industrial rap-noise sort of way, though the lyrics are an absolute embarrassment. In fairness, it was encouraging to see Iggy try to counter the overt nostalgia move of reuniting with the Stooges by collaborating with present-day punk and punk-adjacent acts. Still, this one’s pretty far from essential, or even good.


Beat ‘Em Up (2001)

Iggy’s first album of the 21st century is a cartoon, from its lurid cover art (a girl in a bikini with a revolver protruding from the crotch and pointing directly at the listener) to the massive, chugging metal riffs that underpin the songs. It’s his only album to feature dual lead guitars — Whitey Kirst, who worked with him for over a decade, and Pete Marshall, formerly of Glenn Danzig’s early ’80s band Samhain (he can be heard on Unholy Passion and November Coming Fire). The bass is handled by Lloyd “Mooseman” Roberts, formerly of Ice-T’s thrash act Body Count, and Whitey Kirst’s brother Alex, formerly of grunge also-rans the Nymphs, is on drums.

Beat ‘Em Up is easily Iggy’s heaviest record, leaving the next contender, 1988’s explicitly metal-oriented Instinct, in the dust. Indeed, “Go For The Throat” and the title track adopt the cadence of the crudest rap-metal, and “The Jerk” is built around a funk-metal riff (and a lyrical message) that recalls the Rollins Band, while the opening “Mask” was written after Iggy met some members of Slipknot. But there are also tracks like “Death Is Certain” that return to the sound of Raw Power (albeit with much better production), and some real weird ones like “Savior,” which is about Jesus, and “Football,” which is Iggy imagining himself as a football. Yes, really. The biggest problem, other than the forehead-slapping dumbness of a lot of the lyrics, is the sheer relentless length of the thing — 15 (16 if you count the hidden “Sterility”) tracks in 72 minutes, many of which, particularly in the album’s back half, are totally nonessential, verging on pointless. If you listen to “It’s All Shit” or “V.I.P.” all the way through, and have any desire to hear either of them a second time, there’s something wrong with your brain.


Brick By Brick (1990)

Seemingly never brought down by the idea of mortality or musical stagnation, Iggy Pop was still at the top of his game when the nineties reared its ugly head over the horizon. With Brick By Brick, Iggy proved he could still throw a few fists or two when faced with a fearsome foe.

Following 1988’s metallic, boneheaded Instinct, Iggy changed labels again, moving to Virgin Records. As part of the deal, and due to corporate reshuffling, this meant his late-’70s RCA trilogy  “The Idiot, Lust For Life”, and “TV Eye: 1977 Live” got reissued, which was very good news on its own. He also headed into the studio with Don Was, who’d recently produced Bonnie Raitt’s Nick Of Time and the B-52’s Cosmic Thing, and was rapidly becoming the go-to guy for artists in need of commercial resuscitation under the guise of “maturity.” And “Brick By Brick” is nothing if not the work of a “mature artist” in the Mojo/Rolling Stone sense of that term. It’s as close to pure dadrock as Iggy has ever gotten, all the weirdness and explosive energy drained away and replaced with strummed acoustic guitars, heartfelt choruses, and lyrics about wanting to make something of oneself and holding onto love. Sounds awesome, doesn’t it?.

Iggy’s only US solo Top 30 hit, 1990’s “Candy” remains one of his most successful collaborations. A high-quality pop song with a soaring chorus, this intensely personal paean to his teenage girlfriend Betsy inspired one of Pop’s most impassioned vocals, but it was further elevated by The B-52s’ Kate Pierson, who articulated Betsy’s side of the story to perfection. “I wanted a girl who would sing with a small-town voice,” Pop told Pittsburgh Post-Gazette of their duet, “and Kate has a little twang in her voice that sounds slightly rural and naïve.” It proved an inspired choice. The contrast between his rich baritone and Pierson’s feisty retro cool works beautifully, ensuring that “Candy” still sounds transcendent today.

Seriously, Brick By Brick commits the ultimate sin, where Iggy Pop music is concerned: It’s dull. The arrangements are dominated by strummed acoustic guitars that are louder than the distorted electric guitars on all but two or three tracks. It features two duets: one with Kate Pierson of the B-52’s on “Candy” (which was a big hit on MTV) and with John Hiatt, maybe the ultimate boring-guy-who-Boomer-rock-critics-liked-a-lot, on Hiatt’s song “Something Wild.” Slash and Duff of Guns N’ Roses pop up on a song called (seriously) “My Baby Wants To Rock And Roll,” and are barely noticeable. There are a few decent lyrics, and the gang background vocals on “The Undefeated” are reminiscent of “Success,” from Lust For Life, albeit with about 10 percent of that song’s anarchic hilarity. Iggy was trying to be taken seriously on Brick By Brick, and for the most part, it worked. Rolling Stone gave it four stars.

Pop, Iggy: Zombie Birdhouse (1982)

Zombie Birdhouse (1982)

After leaving Arista, Iggy was left in need of a label once again. Enter Chris Stein of Blondie, who agreed to produce him, and release the results on Animal (his short-lived Chrysalis sub-label that also issued the Gun Club’s “Miami” and “The Las Vegas Story”, James White & The Blacks’ “Sax Maniac”, and the soundtrack to the hip-hop documentary Wild Style). Though short-lived (it folded in 1984, after Stein was struck down with a serious skin disease), Animal released at least two cult-level classics Stein also played bass on Zombie Birdhouse, with his Blondie bandmate Clem Burke on drums; guitarist Robert Duprey was Iggy’s primary song writing partner for the album.

Co-written with guitarist Rob Dupry and featuring Stein on bass and Blondie bandmate Clem Burke on drums, Zombie Birdhouse found Iggy re-engaging with the leftfield experiments of The Idiot and presenting a mouth-wateringly diverse collection of tracks. The skewed, Captain Beefheart-esque “Bulldozer” and the African-influenced “Street Crazies” are also excellent, but the adrenalized “Run Like A Villain” grabs the gold medal here.

Zombie Birdhouse is not a great record. It has a few songs worth saving from the fire: “Run Like A Villain,” which kicks off the album, has a cool drum machine beat, including primitive synth handclaps, and a grinding guitar riff that suits his baritone roar well. “Ordinary Bummer,” the last track on the first side, is a tender ballad with some very pretty piano and a space-dub bass line; Duprey’s guitar sears the air in the background. The album’s second half launches with “Eat or Be Eaten,” which has a pulsing energy, and Iggy’s lyrics (“Eat or be eaten/ Beat or be beaten”) are intermittently funny. But pretty much everything else is forgettable, even the weirdo experiments like “Watching The News” (Iggy rambles aimlessly over a burbling electronic track reminiscent of something Remain In Light-era Talking Heads would have tossed and started over). That track has exactly one redemptive moment — Iggy’s Burroughs-ian line, “The President today announced that he’s pushing all the buttons in a giggling fit.” Frankly, Iggy’s vocals, which frequently go totally out of tune (if there was ever a tune to begin with), are the album’s biggest weak point. A more disciplined performance from the nominal leader would have made this a much better record.


Instinct (1988)

In the second half of the ’80s, Bill Laswell, then best known for making hip-hop, jazz, and world music albums (he produced Herbie Hancock’s “Rockit”), suddenly decided to dabble in hard rock and heavy metal. He worked with White Zombie, Motörhead, the Ramones, Swans, and Iggy, and in each case the results were mixed, at best. (White Zombie and Swans have basically disowned the albums they made with Laswell; Motörhead’s Orgasmatron contains its immortal title track, but has relatively little else to recommend it.)

Instinct was a second collaboration between Iggy and former Sex Pistols guitarist Steve Jones, who’d co-written three songs on 1986’s Blah-Blah-Blah. With the ’80s pop sheen of that album scrubbed away in favour of a trashy hard rock sound (the guitars sound like they’re blaring from a solid state practice amp), the primitive riffs and thudding drums — programmed at least half the time — weigh the music down, and Iggy’s snarling delivery doesn’t do much to elevate it. The album opens with its two singles, “Cold Metal” and “High On You,” which are also the two best songs on it. After that, it’s a parade of relative mediocrity, with “Easy Rider” and “Power & Freedom” probably the low points (though the line “I’ll take my tom tom and go,” from “Tom Tom,” puts that song in contention, too). In a way, Iggy’s decision to work with Bill Laswell could be compared to the Cult’s decision to work with Rick Rubin for Electric, also released in 1988, but one of those albums is a classic slab of modern-day hard rock, and the other is “Instinct”.

Iggy’s pop-oriented A&M debut, Blah Blah Blah, got him back on track commercially, but instead of sticking with the formula, he returned with 1988’s hard rock/metal-inclined Instinct, helmed by wunderkind producer Bill Laswell and featuring Steve Jones on lead guitar. Brash and abrasive, it included several blistering anthems (“High On You,” “Easy Rider”) and earned Pop a Grammy nomination for the album’s stand-out cut, the irrepressible “Cold Metal.”


Metallic K.O. (1976)

The Stooges broke up in 1971. In 1973, Iggy Pop and James Williamson flew to England to make Raw Power, hiring Ron and Scott Asheton as their rhythm section and christening the band Iggy And The Stooges. A coup d’etat like that was bound to be bad for band morale, and by the following year, Iggy And The Stooges were no more. Their final gig was a violent train wreck at Detroit’s Michigan Palace on February 9th, 1974, a show mostly defined by extremely hostile verbal and physical exchanges between Iggy and a biker gang in attendance, who pelted the stage and the group with eggs and whatever else was around as they attempted to stagger through their set.

Metallic K.O. is an extremely poorly recorded bootleg that nevertheless has a, well, “raw power” that few live albums can match. Part of that comes from its being, in rock critic Lester Bangs’ words, “the only rock album I know where you can actually hear hurled beer bottles breaking against guitar strings.” There have been several versions released over the years, the “best” one being Metallic 2xK.O., which features the complete recordings of two shows — the February 9th final implosion, and a previous and almost as rage-filled encounter from October 1973. The songs are performed with maximum rage by the band, and Iggy is a capering terror throughout, constantly baiting the audience with exhortations to throw more of whatever they’ve got (“I don’t care if you throw all the ice in the world. You’re paying five bucks and I’m making 10,000, baby, so screw ya…You pricks can throw every goddamned thing in the world, and your girlfriend will still love me”). The last song the Stooges would ever play, until 2003 that is, is on this album — a raucous, out-of-tune stomp through “Louie Louie.”


TV Eye: 1977 Live (1978)

This album was Iggy’s way of getting out of his contract with RCA records. The story goes that they gave him $90,000 for a live album, and he grabbed soundboard tapes from four 1977 shows (three from the Idiot tour and one from the Lust For Life tour), spent about $5000 adjusting — not “fixing” — them in a Berlin studio, and split the rest with David Bowie. The album contains eight tracks and runs 36 minutes, and although it’s pulled straight from the board, it sounds like it was recorded on a single microphone stuffed into one of those old bucket-of-sand ashtrays in the lobby of the venue. The loudest elements, most of the time, are Hunt Sales’ drums and Iggy’s vocals, in that order, with the keyboards (played either by David Bowie or Scott Thurston), guitars (Ricky Gardiner or Stacey Heydon), and Tony Sales’ bass all murked together into a thick, chewy wad. Still, it has energy — particularly on the opening “TV Eye,” “I Got A Right,” and “Lust For Life” — and wit (Iggy sings “Nightclubbing” in German over a massive, militaristic beat) and if it’s not exactly a worthy companion to the two studio albums that came before it, its sonic perversity and sheer ugliness make it worth at least one listen.


1970: The Complete Fun House Sessions (1999)

If you’re a serious Iggy fan, at some point you have to reckon with this lunatic object. A seven-CD box, it’s exactly what its title claims: Every note of music recorded at the sessions for 1970’s Fun House. See, the album was recorded in a proudly labor-intensive way, with the entire band bashing through take after take of each song until they got a keeper. That means 28 takes of “Loose,” 15 takes of “T.V. Eye,” 14 takes of “Down On The Street.” Also, versions of two songs that didn’t make the album — “Slidin’ The Blues” and “Lost In The Future.” In between, you get band members goofing off, making fun of each other, imitating a Detroit-area wrestling promoter, etc.

Musically, it’s…well, they definitely picked the best takes of each track for the album, but sometimes the margin between “final version” and “next-best version” is razor thin. It’s also interesting because you can hear Iggy’s lyrics, particularly for the songs “1970” and “Loose,” take shape from take to take. And if you really hate your neighbours, just crank up Disc Two (the one where they play “Loose” 19 times in a row).

If you need this in your life, you already know it. There’s one on my shelf

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American Caesar (1993)

American Caesar is long. Seventy-five minutes long, including the CD bonus track “Girls of N.Y.” (Originally, it ended with the bizarre seven-minute monologue “Caesar,” in which Iggy inhabits the title character, going on about those crazy Christians and periodically shouting, “Throw them to the lions!” with a cackle.) Its cover is adorned with a mock sticker reading “Parental Warning: This Is An Iggy Pop Record,” like he’s GG Allin or something. And it is superficially more of an Iggy record louder, cruder, weirder than the slick, “mature” Brick By Brick, released three years earlier. That album had no room for a lyric like “She’s got methedrine but I want marijuana,” which comes from the first song here, “Wild America.”

American Caesar sold less than its predecessor (1990’s Brick By Brick), but 1993’s American Caesar was a more consistent record – and certainly Iggy Pop’s most compelling album of the 90s. Primarily recorded in New Orleans with Daniel Lanois acolyte Malcolm Burn at the controls, the album featured a series of supercharged, politically-aware anthems (“Hate,” “Mixin’ The Colours”), plus a spirited cover of The Kingsmen’s garage-rock classic, “Louie Louie,” but its stand-out track was “Wild America”: a scything rocker that vividly chronicled a hedonistic night out (“Now I’m in a black car with my Mexicana/She’s got methedrine, but I want marijuana”) with help from Henry Rollins on backing vocals.

American Caesar’s songs are mostly one-riff wonders; when he shouts “Bridge!” in the middle of “Sickness,” it’s mildly shocking to realize the song actually has one. Some of them are aggressive and rockin’, like “Plastic & Concrete” or the cranked-up version of “Louie Louie” (with new lyrics referencing Dostoyevsky); others are soft and gentle, like “Mixin’ The Colors,” the simmering “Jealousy” (which could easily have been retitled “Class Rage”), and “Beside You,” a semi-sequel to “Candy” with Lisa Germano handling the female vocals. Despite its length and the heavy presence of acoustic guitars, though, it never quite becomes boring. Iggy seems to have once again struck a balance between stupid and clever, to paraphrase This Is Spinal Tap, and the band of nobodies he’s got behind him are sonic kindred spirits, deploying exactly the right amount of crunch and clatter to suit the frontman’s mercurial moods. This isn’t Peak Iggy, but it’s definitely Peak ’90s Iggy.


Party (1981)

Iggy’s third and final album for Arista Records is the weakest of the three, but you can’t say he didn’t go out swinging. His song writing and creative partner this time out was Patti Smith’s guitarist Ivan Kral, and the songs have a mainstream-ish punch, even bringing in the Uptown Horns on several tracks.

The best songs on Party “Pleasure,” the weirdo poetry-spew “Eggs On Plate,” “Sincerity,” “Houston Is Hot Tonight,” and particularly “Bang Bang” could easily have been hits. “Bang Bang,” in fact, was handed over to famed producer Tommy Boyce (who’d worked with the Monkees) to mix, in the hopes that it would chart. Its surging strings, throbbing bass line, booming drums, reverbed-out vocals and punchy garage-rock organ line (plus a couple of crazy Chuck Berry-esque guitar solos) all blend together perfectly, making it one of Iggy’s most brilliant songs. Unfortunately, Party also includes lame covers with unconvincing vocal performances (“Sea Of Love,” “Time Won’t Let Me”), and chintzy attempts at ska (“Happy Man”) and hard rock (“Pumpin’ For Jill”). It’s way too much of a jumble to really stick up for, the glories of “Bang Bang” aside.


Ready To Die (2013)

Ron Asheton died in 2009, and the Stooges reunion seemed to have died with him. But then Iggy pulled a stunt absolutely no one would have expected; he got James Williamson to come back to rock ‘n’ roll. Williamson, who’d played on Raw Power and the 1975 demos that became Kill City, and helped out with New Values and Soldier, had left the performing side of the music industry to become an electrical engineer and spent the ’80s and ’90s working in Silicon Valley, later joining Sony and helping codify industry standards for the Blu-Ray disc, among other products. But in 2009, he took early retirement, and became a Stooge once more.

Ready To Die is much, much better than the previous Stooges album, The Weirdness. Iggy and Williamson aside, the line up is Scott Asheton on drums, Mike Watt on bass, and Steve Mackay on saxophone. Various guests, including keyboardist Scott Thurston and violinist/backing vocalist Petra Haden, pop up on one track or another, but for the most part it’s a fierce, rockin’ slab. Williamson produced it, and the first thing a listener’s likely to notice is that his guitar sound has lost none of its broken-glass-shoved-in-your-ear ferocity in the 40 years between Raw Power and this album. “Gun,” in particular, could be a lost track from the Raw Power sessions musically, anyway.


But Williamson’s ambitions extend beyond recreating proto-punk’s past. He apparently still had the dream of making a Rolling Stones-like mainstream rock record with Iggy, like he’d tried to do on Kill City, so Ready To Die also includes a strutting, funky title track, and a couple of acoustic ballads that sound inspired by “Wild Horses.” Of course, as with pretty much every Iggy Pop project post-Brick By Brick, the lyrics are the weak point; he’s back in social-commentary mode, rather than “the adventures of Iggy” mode, which is good, but the fevered poetry of his 1970s work is long behind him.

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The Washington Post’s review of “Free” said that “Iggy haunts these new songs like a dignified spirit,” suggesting that the album emerged as “an exposition on death, or transcendence, or both.” However, while Free was atypically ruminative in design, the introspection was leavened by the compelling “Loves Missing,” a strident, Pixies-esque rocker tempered by Pop’s fatalistic lyric (“Love’s absent, it’s failing her once again, again”) and’ otherworldly trumpet inflections.


Naughty Little Doggie (1996)

For the follow-up to American Caesar, Iggy retained the same core band: guitarist Eric Schermerhorn, bassist Hal Cragin, and drummer Larry Mullins. The music is harder and heavier than the previous album, practically metal, with screaming lead guitars, big riffs, and that ringing snare sound every rock band had in the mid ’90s. The production, by Thom Wilson, who’d done the Offspring’s big albums a few years earlier, gives the music plenty of power with just enough roughness to remind you that Iggy Pop was once a threatening weirdo, even if here he’s yowling gibberish when he’s not making dumb, crude jokes (there’s a song called “Pussy Walk” on this album that basically consists of Iggy inhabiting a leering character that would make Brian Johnson of AC/DC ask, “Have you considered a more subtle approach?”).

The biggest problem with Naughty Little Doggie is one that started, effectively, with Brick By Brick: the shifting of Iggy’s lyrical perspective from first-person insight to first-person narration in character as “Iggy Pop.” Even on tracks like “Turn Blue” from Lust For Life, where he stops the song to say, “Jesus? This is Iggy,” there was always a sincerity to his madness. On these 1990s albums, though, he seemed to be pandering, giving people what they wanted and writing songs that were “the adventures of Iggy” rather than the thoughts of a relatable human person wandering through the world. Fortunately, there are some songs here with real meaning, particularly the album-closing “Look Away,” a sad but clear-eyed tribute to former New York Dolls guitarist and legendary junkie Johnny Thunders, and his former girlfriend, LA groupie Sable Starr. So while Naughty Little Doggie may be forgettable, it’s not offensively bad.


Post Pop Depression (2016)

Iggy Pop has always had a canny ability in picking the right artists to work with at the right time and, on 2016’s Post Pop Depression, Iggy, alongside Josh Homme created one of his finest albums. He and Homme had sparked the idea of a possible collaboration after exchanging lyrical ideas and, with the key introduction of Arctic Monkeys’ Matt Helders, the album was solid gold.

A critical and commercial success, Iggy’s 17th studio album, 2016’s Post Pop Depression, was one of that year’s most celebrated releases. The album became Iggy Pop’s first US Top 20 success, as well as a Top 5 entry in the UK. Also later spawning director Andreas Neumann’s excellent American Valhalla documentary, Post Pop Depression was stuffed wall-to-wall with rich, satisfying tracks imbued with cinematic flavors and hints of Iggy’s Berlin-era work with David Bowie. One of its very best songs, “Sunday” was a compelling mid-paced rocker built upon Helders’ tom-heavy drumming and Homme’s insistent riffs, and it culminated in an unexpected, yet glorious orchestral coda that still dazzles.

Iggy’s phenomenal 17th album, “Post Pop Depression”, would represent a landmark in any great artist’s career, and several of its tracks (not least “Break Into Your Heart” and “Gardenia”) deserve honourable mentions, though they don’t make the cut here. The album’s hypnotic title track, however, is an absolute must-hear. It sprang from a conversation between Josh Homme and Iggy Pop about how the Norse version of heaven (Valhalla) is the best “paradise” compared to the afterlives of other cultures. Homme later told Mojo how that led to Pop writing “American Valhalla’s” remarkable, self-referential lyric: “Here’s an icon coming to the later stages of his life, the creator of punk rock, who’s survived, and displayed a willingness to be himself in the face of great odds, in a band that was hated but spawned all the good bands. Those lyrics: “Lonely, lonely deeds that no one sees/I’ve nothing but my name…” He’s facing mortality and sensing none of the stuff matters. To be part of that statement felt so wonderful.”

This collaboration with Josh Homme, recorded in secret on the artists’ own dime, might well be Iggy’s last album. He’s 68 as of this writing, after all. But rather than continue down the path of jazzy, bilingual croonerdom he explored on 2009’s Préliminaires and 2012’s Après, he’s made a moody, arty rock album strongly indebted to his late ’70s Berlin-era work (The Idiot in particular) and featuring some of his strongest lyrics and vocals in some time.

The band is a strong one: with Josh Homme on guitar, bass, keyboards and percussion, as needed; Dean Fertita of Queens Of The Stone Age and the Dead Weather on guitar and keyboards; and Matt Helders of the Arctic Monkeys on drums. The nine songs are all midtempo to slow — the riffs all sound like variations on the mournful “Dum Dum Boys,” from The Idiot. But if there’s little rage left in Iggy at this point, he’s not morose, either; he’s introspective and thoughtful throughout. Helders maintains rock-solid grooves that blend blues and post-punk art-rock, atop which Fertita’s and Homme’s guitars are like ocean waves, repeating simple structures again and again as Iggy bobs on top, singing in his low, fatalistic voice about women named Gardenia and memories of Germany and his desire to move to Paraguay.

Post Pop Depression isn’t some magical artistic rebirth. Iggy’s in good voice, but the songs are too of-a-piece (except for “Vulture,” which has a Spaghetti Western guitar sound that’s unexpected) and his weird side rarely pokes through. It’s a bunch of guys whose own work was likely heavily influenced by him treating him like an elder statesman. And it’s pleasant enough while it’s playing, and produced extremely well, but there’s a hollowness at its centre that reveals itself over multiple listens, and finally can’t be ignored. One song with the goofiness of “Girls” (from New Values) or the air-humping mania of “Loose” (from the Stooges’ Fun House) would have gone a long way.


Préliminaires (2009)

At the time of its release, Préliminaires easily grabbed the title of “weirdest Iggy Pop album.” Inspired by French novelist Michel Houellebecq’s The Possibility Of An Island, it’s a jazzy, quiet record that he performs almost entirely at the lower, more crooning end of his range; both the arrangements and his performances sound more like Leonard Cohen or, at times, Tom Waits than anything he’s ever done before. It includes versions of Antonio Carlos Jobim’s bossa nova song “How Insensitive” and the jazz standard “Autumn Leaves” (performed in the original French as “Les Feuilles Mortes,” with Iggy sounding like he learned the words phonetically). Another track, “King Of The Dogs,” which borrows bits of its melody from “King Of The Zulus” (written by Louis Armstrong’s wife Lil), could have been pulled from a Disney movie about a pack of stray dogs who band together and go on an adventure. There’s more trumpet, trombone and clarinet than electric guitar on Préliminaires. There’s even a track where Iggy reads a section from the Houellebecq novel, over a subtle electronic backing. But ultimately what’s most interesting about Préliminaires is how well it works. This is a really cool experiment from a guy who’s always been smarter than most people assume.

1999’s sombreAvenue B and 2009’s New Orleans jazz-influenced Préliminaires albums revealed that there’s a lot more to Iggy Pop than high-octane garage rock. For 2019’s Free, he again succeeded in his intention to “wriggle out of the frame of rock instrumentation I’d gotten encased in over time.” One of numerous Free tracks that leaned towards jazz, the gripping, synth-driven “Sonali” was an introspective, genre-defying treat that was accurately described as “a rushing, fluttering, quasi-waltz” by The New York Times.


Avenue B (1999)

Iggy’s last album of the 1990s was also one of his strangest, and most emotionally resonant. Avenue B, for which he reunited with Don Was, who’d produced his critically acclaimed and commercially successful Brick By Brick, is far away from the crunching hard rock that had marked his output for years. On most tracks, Iggy strums an acoustic guitar and croons softly. Bassist Hal Cragin and drummer Larry Mullins, who played on 1993’s American Caesar and 1996’s Naughty Little Doggie, are still around, though guitarist Eric Schermerhorn has been replaced by Whitey Kirst. But on three tracks, he’s backed by the organ trio Medeski, Martin & Wood, and on three others, he plays keyboards himself, accompanied by violinist David Mansfield. Those latter three are short spoken-word interludes, in which Iggy tells a story of getting old and breaking up with a younger girlfriend to whom he can’t relate, but realizing in her absence that the fault was his, not hers.

Avenue B isn’t totally anti-rock, though. Three tracks, “Corruption,” “Español,” and a cover of Johnny Kidd And The Pirates’ ’50s rock ‘n’ roll classic “Shakin’ All Over,” feature loud electric guitars. The first is a bluesy strut, the second a garage-rock stomp with Iggy himself on guitar, with MMW behind him, and lyrics in Spanish(!). Meanwhile, the Kidd cover, slowed-down and psychedelic, actually comes close to recapturing the power of the Stooges in their prime. Ultimately, for all its patchwork feel and shifting moods, Avenue B is one of Iggy’s most interesting records; it feels personal in a way his music hadn’t since the early ’80s.


Soldier (1980)

Iggy kicked off the 1980s still on Arista Records, and if his second album for the label was a disappointment, it was only because of the heights he’d scaled on 1979’s New Values. “Soldier” seems like a slightly more light hearted record on first listen, but in fact it’s one of his darkest, most sardonic albums, close kin to Alice Cooper’s Special Forces, Zipper Catches Skin and DaDa, the first of which came out the following year.

“Soldier” from 1980 saw Iggy lose his song writing partner when Williamson declined the invitation to rejoin the singer and work on New Values Part II. Instead, Iggy leaned on some friends of old. Another remarkable band saw Patti Smith Group’s Ivan Krahl on guitar and former Sex Pistol Glen Matlock on bass—some serious chops.

As you might imagine it is a glorious racket and while the punk kids were looking left and right for a place to go, Iggy just followed wherever his gut took him. Songs like ‘Ambition’ and ‘Dog Food’ should be the first port of call.

Musically, Soldier starts off in perky, garage-pop territory, with the circus organ and handclaps of “Loco Mosquito.” Indeed, for more than half the album, there’s no lead guitar at all. On the disc’s second half, it shows up from time to time, but it’s a dialled-down snarl, sounding like it’s coming through a bad phone connection. Other tracks feature horns, female background vocalists offering snarky commentary, and other surprises.

Of the album’s 11 tracks, probably five are keepers, and some of them are mini-classics: “Knockin’ ‘Em Down (In The City)” is a snarky, Cooper-style ripper; “Mr. Dynamite” is a weird, almost jazzy performance piece; “Dog Food” is two minutes of hilarity, like Iggy parodying the punk rock that came after him; and “I Snub You” is artfully sneering. But the album’s one moment of genuine glory is “I Need More.” A swaggering manifesto with a killer chorus, it’s Iggy taking on American materialism and disillusionment and wearing it like a custom-tailored suit. Again, Soldier isn’t half as good as New Values, but its high points are a blast.

Iggy retrospectives usually concentrate on the turbulent sessions for 1980’s Soldier (during which a visiting David Bowie reportedly fought with producer James Williamson) rather than the music that went into the can. With hindsight, however, the album proffered a clutch of classics, including several songs Iggy co-wrote with bassist/ex-Sex Pistol Glen Matlock. Of these, “Ambition” and “Take Care Of Me” are strong contenders, though the Matlock/Pop peak surely remains “I Need More”: a prowling, bicep-bearing rocker on which an animated Iggy thirsts for “More venom, more dynamite, more disaster!”


The Idiot (1977)

Iggy’s official debut as a solo outfit would come in 1977 and see the mercurial frontman in fine form. Working alongside his confidant Bowie, Iggy created one of his greatest albums. As well as being imbued with the kind of sparkled pop hit Bowie ate for breakfast on a regular occasion, the album still sounds authentically Iggy in every single note of every single song. As well as the glimmering pop surface the album had a seedy underbelly where songs like ‘Nightclubbing’ and ‘Funtime’ come out to play. 

The Idiot, recorded in summer 1976 and early 1977, was Iggy’s second collaboration with David Bowie, following 1973’s farewell to the Stooges, Raw Power. This time, Bowie took the singer in a wildly different direction than anything he’d done before, planting him amid the same minimal, electronics-driven sound he’d explore on his own Low and “Heroes” albums. The band was largely Bowie’s, including guitarist Carlos Alomar, bassist George Murray, and drummer Dennis Davis; Bowie himself contributed keyboards, synth, guitar, saxophone, and even xylophone, as well as backing vocals on a few tracks.

Iggy’s voice is vampiric and low, his disturbingly insomniac delivery virtually inventing Goth. Every song here sounds like it was recorded at 4 A.M., the band members only managing to remember their parts by playing them at half speed. The production is wildly inconsistent. The first few songs (“Sister Midnight,” “Funtime,” “Nightclubbing”) have a bottom-heavy thump and even something of a groove, while “Baby” is a romantic ballad that almost sways. The last song on the first side, though, “China Girl,” is virtually unrecognizable as the massive pop hit it would become when Bowie covered it in 1983. Here, it sounds like a primitive demo, the mix foggy and subdued and dominated by weird chugging guitars that seem underpowered, never quite getting the song’s energy level high enough.

With its instantly recognizable motif, The Idiot’s “China Girl” quickly established itself as a keeper. Co-written with David Bowie, the song was inspired by Pop’s infatuation with his Vietnamese girlfriend Kuelan Nguyen, though its surreal and sometimes ominous lyric (“I’d stumble into town/Just like a sacred cow/Visions of Swastikas in my head/And plans for everyone”) imbued it with a frisson of danger. Bowie’s excellent, Nile Rodgers-helmed recording of the track (from 1983’s Let’s Dance) later became a transatlantic Top 10 smash, though Iggy’s darker original version arguably remains the definitive cut.

Minimalist, electronic, and experimental, Iggy Pop’s superb solo debut album, The Idiot, was a significant departure from The Stooges’ nihilistic proto-punk. Produced by David Bowie, the album was primarily recorded at France’s famous Château d’Hérouville, but its most influential cut, “Nightclubbing,” evoked the atmosphere and ambience of the more sleazy nocturnal hotspots in Berlin, where Bowie and Pop had relocated. Built upon a loping beat generated by a Roland drum machine and featuring one of Iggy’s most otherworldly vocals, the song’s ghostly vibe has frequently been imitated but never bettered, though Grace Jones and The Human League later recorded their own acclaimed cover versions.

There’s one really good song on The Idiot’s second side: “Dum Dum Boys,” a tribute to/elegy for the Stooges that begins with a poignant spoken rundown of what happened to them. Iggy says, “What happened to Zeke [Zettner, bassist]? He’s dead on a jones, man. How about Dave [Alexander, bassist]? OD’d on alcohol. Oh, what’s Rock [Scott “Rock Action” Asheton, drummer] doing? Oh, he’s living with his mother. What about James [Williamson, guitar]? He’s gone straight.” The song itself is slow and sad, with Iggy confessing that without the Stooges, he “can’t seem to speak the language” and ending with, “The walls close in and I need some noise.” Thanks to David Bowie’s rubber stamp, The Idiot was embraced by many critics and portrayed as revealing Iggy as the artist he’d been all along, but it’s really more of a weird one-off than a representation of where he’d go in the years to come.

The Idiot’s oppressive, closing track, “Mass Production” was inspired by the smokestacks and factories of Iggy Pop’s native Michigan, an industrial landscape that fascinated the singer during his formative years. The song’s dystopian lyric (“Though I try to die/You put me back on the line/Oh damn it to hell”) was perfectly matched by its backing track, a looming drone built upon a tape loop of industrial noise supplied by bassist Laurent Thibault which churned on remorselessly for eight minutes. Arguably the sound of post-punk being birthed, “Mass Production” has been cited as an influence by seminal acts such as Joy Division, Depeche Mode, and Nine Inch Nails, and it still sounds futuristic.


Kill City (1977)

The tracks on Kill City were originally recorded in 1975, when everyone but guitarist James Williamson seemed to have left Iggy behind. The singer was actually living in a psychiatric hospital, trying to get clean, and left on weekends to record the vocals for what were, at the time, demo tapes. No label would touch them, though, until 1977, when Iggy’s profile was higher thanks to the David Bowie-produced, critically acclaimed Lust For Life and The Idiot. Then, LA-based Bomp Records gave Williamson money to overdub and generally clean up the material. It still didn’t sound great, though not until 2010, when he and Pop went back and remastered the original tapes. Nowadays, “Kill City” sounds like what it should have sounded like all along. Basically, it’s a document of Iggy’s attempt to go commercial in the ’70s.

Some of these songs are Stooges leftovers, never officially recorded by that band (“Johanna,” “I Got Nothin’”). The latter has a screaming punk energy; the former, though, has an almost Alice Cooper-esque sense of drama. And the new songs — the title track, “Beyond The Law,” “Sell Your Love” and “No Sense Of Crime” in particular — are really strong, with Iggy in desperate but powerful voice and the arrangements, which include piano, saxophone and background vocals, driving the material home in a way that simultaneously recalls the Rolling Stones’ Exile On Main Street and prefigures Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers. The band includes Tony and Hunt Sales on bass and drums, who would later back Iggy live and on Lust For Life, and Scott Thurston, a latter-day Stooge (and now a member of the Heartbreakers), on keyboards. This is a pretty amazing record, largely overlooked because of the circumstances and timing of its original release. But the remaster proves its importance to Iggy’s catalogue and career arc.

As the infamous Live Metallic KO album confirms, The Stooges literally split up in a hailstorm of violence early in 1974. Iggy, however, didn’t hit rock bottom until the following year, when he spent time sequestered at a psychiatric facility on the UCLA campus in Los Angeles. Granted weekends off to try and get his career back on track, Pop reconnected with Stooges guitarist James Williamson, and Kill City – the album’s worth of material the duo recorded at Jimmy Webb’s home studio in 1975 – eventually received an official release in the wake of The Idiot’s release. Though borne of precarious personal circumstances, Kill City remains a mandatory purchase for serious Iggy/Stooges fans, and its edgy title track – propelled by Williamson’s driving riffage – is a stone classic.

The mix may be a touch weak but the decision by the great Greg Shaw to pick up this previously shelved Iggy album from 1975 was a masterstroke. It may not be one of the big names on the list but as a singular piece it is fantastic.

It captures all of the raw nature Iggy possessed and the fuel of the city around him that continually stoked his fires. ‘Johanna’, in particular, is one of Iggy Pop’s finer songs and luckily James Williamson would remix the album in 2010. So all is well that ends well.


Blah-Blah-Blah (1986)

Four years after the dismal Zombie Birdhouse, Iggy’s career was in need of resuscitation again. Fortunately, he was back in David Bowie’s orbit. Bowie had covered “China Girl” on 1983’s Let’s Dance, and the follow-up, 1984’s Tonight, was practically a full-on Bowie-Pop collaboration, including versions of “Don’t Look Down” from New Values and “Tonight” and “Neighborhood Threat” from Lust For Life, as well as two brand-new, co-written songs, “Dancing With The Big Boys” and “Tumble And Twirl.” Bowie decided to return the favour by co-producing Blah-Blah-Blah and co-writing five of its nine songs with Iggy.

“Real Wild Child’s” title seemingly sums Iggy Pop up to a T, yet this legendary song – originally recorded by Johnny O’Keeffe in 1958 – was actually one of Australia’s first fully-fledged rock’n’roll records. Its lyrics were reputedly inspired by a brawl at an Aussie wedding reception that ended up in a full-scale riot, so it seemed ideal fare for Iggy to put his anarchic stamp upon. The centerpiece of 1986’s David Bowie-helmed Blah Blah Blah album, Pop’s reliably faithful take, titled “Real Wild Child (Wild One),” also helped get his career back on track when it climbed to No.10 on the UK singles chart in January 1987.

Blah-Blah-Blah is a nakedly commercial ’80s rock album, despite the presence of former Sex Pistols guitarist Steve Jones, who co-wrote three tracks, including the single “Cry For Love.” It’s slathered in synths, the drums are more programmed than not, and Iggy’s vocals are coming from the lowest end of his range, sounding positively vampiric at times. But the songs are actually really good, and it’s not that hard to get past the initially dated-seeming production, especially not now that similar retro sounds have taken over the world of indie music. This is an album that’s overdue for reassessment and celebration.

The commercial success of 1986’s David Bowie-helmed Blah Blah Blah was critical to the resurrection of Iggy’s career, but it’s an album that polarises opinion. Reviewers criticized its (then bang on-trend) reliance upon synthesizers and glossy production techniques, while Bowie biographer David Buckley has asserted that Iggy referred to it as “a Bowie album in all but name,” even though his famous friend didn’t sing or play any instruments. Bowie and Pop did, however, co-writeBlah Blah Blah’s most enduring song, “Shades”: an affecting love song about Iggy receiving a pair of sunglasses from his girlfriend (“I’m not the kind of guy who dresses like a king/And a really fine pair of shades means everything”), which he performs with grace and serenity.


The Stooges (1969)

The Stooges were barely a band when they made their first album. Though Iggy had been in a few groups before, he had a vision for something more like proto-industrial, audience-baiting theater than a rock band. (This is based purely on testimony from eyewitnesses; no pre-1969 recordings, live or studio, have ever emerged.) The musicians backing him — guitarist Ron Asheton, bassist Dave Alexander, and drummer Scott Asheton were perfectly suited to the task, grinding out slow, feedback-laced, garage rock riffs that could easily transform into extended, trance-inducing improvisations. When Elektra signed them, they only had five songs, and the label rejected the sprawling, jammy versions they recorded as being unsuitable for commercial release, so they wrote three more in a day and that was the album. John Cale of the Velvet Underground produced the record, and his fondness for drones is all over the place, most notably on the 10-minute “We Will Fall” but just as present on tracks like “I Wanna Be Your Dog” and “No Fun.”

The album kicks off with “1969,” which pairs a simple tribal beat with an equally primitive nearly mindless riff. Cale plants Ron Asheton’s guitar, and the overdubbed leads, in the far left and right corners of the mix, with Iggy and the bass and drums hovering in the middle. This makes it easy to hear just how important the interplay of Scott Asheton and Dave Alexander was, and how thick a groove they could set up. That’s followed by “I Wanna Be Your Dog,” one of the great perverse love songs of all time it picks up where Elvis Presley’s “(Let Me Be Your) Teddy Bear” left off (“Put a chain around my neck/ And lead me anywhere”) and runs straight into the darkest corners of sexual obsession. Seven of the album’s eight tracks operate in this throbbing, psychedelic-but-bummed out mode (Iggy’s vocals are a near monotone, until he starts screaming hoarsely at climactic moments). The exception is the 10-minute “We Will Fall,” an almost liturgical (in that it’s just as boring as church) drone piece that was surprisingly the band’s idea, not Cale’s.

It’s also worth noting that Cale’s original mixes subdued the Stooges quite a bit, making them sound like cavemen recording demos. It was only after the label rejected the album, and Iggy and Elektra head Jac Holzman remixed it, that the band was ready to make their debut with a disc that perfectly bridges the gap between sullen teenage hostility and arty rock fervour.


Raw Power (1973)

By 1973, things were already getting tough for Iggy. After the commercial failure of 1970’s brilliant Fun House, the Stooges began to splinter; bassist Dave Alexander was fired for being a drunk, but the heroin that Iggy, Scott Asheton, and new guitarist James Williamson were all using was apparently A-OK. Filling out the line-up with no-names (bassists Zeke Zettner and Jimmy Recca, guitarist Bill Cheatham), the band staggered through whatever gigs they could get, playing faster, more aggressive material that they’d never track in a studio, because nobody would give them money. By the summer of 1971, the Stooges were officially no more.

Enter David Bowie. Bowie’s star was ascendant in 1972, and he used his influence to support artists he admired: Iggy, and Lou Reed. He produced Reed’s breakthrough, Transformer, and followed that by flying Iggy and Williamson to London to make Raw Power, which was supposed to be a Pop solo album, but when a suitable English rhythm section couldn’t be found, the Asheton brothers (with Ron demoted from guitar to bass) were brought back on board, and Iggy and the Stooges were formed.

Raw Power is a fast, noisy, ugly album. The production is a bleeding, staticky mess, with guitars jumping in and out of the mix almost at random, particularly on the album-opening “Search and Destroy.” Williamson’s guitar leads, which have a Chuck Berry-esque rawness, and Iggy’s vocals (frequently distorted themselves) are by far the loudest elements at all times; the Ashetons are mixed together into a thudding blob of low-end. They’re mostly good songs, with some of Iggy’s best lyrics, particularly on the ballads “Gimme Danger” and “I Need Somebody,” but they’re extremely ill-served by the production. Raw Power is an album that jumps right in your face from its first eardrum-sawing chord, and will probably leave you with a headache. But when you need a dose of pure rock adrenaline, there are few that can beat it.


New Values (1979)

For 1979 effortNew Values, Iggy Pop teamed up with former Stooges partner-in-crime, the esteemed James Williamson, who produced and played on the LP. Released in the aftermath of the punk explosion, Iggy showed the youngsters how it’s done. ‘Girls’, ‘I’m Bored’ and ‘Five Foot One’ are as much ‘of the era’ as they are timeless, while the title track, with its circular guitar riff, ranks among Pop’s finest.

After closing out his RCA Recording contract with the shambling live album TV Eye, Iggy moved to Arista Records, where he put out three strong studio records, beginning with this one, which is secretly one of the best records of his career. Former Stooge James Williamson, who’d stuck around post-Raw Power to record the 1975 demos later released as Kill City, came back as both guitarist and producer. Multi-instrumentalist Scott Thurston, who’d also played on Kill City, returned too. The rhythm section consisted of unknown bassist Jackie Clark, and Klaus Krüger, who’d previously worked with Tangerine Dream, on drums.

The first seven tracks on New Values “Tell Me A Story,” “New Values,” “Girls,” “I’m Bored,” “Don’t Look Down,” “The Endless Sea,” and “Five Foot One” — are damn close to perfect, blasting through your brain like diamond bullets of punk-pop genius. The lyrics are sharp and funny, too; Iggy says he’s “healthy as a horse/ but everything is spinnin’”; talks about girls (“They’re all over this world/ Some have beautiful shapes/ I wanna live to be 98″); indulges a love of puns (“I’m the chairman of the bored”); and mourns a life of capitalist oppression (“Oh baby, what a place to be/ In the service of the bourgeoisie”).

Maybe because it arrived in the slipstream of the killer duo The Idiot and Lust For Life, Iggy’s third solo album, 1979’s “New Values”, is often pegged as an underachiever. In reality, though, it’s a bona fide new wave classic, with an on-form Pop aided and abetted by decisive contributions from a hot band that included guitarist/producer James Williamson and versatile guitar/keyboard alumnus Scott Thurston. “Five Foot One” and the scorching title track are immediate stand-outs, but when it comes to ennui-stricken garage-rock anthems, the taut, nihilistic “I’m Bored” (“I’m bored, I’m the chairman of the bored!”) is truly unassailable.

Not everything here is as great as that long opening stretch, though. The ballads, “How Do You Fix A Broken Part” and “Angel,” are weak and gooey, and “Curiosity” is jumpy filler. But it’s “African Man” that comes closest to sinking the whole album. Despite being built on a slinky Afrobeat groove that predates Brian Eno’s collaborations with Talking Heads, the lyrics are seriously cringe-inducing — “I eat a monkey for breakfast/ I eat a snake for lunch…I hate the white man.” At one point, Iggy actually grunts like an ape. It’s bad news. But that misstep aside, New Values is a great album that belongs next to Lust For Lifeas one of Iggy’s career peaks.


Lust For Life (1977)

Incredibly, the title track from this album, now easily Iggy Pop’s best-known song (from movies, commercials, etc.), was not released as a single in 1977. What track did Iggy and RCA pick to promote Lust For Life? The goofy singalong “Success,” of course, which closes the album’s first side with Iggy and band singing, “I’m gonna do the twist/ I’m gonna hop like a frog/ I’m gonna go out in the street and do whatever I want/ Oh shit.” Yeah, plenty of hit potential there.

David Bowie was once again behind the mixing desk when Iggy got ready to deliver his seminal solo album, “Lust For Life”. Buoyed by possibly the greatest title track of all time (seriously, is there a better one?), the album is full to the brim with energetic effervescence and supreme potent punk tendencies.

Iggy is brimming with possibilities and ready to redefine rock and roll once more. Sure, the world was just catching on to his ultra-violet punk act but now Iggy was ready for a new direction. Though his stage performance was imperious he was still as fiery with the pen. Seriously, though, Lust For Life is the complete antithesis of Iggy’s other David Bowie-produced 1977 album, The Idiot. Where that was a cold, studio-concocted release that featured mostly Bowie sidemen and a sound that prefigured Goth and industrial, this was a big, stomping slab of handclapping, shout-along rock ‘n’ roll mostly performed by Iggy’s road band — guitarist Ricky Gardiner, bassist Tony Sales, and drummer Hunt Sales. (Bowie contributed keyboards, as he’d done on The Idiot, and Carlos Alomar plays rhythm guitar.) And the whole thing was bashed out in eight days, as soon as the tour supporting The Idiot was over.

Composed by Iggy and guitarist Ricky Gardiner, “Lust For Life” highlight “The Passenger” is instantly recognizable thanks to its taut, clipped guitar riffs, loping beat, and vivid lyric pertaining to Iggy’s frequent nocturnal rides in David Bowie’s car around both Europe and North America during the mid-70s. A staple of all self-respecting indie/alt.rock discos for the past four decades, this enduring rocker has been covered and/or performed live by stellar artists ranging from Siouxsie & The Banshees to R.E.M., and it’s also been used in adverts by firms as disparate as Germany’s T-Mobile and Japanese car manufacturers Toyota. The latter’s deployment of the song in a 1998 TV commercial granted Iggy a belated UK Top 30 hit.

Unlikely as it may sound, the tempestuous “Lust For Life” stemmed from David Bowie’s attempted to imitate the Armed Forces Network call signal on a ukulele. In Berlin during the late 70s, the AFN “was one of the few things that was in English on the telly,” Bowie later recalled, “and it had this great pulsating riff at the beginning of the news.” During the Lust For Life sessions at Berlin’s Hansa Tonstudio, Hunt Sales reinforced this same beat with the thunderous drum tattoo that launched Iggy Pop’s magnificent signature hit. Bassist Tony Sales and guitarist Carlos Alomar then worked up the song’s relentless, Motown-esque riffs, while Pop improvised the now-famous lyric, throwing in references to the character Johnny Yen from William Burroughs’ 1962 novel, The Ticket That Exploded. Lauded since its release, “Lust For Life” later gained a whole new audience during the 90s, when it was used during the introduction to the box office smash Trainspotting. It’s now widely accepted as one of the most riotous anthems known to rock.

The songs are almost all great. The title track in particular is an immortal classic, as much for its massive drumbeat and layers of piano and guitar, all hammering out that simple Morse Code-like riff, as for Iggy’s wild braggadocio (“I’m worth a million in prizes”). But “Sixteen,” “Some Weird Sin,” and “The Passenger” all show him graduating to a level of songwriting he’d never previously achieved, and even the simpler tracks like “Tonight” and “Fall in Love with Me” work. Lust For Life is an easy candidate for “if you’re only gonna listen to one Iggy Pop album…” status.

Lust For Life’s show-stopping widescreen ballad was co-written with David Bowie, who later recorded his own version of the song as a duet with Tina Turner and made it the title track of his 1984 album. Iggy later famously paid tribute to Bowie by performing “Tonight” at Carnegie Hall’s House Benefit in 2016, presaging his performance by saying, “It’s a wonderful, elegant song with a deceptively simple lyric, and I think it’s the right lyric for right now and for tonight.”


Fun House (1970)

“Fun House” isn’t just Iggy Pop’s best album, it’s one of the greatest rock albums ever made. It builds on the strengths of the Stooges’ self-titled 1969 debut, packing its 40-minute running time with five rockers, one ominous ballad, and one indescribable free-rock freakout, all produced with muscle and impact by Don Gallucci, former organist for the Kingsmen (yes, the band whose indecipherable rendition of “Louie Louie” actually prompted the FBI to investigate whether the record was obscene).

The first side of Fun House swaggers out of the gate; “Down On The Street” is propelled by a strutting hard rock riff over which Iggy’s vocals, much more impassioned than on the debut, conjure atmosphere more than concrete imagery. “Loose” picks up the pace, ripping along at an almost punk-rock tempo, and seems to be about sex (the chorus “I’ll stick it deep inside…’cause I’m loose!” is a big giveaway). “TV Eye” opens with a full-throated scream and blazes from first power chord to final drum blast (and quick reprise of its crushing riff). Then things settle down with “Dirt,” a seven-minute, crawling dirge that prefigures Alice Cooper’s “I’m Eighteen” in both tempo and general don’t-get-too-close vibe.

The second side is where the album gets truly nuts, though. The first track, “1970,” is another “Loose”-style ripper, so you almost know what to expect, but then at the three-minute mark, after Iggy’s screamed “I feel alright” (the tune’s original title) about 80 times in a row, in comes…a saxophone? Yes, Steve Mackay is Fun House’s secret weapon, held in abeyance until needed, and holy fuck, does he make an entrance. He starts out in gutsy R&B mode, honking and howling, but by the time the song ends, he’s screeching and squealing like Pharoah Sanders, ripping it up free jazz style as the band crashes and bangs behind him. On the title track, he’s there right from the beginning — Mackay and psychedelic thug guitarist Ron Asheton are duelling lead voices, cranking up the riff over Dave Anderson’s throbbing bass line and drummer Scott Asheton’s primal, unstoppable beat, going at each other with such force that Iggy is literally reduced to cajoling them, “Lemme in,” as though they’ve forgotten he’s even there. And on the album-closing “L.A. Blues,” well, he might as well not be there, as it’s a free jazz/noise-rock instrumental, with Iggy shouting a few indecipherable phrases into a red-hot, distorted microphone as feedback, saxophone skronk, and random percussion barrages basically invent (and outdo) Sonic Youth and all of No Wave in just under five minutes. With Fun House, the Stooges inspired literally thousands of bands in the 45 years since its release, none of whom have equalled its power.

The Stooges had made a splash with their self-titled debut the year before but on “Fun House” they upped the ante. The sound was darker and more intense, it swirled above you and can still to this day render an entire party speechless. It was the sing of the decade to come—things had got real. Inevitably, the person to tell us was Iggy Pop.


Few performers can compete with Iggy Pop when it comes to embodying the sheer wildness and unpredictability of rock’n’roll. Yet, while this extraordinary performer has courted infamy for his personal excesses and outrageous live shows, we should remember that his legend has primarily been enshrined because of five decades’ worth of future-shaping records.


Iggy & The Stooges - Raw Power

The Stooges released their classic third studio album, “Raw Power”, on this day in 1973. As one of the first punk albums, Raw Power didn’t initially find a audience to appreciate it until years after, but it’s now considered an integral part of both the rock and punk canons.

The Iggy Pop and David Bowie-produced Raw Power possessed the kind of playful, dangerous smirk, take no prisoners attitude and fiery energy that made it hard to resist. Tracks like “Search and Destroy” and “Gimme Danger” were marked by pumping guitars and Iggy Pop’s grimy, snarling vocals, and though many tend to classify this LP as a garage rock album or punk rock forerunner, it’s also been cited as a major influence on heavy metal and hard rock.

“Raw Power” is a total absolution. For 34 minutes, Iggy Pop pummels you with unadulterated human rage, painting the loudest and most succinct portrait in his career. It’s the voice of an uncontrollable artist, one who’s fighting a brutal war against rejection and addiction, and it’s through that fight that he went on to define himself to the world. Because, at this point in his career, very few people outside of soothsayer David Bowie believed in the Detroit rock ‘n’ roll statesman. Though, that miserable sense of marginalization is what wound up fueling the album, starting with the nuclear opening salvo of “Search and Destroy” and ending with the napalm drop of six-minute closer “Death Trip”. By then, everyone who was anyone was listening.

If ever an album was wholly encapsulated by its title, it’s The Stooges’ incendiary third album, “Raw Power”. Released in 1973, it set the bar for a wave of punk bands to try and, in most cases, fail to eclipse. It remains one of the most visceral, electrifying pieces of musical savagery you’ll ever hear. And as its chief creator James Newell Osterberg Jr, aka Iggy Pop, recalls: “It was done with drugs, youth, attitude and a record collection”.

Playing the Keef to Iggy’s Mick was a guitarist whose influence is threaded inexorably through the development of punk rock, James Williamson. Sex Pistol Steve Jones famously admitted he learnt to play by taking speed and listening to “Raw Power”. Johnny Marr said of Williamson: “He has the technical ability of Jimmy Page without being as studious, and the swagger of Keith Richards without being sloppy. He’s both demonic and intellectual, almost how you would imagine Darth Vader to sound if he was in a band.”

“As a guitarist, James fills the space as if somebody’s just let a drug dog into your house… and it’s big,” is how Iggy describes his bandmate’s playing. “He finds every corner of a musical premise and fills it up with detail.”

Born in Texas, Williamson joined The Stooges in 1970 aged 19, initially as second guitarist, before Ron Asheton switched reluctantly to bass. His raw, bluesy style was instrumental in Raw Power having a harder edge and more adrenal tempo than predecessor Funhouse, and he co-wrote all eight songs – much to the chagrin of Asheton, who felt he’d been usurped. Throughout the narcotic mayhem of the Raw Power sessions, Williamson played a Cherry Red Les Paul Custom that Iggy had encouraged him to trade in an SG and Jaguar to buy. Plugged into a cranked Vox AC30, it sounded like… well, raw power.

By the time the Michigan band regrouped in England to record Raw Power they’d already hit rock bottom, splitting in 1971 due to a combination of Iggy’s voracious appetite for heroin, extreme poverty, dangerously violent gigs and the lukewarm response to their first two albums. David Bowie came to the rescue, finding Iggy a label and management deal and setting up the recording sessions in London.

Iggy may have overdosed and been out cold for 14 hours at one point while writing the lyrics for Raw Power, but how about Search And Destroy’s “I’m a streetwalking cheetah with a hide full of napalm, I’m a runaway son of a nuclear A-bomb” for an opening couplet? And the frantic lead playing from Williamson, based around the C♯ minor pentatonic scale, is nothing short of blistering, the song a furious rallying cry for the anti-Vietnam war movement.

You can hear the influence of Chuck Berry on Williamson’s rock-solid rhythm and histrionic soloing on Your Pretty Face Is Going To Hell, while the heroin horrors of the title track and the swaggering Shake Appeal also have their roots firmly in 50s rock’n’roll, the latter enabling Pop to “get to my dream of being Little Richard for a minute”.

Gimme Danger, with Williamson’s menacing acoustic riff in E♭ tuning, is there to fulfil the label’s demand for a ballad on each side of the album. As slow songs go, it’s pretty demonic, simmering with sexual tension as Iggy broods, “there’s nothing left alive but a pair of glassy eyes” before careering into the bloodthirsty chorus, Williamson’s lead playing and an insistent piano tangling lustily before the guitar wins out with a corking solo.

Iggy & The Stooges

The album’s other ballad is the Doors-esque “I Need Somebody”, a moody blues vamp in G written on an acoustic guitar by Williamson. Iggy thought it sounded like the inside of “a bordello” and his celesta part is a seductive counterpoint. Williamson’s final flourish comes as his virtuosic yet barbarous soloing envelopes the six-minute closer Death Trip, the album’s longest track.

Recording and mixing Raw Power was a suitably shambolic affair, with at least one member of the band by that point lucky to be alive. Unlike the first two Stooges albums, it was self-produced, resulting in a clueless Iggy mixing the whole band on one channel, the lead guitar on another and his vocals on a third of the 24-track desk. Handing the tapes to Bowie to sort out was the ultimate hospital pass. “He said ‘See what you can do with this’,” Bowie later recalled. “I said, ‘Jim, there’s nothing to mix’.” As Williamson remembers, “The fact of the matter is, when we made Raw Power, we really didn’t know what we were doing.”

In the circumstances, Bowie did a commendable job. Among his tweaks was feeding the guitar track on Gimme Danger through the Cooper Time Cube, a garden-hose based delay unit devised two years earlier, and of the several mixes of the album, Bowie’s is still widely regarded as the definitive version. Iggy was finally given the opportunity for some closure when he was invited to remix the album at New York’s Sony Music Studios in 1996, modern studio technology and all. While that incarnation has been dubbed “the loudest album ever made”, with every fader pushed deep into the red, it did little to halt the arguments, with Williamson complaining it “sucked” and Bowie saying his version had more “wound-up ferocity and chaos”.

Raw Power was a commercial flop, peaking at 182 in the Billboard Chart, but the reviews were positive, Lenny Kaye praising the “ongoing swirl of sound that virtually drags you into the speakers”. It didn’t stop Iggy being dropped by both his label and management company, but the record’s legend has grown exponentially over the years. Kurt Cobain said Raw Power was his favourite album of all time, British rock critic Nick Kent called it “the greatest, meanest-eyed, coldest-blooded hard rock tour de force ever summoned up in a recording studio” and Ted Maider of Consequence Of Sound “by far the most important punk record ever”.

In 1973, Iggy Pop may have been, unjustly, the world’s forgotten boy, but today The Stooges’ influence looms large over a generation of guitar bands. When a topless Iggy and the surviving Stooges tore wantonly through Search And Destroy at their induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2010, it felt like long-overdue recognition of the ultimate rock’n’roll album. “Raw Power” indeed.

Iggy And The Stooges, Raw Power (1973, Columbia Records)

  • Iggy Pop, vocals, celesta, piano
  • James Williamson, guitar
  • Ron Asheton, bass guitar, backing vocals
  • Scott Asheton, drums

In 1969, The Stooges were a truth serum, forcing hippiedom to belch up the reality that flowers and hope had become just another guise for hucksters and snake-oil salesmen to take advantage of the naïve. By 1973, however, The Stooges were no longer the mirror to an era’s hypocrisy. They were the representatives par excellence of desiccated overindulgence and self-destruction. Too many bad shows, too many blatantly underage groupies, too much booze, too high — way too high. While The Stooges’ noise-rotted nihilism, originality, and underrated musicianship have ensured their longevity, the final six months of the band, as captured on Cherry Red’s new box-set, “You Think You’re Bad Man: The Road Tapes ’73 – ’74” were a squalid and chemically-warped stagger toward total collapse.

The five live shows captured are all previously released, originally licensed by Tony DeFries’ MainMan management company to record labels like Revenge, Bomp!, and Jungle during the 1980s and 1990s. However, this box-set is a very welcome tidying up exercise with good packaging and liner notes, all at a fair price. For decades, delving into the vast quantity of Stooges deep-cuts meant investing in a chaotic mishmash of compilations, so the 21st century has been wonderful in terms of labels (Easy Action in particular) bringing professional curation to the Stooges output. This Cherry Red Records compilation is a part of that positive trend, and one can only hope they get a similar grip on the many studio demos still out there.

Going on tour with the defeated, newly label-less StoogesLos Angeles to Baltimore to New York, battered and defeated to their home, Detroit—via this Cherry Red box is akin to living through the hell of the worst tour ever, driving on Highway 1 with a cheap 1965 Chevy, low on gas, with its tires on fire and an incessant burning oil smell on your clothes. The car radio? Its speakers are blown, the perfect shredded tone for repeated, wired versions of “Search and Destroy,” the gothic “Gimme Danger,” and the stammering “I Got Nothin’.” The Cherry Red collection is the sound of brain-numbing, aggressive anger and disgust at a thousand nights of self-inflicted road food, drugs, and fucks tucked into a clamshell box.

It didn’t take long for The Stooges to acquire an afterlife. They played their final show in February 1974. In May 1975, Nick Kent wrote a multi-page feature for NME on the ups and downs of Iggy Pop and Co. In September 1975, Sounds reviewed a new album by the defunct band titled “Metallic KO”. One side of it was recorded at that final show.

“I’m a tasteless little bastard and I really enjoy it,” wrote Giovanni Dadomo of the wreckage captured on the vinyl. “It’s no great rock ‘n’ roll record per se. What I do believe is that it’s an astonishing piece of documentary work, revealing as it does the face of rock ‘n’ roll that few singers/musicians would ever be rude, angry, wrecked or impolite to reveal. Sure, it’s crass, conceited and unjustifiably vulgar plus a hell of a lot of other singularly ‘unpleasant things’, but still I like it. A record that quite literally has to be heard to be believed.”

“Metallic KO” began an apparently never-ending series of post-split Stooges releases. Few are essential – like the wonderful “Live at Goose Lake” August 8th, 1970, released earlier this year. Most are for the committed or completists. An intermittently great and handy one-stop collection collating various previously issued live releases, the new “You Think You’re Bad, Man? The Road Tapes 1973-74″ is in the latter camp.

A five-CD clamshell box with a booklet (its band pics and the cover shot are from 1972, not the period of what’s heard), You Think You’re Bad, Man? includes these shows: The Whisky a Go Go, L.A., 16th September 1973; Michigan Palace, Detroit, 10th October 1973; The Latin Casino, Baltimore (despite the credit it’s probably Cherry Hill, New Jersey), November 1973, The Academy of Music, New York (supporting Blue Öyster Cult. Kiss were also on the bill), 31st December 1973; Michigan Palace, Detroit 9th February 1974. The two Michigan Palace were filleted for Metallic KO.

It’s a bumpy ride, not just because of the spotty sound quality which ranges from a bootlegger’s “B” to “A-“. The Whisky gig is pretty tight, and its “Search and Destroy” and “Open Up and Bleed” are great; the best versions in the box. The New York show is a disorderly mess. The two Michigan Palace shows are well known, have been round the block many times and, of them, the final outing of the band is worse than a mess. The sound quality of the relatively disciplined Baltimore show is the poorest of them all, but it does have the box’s top run-through of “I Need Somebody”.

The Stooges of this period were in choppy waters. The Raw Power album had been released in February 1973 and guitarist James Williamson left in June. After a spell as a porn cinema projectionist, he returned to the band late that month with the proviso that a piano player came on board. First, that role was filled by Bob Scheff. Then, from late July, Scott Thurston joined. He appears throughout, with plinkity-plonk or barrelhouse playing which distracts. It is no fit with the band. The Stooges did not need Mrs Mills, or any piano player. Other wobbles came when the band’s management ditched them in August. Their label Columbia had already done so.

Nonetheless, there were snatches of the positive. In Raw Power’s wake the band had new songs and were clearly thinking of their future. A lot are heard on You Think You’re Bad, Man? “Open Up And Bleed” and “Head On” are the best. “Heavy Liquid” was good. “Cock in my Pocket”, “I Got Nothin’”, which prefigures The Stones’s “Fool to Cry”, and the puerile boogie rocker “Wet My Bed” are OK. The infantile, silly “Rich Bitch” is not alright. A new album could have been made. There was label interest too. In October 1973, Elton John wanted The Stooges for his Rocket Records imprint. But it all fell apart in February 1974. You Think You’re Bad, Man? is a series of bullet points in the narrative of the band’s collapse.

These are not the only post-Raw Power shows which have been released ). The 2010 Raw Power box included a scrappy October 1973 Atlanta gig with loads of the annoying piano – it was recorded off the sound desk though, so sounded fine. The 2005 Heavy Liquid set had one from Max’s in NYC from 30th July 1973 and another played in San Francisco in January 1974, as well the Whisky show.

This endless afterlife is further confirmed by another new release. Titled From K.O. To Chaos, it’s an 8-disc box set of random Iggy sniff-snaff. It includes Metallic KO on one disc, and its source shows on another two other discs – each of which is also collected on You Think You’re Bad, Man?

Although You Think You’re Bad, Man? The Road Tapes 1973-74 says nothing new, it neatly chronicles The Stooges in the wake of Raw Power’s release. The album was recorded in September and October 1972 and a year and more later, without a label and management, they had not given up. They could be dreadful. But they could also be impressive. It’s a disparity coursing through these five discs – five discs of shows which were originally never meant to be recorded and released, or even listened to.

Image 1

This isn’t a reject from Raw Power. It came out in 1977 after Raw Power on the demo record released by Iggy Pop and James Williamson. This is actually the original mix of this track from the demo tape of the “Kill City” record that was sent out in the hope of getting them signed. From what I understand they sent this version out to labels, they then remixed the album when it got released as Kill City on the Bomp! label and Williamson released a remaster recently. Of the original mixes, this is one of the only tracks available to us through compilations such as this (Original Punks) and it fucking rules in my opinion.

“Down but not out, Iggy and James record lost treasure in decadent L.A.”
This current remastered edition derives from the rediscovered masters and was prepared for release by James Williamson, who again tours with the Stooges in 2010. Since the Stooges circle has been squared its only fitting that this missing link be finally, beautifully restored for posterity. – KC Press

“The sound is 100% clearer, the levels are pushed and the instruments stretch and slide at higher, bulkier levels. This is a Detroit rawk muscle record as it was meant to be heard 33 years ago. All raucous garage born out of sweat, blood and bad times.” – WNnG

Kill City is Iggy Pop and James Williamson’s often overlooked, yet ultimately essential album. Originally recorded in 1975 and later released by Bomp! in ’77, critics have long lauded the songs and performances but have also regarded the overall sound as “sludgy.” The sound quality of Kill City was compromised from the get-go, as it originally suffered from a bad pressing (on the infamous green vinyl), and over the years the quality of the record itself managed to get even worse. When the original distributor went out of business, the 2-track album production masters vanished and every subsequent pressing of the album – on record, cassette and CD – used a copy of that deficient green vinyl as its master.

Now 33 years later, here is the long overdue restored, re-mixed and remastered version of this historically important record. Producer James Williamson remixed the album with engineer Ed Cherney at Capitol Records in Hollywood, and as the guitarist states, “He just made this record sound, well, like it should have sounded all along. It has finally reached its full potential.”

I like what this album has to say.
It is rather high concept, and the music is well thought out.
It adheres to no particular genre.
A lot of people have borrowed its ideas.
It’s one of the very first independent LPs I know of.
I hope you like it.

Kill City was by all measures a desperate effort, a singularly honest and heartfelt performance, a genuine progression of our song writing, and another in a long line of flops that were later resurrected and heralded as masterpieces. By the time it was released as a record, both Iggy and I were off doing other things with our lives, but with this re-release we are not only reunited in our musical endeavors but in our appreciation of this album, its remix, and its importance to us as artists.

RESTORED, RE-MIXED & REMASTERED edition, approved for the first time by both Iggy Pop and James Williamson. New Clear Red Vinyl  Limited Edition of 150


The original punk album, The Stooges is a Molotov cocktail delivered straight to the faces of the hippies of 1969, an album made by Michigan goons who were sick of everything, and wanted to be your dog. The album marked the arrival of Iggy Pop, one of the last true rock ‘n’ roll iconoclasts, and though the album was considered an historic bomb upon its release–it never cracked the top 100–it influenced basically every glam, punk and post-punk album released in its considerable wake.

The album’s original mix by producer John Cale was infamously rejected by Elektra Records–they thought it sounded too abrasive–and it has never appeared on vinyl. Until now. A new way to hear a classic album, this version is presented in the way that John Cale originally intended,

First, there’s the story of the album, which is that when the Stooges recorded this, 51 years ago, it was produced by John Cale, fresh off quitting the Velvet Underground. And he immediately realized that the Stooges should not sound like the Doors, or the Byrds, or whoever else. They were raw power, a barely contained riot, a train bearing down on you as you’re tied to the tracks. So he gets them to record their eight songs, one of my favorite side stories is that the Stooges showed up only having five songs, thinking that was more than enough for an album, and then lied and said they had eight when questioned and had to write three more basically overnight and he mixes the album like it’s this murder in real time, just all fuzz, and violence and ooze. The suits at the label hear this mix, and say what ,in retrospect everyone would say about the version that came out: That it sounded like shit, that it sounded dumb, that it was too uncontrolled to see release. So they fire John Cale, and ditch his mixes, and Iggy and Jac Holzman from Elektra re-mix and resequence the record, which is the version that comes out now.

John Cale’s original vision was the album as sort of a redemptive arc; his version ends with “I Wanna Be Your Dog,” which he saw as Iggy deciding to fall in line with society. The label saw it as one of the singles, so it’s on side one on the original version. So anyway, the original Stooges comes out, and it’s a bomb. But it secretly influences basically every hard rock band that has come since; it’s not an over-exaggeration to say that there’s basically no hard rock if the Stooges don’t lay the groundwork for punk on this album. It’s rightly lauded as one of the most important albums of all time.

Yeah, so meanwhile, there’s this version of the album that basically just lived in Stooges lore, that John Cale’s mix existed but was scrapped. And then in the early ’00s, these tapes walk into Rhino, and somehow, someone has a copy of the John Cale mixes. The speculation is that someone cut an unauthorized walking version of the album basically, one to take home and they confirmed with John Cale that what was on the tapes were his mixes. So they put the album out in digital form in 2010, however, they realize later that they actually released the album at too slow a tempo; the version on the tapes they found was likely recorded not from a deck, but from an echo machine, so for almost 10 years, the version known as the “John Cale Mix” was actually way slower than it should have been.

They corrected the tapes for the 50th Anniversary edition that came out last fall digitally. And this is the final part of the story: WEA/Rhino came to us to ask if we wanted to do the first original vinyl pressing of this album, and once we realized what they were asking, this was a no-brainer. We all listened to it, and I, for one, couldn’t believe that songs I’ve loved since I was a teen could sound even more like they were coming from the end of the scariest alley in town. We’re getting to present one of the most important albums in rock history, and doing so in the way it was originally meant to be heard. It’s a tremendous honor for all of us on the music team.

It’s one thing for us to tell you that the John Cale mix of The Stooges sounds gnarlier than the original; it’s another to let you hear it. Here’s a mini-doc telling the story of the album, and comparing the two records.

You have to remember what it was like before. For a full quarter of 1969, the No. 1 album in the country was the soundtrack to Hair, Blood, Sweat and Tears had a No. 1 album for seven weeks and, no offense to Al Kooper, but nothing on that group’s self-titled told life like it really was in 1969. The music that made its way to the charts back then, how life was on the ground for a Michigan resident raised by a working class family whose only prospects were the already-dying assembly lines or the frontlines of Vietnam.

And then, 10 days before the opening of Woodstock, it also is the ground zero for every angry album of noise that came since; without it, you don’t get glam, you don’t get British or American punk, you don’t get pop-punk, Green Day, and you maybe don’t the evolutions that happened to bring us every type of metal music. You don’t get any of it. Instead, Thank God, and Michigan, then, for The Stooges.

The Stooges were never a safe bet; not only in the “are they going to be coherent enough for shows?” way, but especially in the “These guys are gonna be stars!” way record labels are usually looking for. Fronted by James Newell Osterberg Jr., who came from a trailer park in Ann Arbor, Michigan, and who played the drums as a kid after his parents gave up their bedroom for him to have the space to play. Eventually ol’ James was banging the skins in a band called the Iguanas when he got his nickname, Iggy Pop. Sometime in 1967, at 20, and dropped out of the University of Michigan, Iggy saw the Doors, who were then known as a travelling disaster, as frontman Jim Morrison turned each gig into something like performance art crossed with a riot. Iggy decided he didn’t want to be behind the kit, and wanted to be out front doing that. He linked up with the Asheton Brothers Scott and Ron two guys who liked to party as much as he did, and could play the shit out of their drums and guitar — and Dave Alexander, a guy they all liked who had just recently started teaching himself to play the bass. They played their first show as the Psychedelic Stooges on Halloween, 1967. They’d ditch the hippie shit soon enough. Iggy and the Stooges quickly got a reputation around Michigan, particularly in Detroit, where another band of street toughs called the MC5 had set up shop. The bands became kindred spirits, and often shared bills; the MC5, though, always sounded like they wanted to be hard rock Motown, where the Stooges felt like they were a raw nerve set to make music. Anger and self-loathing and depression set to primitive funeral marches and barely contained war parades. Eventually, an enterprising A&R man from Elektra named Danny Fields signed both bands, in a bid to make Elektra the home of new Detroit rock. Both the Stooges and MC5 would be unmitigated disasters from a corporate level, the MC5 lasting a single album (1969’s live proto-punk volley Kick Out The Jams) before their careers flamed out in booze, drug busts, and legal troubles.
If Elektra was worried their two-pronged Detroit rock machine was in danger following the MC5’s debut getting savaged by Lester Bangs in the pages of Rolling Stone he eventually came around on it, as critics were allowed to do in those days — they had still had no fear in April 1969, when they sent the Stooges to Hit Factory in New York City to record their self-titled debut. They hired a recent underground rock hero named John Cale to produce the album, fresh off his time in the Velvet Underground, where his artiste sensibilities meshed with Lou Reed’s misanthropy to make the first two Velvet Underground albums, case studies in taking a label’s money, doing something no one had done before, and paying the cost for it with low sales while gaining a reputation for being ahead of your time (which the Stooges would soon follow). The Stooges came to the studio with only five songs (“No Fun,” “1969,” “Ann,” “We Will Fall,” and “I Wanna Be Your Dog”), thinking that’s all they needed to make an LP, and when they were told they needed more, lied and said they had them, and went off and wrote three more (“Not Right,” “Little Doll,” and “Real Cool Time”), playing them for the first time as a whole group in front of Cale in the studio. Those eight songs served as the foundation for too many rock movements to line up in paragraph form here, but more than 50 years later, the thing that has to be remembered is how shocking something like “I Wanna Be Your Dog” had to be to people who were used to “Incense and Peppermints.” That opening noise is like an electric chair being fired up, and the death march riff sounds more evil than any Swedish Black Metal band has mustered with 50 years advancement in guitar technology. Iggy didn’t want to hold your hand, he didn’t want to be your baby; he knew he was a dirty dog, and felt he deserved to be treated as such. Iggy studied at the altar of the Chicago blues for a time in the ’60s, and from there he took the willingness to be self-effacing and pitiful; no one sounded more put through a meat-grinder before or since.            Stooges took rock and stripped it down to its barest studs and refused to build it back up on The Stooges. Something like “No Fun” might have read to people like Robert Christgau as “stupid” in 1969, but it’s without any artifice; it’s all attitude, all raw power. “1969” was the first song about teenage malaise and boredom to actually sound like it was made by people who were sick and tired of being sick and tired; entire bands’ discographies would be pilfered from its two verses:

“Well it’s 1969 okay All across the USA It’s another year For me and you Another year With nothing to do, Last year I was 21 I didn’t have a lot of fun And now I’m gonna be 22 I say oh my and a boo hoo And now I’m gonna be 22 I say oh my and a boo hoo”

When the band finished recording in April, 1969, Cale delivered his mix to Elektra, and things hit the fan. Mixed in a raw, naked form that emphasized the sinister, wild side of the band over sonic clarity, the original Cale mix of the album was rejected by Elektra, in a portent of things to come. Cale’s mixes were thought lost before resurfacing in the early ’00s, and after being originally released at the wrong speed, they’re out on the right speed on vinyl for the first time.

But in 1969, Cale’s mixes weren’t appreciated; Elektra president Jac Holzman and Iggy himself remixed the album, bringing the vocals higher into the mix, and lowering some of the abrasiveness. At this point, it was clear both men thought the Stooges had some commercial potential if they just cleaned it up, which, even without hindsight, is enough to make you spray water out of your nose. Albums this hard didn’t move units in 1969, and they don’t move them now. The people at the front of the herd hacking their way through the wilderness don’t get to enjoy the fruits of the civilization they made possible, and The Stooges hit the marketplace like a brick to the philtrum. It made next to no impact on the charts (it eventually rose to 106 on Billboard’s album charts, but died quickly), was savaged in reviews, and was left to be consistently rediscovered by every generation of fucked up kids who came since; it eventually got its place in the pantheon, but by as much force as is present on the album.

To Elektra’s credit, they kept the Stooges on roster for another LP; 1970’s Fun House added jazz skronk to its mix via saxophonist Don Mackay, but when it too went over like a lead balloon, the band broke up, amid Iggy’s worsening heroin problems, and a lack of much juice in their career. Thanks to David Bowie staking his new stardom on his adoration for Iggy, the band reformed in 1973 on Columbia with Raw Power, and around guitarist James Williamson, whose leads were more punk fury than Asheton’s blues-based piledrivers, and that band broke up almost immediately when Iggy went further into heroin and began palling around with Bowie as a solo artist. Iggy would become something of a solo star and a cultural icon over the years, but until the early ’00s, he and the Stooges remained mostly broken up. However, they reformed with the Ashetons (Dave Alexander died in 1975 of alcoholism-related illness) back on guitar on drums, where they’d both remain until their deaths in 2009 (guitarist Ron) and 2014 (drummer Scott).

Iggy has talked recently of packing it in for good, his legacy cemented under nuclear-blast level concrete at this point. And he should; the man has lived enough lives for a whole litter of kittens. His debut album remains one of the most direct statements of purposes for a recorded body of work that has maybe ever existed; Iggy and the Stooges came to cave in heads, and it’s taken them more than 50 years to even think about stopping.

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Last February one month after the death of his close friend and collaborator David Bowie ,Iggy Pop covered Bowie’s “The Jean Genie” at Carnegie Hall. Two weeks earlier, he had said in an interview that he’s probably “closing up” and retiring from the recording business after the release of his new album Post Pop Depression with Josh Homme. If Pop seems a little morbid these days, well, it’s nothing new. A hell-bent, self-destructive streak runs through his entire body of work; in fact, that streak long ago became his calling card, along with this feral, hair-raising baritone. Hard to believe he launched his music career innocuously enough as fresh-faced James Osterberg, the drummer of various ’60s garage bands in Michigan such as The Iguanas and the Prime Movers.

iggy Pop’s next band, The Stooges, hit the scene like a runaway earthmover. Not that the band was particularly popular during its time. Formed in 1967 when he was still going by the name Iggy Stooge, The Psychedelic Stooges (soon shortened), the group harnessed the jet-engine power of fellow Michigan band The MC5 while droning on in a spectacularly Neanderthal way. The Stooges’ self-titled debut appeared in 1969, produced by The Velvet Underground’s John Cale, and it turned psychedelia into something overwhelmingly new: simple, primal, brutal, and blazing the trail for a new style of music still a decade away, punk rock. On the album’s best-known track, “I Wanna Be Your Dog,” Pop howls in an lascivious imitation of Ron Asheton’s wah-wah guitar, celebrating sexual submissiveness while paradoxically playing up the group’s own aggressive, distorted domination.

As great as The Stooges was, it’s an album that all but painted the band into a corner—that is, until Fun House blew off the roof. The blueprint from the first album is dutifully carried over no one ever accused The Stooges of being eclectic but the band’s attack is deepened, sharpened, and given a far more insidious atmosphere of transgression and hedonism. On top of that, the decision to bring saxophonist Steve Mackay into the mix on songs like “1970” and the sinuous, swaggering title track lent a jazzy edge that only enhanced the album’s ominous atmosphere. And Pop’s blistered voice urges on the noise like a drug-pushing drill sergeant. At the start of the ’70s, as rock ’n’ roll was congealing into corporate slickness, Fun House ripped off the skin and pissed in the wound.

Three years passed between “Fun House” and its follow-up, “Raw Power”. The album was billed under the name Iggy And The Stooges, reflecting the new star power of its self-abusive front man, whose bloody, destructive stage performances were already becoming the stuff of legend. But the band itself had disintegrated in a haze of drugs and reformed in those three years, giving Raw Power a far more abrasive and hard-edged sound; co-produced by Pop and his admirer David Bowie, the album’s ear-shredding, in-the-red chaos kick started the punk movement. On songs such as “Search And Destroy,” guitarist James Williamson threatens to split the heavens with his unhinged solos; meanwhile Pop weaves a new mythology of rock decadence that teeters on the brink of sanity and reality.

Barring the officially released demo Kill City in 1977 (recorded in 1975 and credited to Iggy Pop and James Williamson), The Stooges’ time in the studio was long over by the time Pop began in solo career in earnest with The Idiot. Released in 1977, the year punk exploded, it took a different route than all the groups The Stooges had inspired; instead of raw power, the album bears the cool, dour, synthetic tones that co-produced and collaborator Bowie was about to use on his Berlin Trilogy (The Idiot was also recorded in Berlin). In a way, Pop is fish-out-of-place on Krautrock-inspired tracks like “Nightclubbing” and the ethereal “China Girl” (later turned into a hit by Bowie himself). But it’s exactly this bewildered displacement and fresh context that makes The Idiot such a welcome jolt in Pop’s career arc—one that stretched his formidable voice into strange new shapes.

The second of Iggy Pop’s Berlin collaborations with Bowie released in 1977, Lust For Life produced Pop’s most identifiable solo hit: the Bowie-penned title track, a thumping, sinewy anthem that gleefully hurls Pop’s suicidal image back at itself. Falling much closer to Pop’s raw rock wheelhouse than The Idiot, Lust For Life nonetheless produced one of his most sultry songs: “The Passenger,” whose slinky, menacing vibe taps into the dark poetry that Pop always has lurking beneath his bad-boy surface. With punk in full swing, the movement’s forefather claimed his snotty offspring while striking out on his own assured yet anarchic path.

Pop’s third solo album, New Values, was released in 1979—his first without Bowie. Instead it was produced by his old Raw Power cohort James Williamson, who also supplies guitar. Rather than sounding like a Stooges rehash, though, the album ventured forth into bold new territory: sleek, sculpted, and lean, songs like the nervy title track gave Iggy Pop a clean canvas on which to reinvent himself. Accordingly, his vocal range is fully explored for the first time on record: From spoken-word proclamations to supple yelps to stentorian moans, he’d finally settled into his solo-artist role as a sophisticated provocateur and enfant terrible—even while Williamson sets off Stooges-era guitar explosions.

The ’80s should have been the decade where Pop reaped his hard-earned artistic rewards. Instead, it was pretty spotty. In spite of a strong pool of collaborators (The Sex Pistols’ Glen Matlock, Blondie’s Clem Burke and Chris Stein, Patti Smith Group’s Ivan Kral, and Bowie sideman Carlos Alomar) the run of albums including 1980’s Soldier, 1981’s Party, and 1982’s Zombie Birdhouse reflect a desperate frenzy of weirdness, mediocrity, and experimentation with only sporadic bursts of brilliance. Following a four-year break from studio albums, 1986’s Blah Blah Blah was Pop’s attempt to court the mainstream; with David Bowie back in the producer’s chair, the record resulted in a minor hit and something of a calling card for Pop in the ’80s, a slick cover of Johnny O’Keefe’s rock ’n’ roll oldie “Wild One (Real Wild Child).” Pop’s rebelliousness comes off as canned, but the album gave Pop another lease on music life—although it wasn’t capitalized on by 1988’s Instinct, a middling hard-rock team-up with The Sex Pistols’ Steve Jones that feels like a washed-out echo of Raw Power.

In the ’90s, the alternative boom brought many borderline underground artists out of the shadows—Pop somewhat included. He came out swinging with 1990’s Brick By Brick, a substantial album that boasted appearances from members of Guns N’ Roses plus another minor hit—a genuinely stirring duet with The B-52s’ Kate Pierson, “Candy.” With a new generation of stars, led by Kurt Cobain, singing his praises, the decade might have been huge for Iggy Pop, but his next three albums of the decade (1993’s American Caesar, 1996’s Naughty Little Doggie, and 1999’s Avenue B) were mostly muddled and confused, each one lesser than the one before it. Pop’s status as an icon was cemented—especially after “Lust For Life” was resurrected by its appearance on the soundtrack to 1996’s movie Trainspotting but his inability to funnel that into another classic record was frustrating. Yet wholly in line with his perverse brand of self-destructive integrity.

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In the ’70s, few would have predicted that Pop would make it to the year 2000, let alone release some of his most intriguing music in the 21st century. That’s not to say 2001’s Beat Em Up and 2003’s Skull Ring are good—they aren’t—but two significant things happened to Pop’s career in the new millennium: One, he started dabbling in French pop , and jazz, and two, he also got The Stooges back together. His French-inflected albums, 2009’s Préliminaires (consisting of original songs) and 2012’s Après (comprising covers of everyone from Serge Gainsbourg to Édith Piaf), aren’t entirely successful, but they’re both brave and compelling in their own way, giving Pop’s ever-more-cavernous voice a new atmosphere to breathe. The Stooges’ two reunion albums, 2007’s The Weirdness and 2013’s Ready To Die, are wildly uneven—the second is much better—but there are flashes of real combustion to that decades-old chemistry. His new album, Post Pop Depression, once again relies on top-notch collaborators, in this case a group led by Josh Homme of Queens Of The Stone Age, and it’s one of Pop’s best solo albums since The Idiot, Lust For Life, and New Values—mostly because it draws heavily from The Idiot, Lust For Life, and New Values. But if Post Pop Depression is indeed Pop’s swan song, he’s going out on a note that’s both dignified and fittingly creepy.

The Essentials purchases,

1. The Stooges, Fun House (1970) More confident and corrosive than The Stooges’ self-titled debut a year earlier,Fun House is not only Iggy Pop’s most potent statement about the dark side of the modern psyche—it captures American civilization at the cusp of an epic comedown.

2. Iggy Pop, The Idiot (1977) The Idiot is as much a Bowie album as a Pop one, and that’s its strength: icy, experimental, starkly chiseled, and filled with both dreamy electronics, it gave Pop’s wild-man persona a chillingly robotic sheen.

3. Iggy And The Stooges, Raw Power (1969) If ever an Iggy Pop album explodes out of the speakers, it’s Raw Power. Savage and incediary, every second feels like it’s about to shake apart at the molecular level. And Pop has never topped his fierce, apocalyptic imagery here.

4. The Stooges, The Stooges (1973) There’s something endearingly numbskull about The Stooges’ eponymous debut—a psychedelic record that bulldozes over every flower in its path. But it’s also steeped in shadows and Pop’s pulsing, psychotic desire.

5. Iggy Pop, Lust For Life (1977) The title track of Lust For Life may have been used in one too many TV commercials for its punch to be fully retained, but Pop’s sophomore solo album as a whole remains a giddy, meaty match-up between Bowie’s vestigial glam stomp and Pop’s fiery abandon.

Thanks To The AV Club

Though he achieved his greatest notoriety as the founder of Australia’s punk progenitors Radio Birdman, Deniz Tek is a Detroit kid—no surprise, as guttural guitar ferocity like his has the Rust Belt written all over it. Radio Birdman were shot through with Detroit influences, specifically via the Stooges—their name came from a misheard Iggy lyric, and their rehearsal space/clubhouse was dubbed the Funhouse.

In later post-Birdman years, Tek would play in bands with ex-Stooges, like New Race with Stooges guitarist Ron Asheton, and the short-lived (exactly two gigs) and underdocumented Dodge Main, whose live lineup featured the MC5’s Wayne Kramer, Stooges’ Scott Asheton, Sonic’s Rendezvous Band’s Scott Morgan, and The UP!’s Gary Rasmussen, with Jimmy Zero of the Dead Boys.

Tek is releasing a four-song E.P. with later Stooges guitarist James Williamson, titled “Acoustic K.O”. a play on the title of Iggy and the Stooges’ live album “Metallic K.O . It features four Williamson compositions “Penetration” and “I Need Somebody” both from Raw Power, and “Night Theme” and “No Sense of Crime” from the 1977 Pop/Williamson album “Kill City” . The acoustic transformations are startling and quite effective. Williamson: says

The songs of Acoustic K.O. are pearls from my youth, which are almost equally familiar to Deniz Tek from his. In fact the same could be said for the others on this record, to varying degrees. The process of recording them acoustically enhanced their luster with new clarity from re-interpretation. We love how it turned out.

He ain’t wrong—“I Need Somebody” seems a natural for an acoustic treatment, and the new version with Tek maintains the original’s menacing stomp. A more substantial transformation occurs on “Penetration,” but the E.P.’s real stunners are “No Sense of Crime,” on which Tek duets with Annie Hardy of Giant Drag, and “Night Theme”; the original on Kill City it’s a noisy-ish guitar theme-and-reprise suite that straddles the LP’s two sides, but here it’s a lush instrumental featuring a full orchestra.


The final show by the Stooges until their reunion in 2003, Metallic K.O. is the only rock album I know where you can actually hear hurled beer bottles breaking against guitar strings.
Recorded 2/6/1974 at the Michigan Palace on a reel-to-reel tape machine by Michael Tipton, later obtained by Stooges guitarist James Williamson. Considering Williamson’s involvement, and the endorsement of Iggy, it was considered a “semi-official” bootleg, when released on the Skydog label in 1976.

The album is mostly composed of previously unreleased material. Studio demo and rehearsal recordings of some of the songs would later turn up on similarly semi-official posthumous Stooges compilations.
The album proved popular, due to its release in the first era of punk rock and The Stooges‘ growing legend as protopunks. Metallic K.O. outsold The Stooges‘ major label official releases, selling over 100,000 copies in America as an import in its first year alone

“You can throw every goddamn thing in the world,” brags Iggy Pop upon being pelted  with beer bottles at the Stooges’ last-ever show, “and your girlfriend will still love me, you jealous cocksuckers!” Pop stars love to accuse their haters of being jealous. It absolves them of any role in the fact that they’re despised, making audience rejection into an affirmation of their greatness rather than an argument against it. In truth, jealousy is a lot of the reason we like pop stars.

You might wonder why anyone would want to listen to a recording of a gig that was disastrous by any stretch of the word. Metallic K.O. is famed for its hostile audience response; you can hear bottles break on the stage and bounce off the guitar strings, and Iggy responds by baiting the audience more mercilessly. The playing is sloppy, the sound quality more so. Why audiences like Metallic K.O. enough to merit a fourth reissue than why they didn’t like the Stooges’ performance at the time. There’s something inspiring about hearing the singer completely take over the stage, throwing both decorum and political correctness to the wind in order to harangue and harass the people who paid to see him. Being a drunk, stumbling rock star is the ultimate. You’re in the spotlight, but you have no obligation to entertain. You take up space by your mere presence, are paid just for showing up, and can propagate the self-destructive mythology central to most rock-star personality cults by making an ass of yourself. Then, you either die or, like Iggy Pop, become a meme because you somehow haven’t died yet.

Your response to Metallic K.O. depends on how much you buy into this myth. Your response to Metallic K.O. also depends on how much you’re willing to let Iggy get away with. He reserves his vitriol mostly for women. “Rich Bitch” is the Simple English version of “Like a Rolling Stone,” asking what the heroine is gonna do once she’s slept with enough guys that she won’t titillate anyone’s virgin fantasies anymore—least of all his, as he switches to first person halfway through and advises her to “keep your hands off me.” (He introduces the song with a dedication to “the Hebrew girls.”) There’s nothing here as execrable as what you hear in the average two-minute snippet off Lou Reed’s Take No Prisoners, a live album that deserves any content warning you care to name, but if you decide you want nothing to do with Iggy or the Stooges after hearing this album that’s totally reasonable and probably the correct moral stance.

But if your idea of the Stooges is of a nihilistic, self-destructive, primitive, out-of-control rock ‘n’ roll band, Metallic K.O. is definitive proof and thus the definitive Stooges recordings. Though the key line in any Stooges biography is “prefigured punk rock,” their approach to rock was fairly conservative, rooted more in the ‘50s than the psychedelic or progressive era. The “Louie Louie” that ends this set is a microcosm of the band’s approach, making something unmistakably obscene out of a song whose fruitless lyric investigation by the FBI epitomizes tight-laced pre-countercultural attitudes about rock. “She’s just a whore,” Iggy sneers, making explicit what was only hinted at in the original song just as “I’m gonna laugh at you, rich bitch!” sums up “Rolling Stone” more crudely than Bob Dylan might’ve liked. The Stooges often sound a bit compromised on record, which is not something that could be said of Metallic K.O.. We get the sense we’re bumping against an extreme, especially considering only two songs out of six appear on any Stooges album and that the profanity and poor audio quality of Metallic K.O. are not attributes of their records.

The Stooges’ strongest tie to rock ‘n’ roll is in their instrumentation, which often included a piano or a saxophone. Pianist Scott Thurston, who would later spend several decades as one of Tom Petty’s Heartbreakers, engages in the kind of playing here that hasn’t been popular in rock since Jerry Lee Lewis married his cousin. If you want to hear the most perverse piano glissando in all of rock, listen on “Louie Louie” after Iggy sings “her tits are bare” and the chorus repeats for the first time. Piano glissandos bear such a strong association with the relative innocence of the ‘50s that hearing it illustrate such a line is just as jarring as the celesta behind Iggy’s fuck-lust panting on “Penetration.” Thurston’s the only musician onstage playing with any kind of intent other than to piss the audience off. At one point during “Rich Bitch,” Iggy demands all musicians stop playing except the drummer, who’s one beat off. “Gimme just the drums!” Iggy screams. “It’s the only way you’re ever gonna get it right, take it down to the drums!” Not that anyone might’ve noticed or cared otherwise. The lack of any response between the audience and the performer is refreshing. Metallic K.O. is at least honest.

Side B of the first Stooges live album is, purportedly, one of the gnarliest rock shows ever recorded. For weeks before the February 1974 gig, Stooges frontman Iggy Pop had gleefully engaged in public beef with a motorcycle gang called the Scorpions. They showed up in droves, along with all kinds of objects with which to pelt the band — fruits and vegetables, bottles, yard tools. That hardly bothered Iggy, though his band was hungry, close to broke, and at the end of their rope. Sloppy on purpose, discordant and gut-churningly raw, the entire set-list is a big screw-you, down to the song selection. The non-album tracks “Rich Bitch” and “Cock in My Pocket” lead into the most gleefully, barely competent cover of “Louie Louie.” Here’s how little the band fretted about charming at this point. In his book Gimme Danger: The Story of Iggy Pop, Joe Ambrose reports this bit of Pop stage patter from the night: “Hands up, who hates the Stooges? We don’t hate you. We don’t even care

When Skydog Records first released this recording, it was presented as an “official bootleg” of the band’s February 9th, 1974 swansong at the Michigan Palace in Detroit, surreptitiously recorded by a fan and approved by the band. A 1988 reissue revealed that the original album is, in fact, cobbled together from the first half of a tamer show in 1973 and the last half of the 1974 gig. Perhaps the 1973 recordings were substituted for the 1974 ones because “Raw Power” is at least a recognizable Stooges song, while other 1974 cuts like “Heavy Liquid” and “I Got Nothin’” have never been released officially and exist in their definitive versions here. A 1998 double-CD release boasted both shows, and the full 1974 show is miles more entertaining than the truncated version that’s being reissued; here, you might wonder how the audience suddenly switched from admiration to throwing anything they could get their hands on at the stage. If you want the full Metallic K.O. experience, the 1998 CD reissue is easily available to stream, and as nothing in the recording is exactly enhanced by the improved audio quality afforded by a vinyl record, this reissue’s “metallic vinyl” won’t appeal to anyone beyond collectors. But it’s worth reflecting on this reissue and asking yourself why such an embarrassing show has such an enduring appeal and whether that fact has more to do with rock fandom or with rock ‘n’ roll itself.