I would love to have a drink with Iggy Pop. For years he was Dionysus, pitching the gap between music and song. He worshiped the groove; he cut the fat. And he was there — when Bowie went to Berlin, when the Stooges went to Hollywood, when Nico went down on him in New York City. Today the legend lives but the edge is gone. He’s much less of a contortionist and a firestarter.
Lust For Life is the turning point. As on The Idiot (1977), Pop goes nightclubbing and wakes up the next day. Life is the brighter album; it’s more about the morning after; he’s pensive but he rocks harder. His songs are big beats for survivors who think that “punk” is a misnomer for the kind of soul they’re trying to show. Of course, the Stooges puked the same message (“You’re only young once”), but this swings in a cleaner way. He’s smiling at us.
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