Sunday 2^nd May 2010

The very first time I saw Iggy Pop live it was in a much different scenario to the one I find myself in tonight.  The year (I think) was 1988 and Iggy was just setting the rock world alight again with his then new ‘Instinct’ album. The venue that night was full of fuck ups, junkies, and diehard fans, the gig was life changing, for the simple reason that the T-shirt from that night’s show proudly boasted the ever-subtle Iggy catchphrase RAW FUCKING POWER.  I immediately wanted more and I wanted it… like yesterday.

Making my way into the Hammersmith Apollo some twenty-two years on for the first of two nights celebrating the album which inspired that catchy mission statement, I can honestly say Iggy has become something of an unmissable performer for me, and when you add in the prospect of Iggy and The Stooges playing their first London show with James Williamson back in the band, I’m going to be there right next to the fuck ups, the junkies, and the diehards…. Oh wait a minute; they’ve all been replaced by the readership of The Guardian’s Culture magazine.

Which means that the frankly painful forty odd minutes we spend in the company of Alan Vega and Suicide isn’t exactly met with the distain that it deserves. Alright, the man may be well into his seventies, but there is no getting away from the fact that his band are frankly art rock wank…and the art I’m talking about here is on par with a certain Paul Stanley’s.

Talking of Kiss, I couldn’t help but think of the self-styled pantomime dames when Iggy and his Stooges finally erupted from the wings and proceeded to lay Hammersmith’s Apollo a mighty uppercut to the jaw. You see, for all their bluster and spectacle, messrs Simmons and Stanley could actually have learned a thing here tonight about what makes rock ‘n’ roll so essential even when it is delivered by men well into their sixties. This was stripped down RAW FUCKING POWER, and what better way to introduce that than with the song of the same name (albeit without the profanity), and as you’d expect the stalls went suitably apeshit. But, as Irish wonder-comic Jimmy Cricket once said “and there’s more”, we were immediately thrown headlong into one of the meanest street fighting punk rock noises of all time in the shape of ‘Search and Destroy’. The pace of delivery for that opening couplet was frankly earth shattering and Iggy by now had long since lost the leather waistcoat he had arrived in.

Putting aside his recent threat to have retired from stage diving (I counted at least four tonight) the appearance of ‘Your Pretty Face Is Going To Hell’ also heralded Iggy’s first foray into the crowd and the first appearance of his infamous ‘cock neck’ as his jeans became almost perma-lodged below his butt cheeks.

As the ‘Raw Power’ album was played out in its entirety it was nigh on impossible to pinpoint just one or two highlights, as it was all quite frankly fucking brilliant, but the stage invasion during ‘Shake Appeal’ was Iggy giving something back to his audience, and the fact that he also saw fit to end ‘Penetration’ with one almighty athletic stage dive spoke volumes for the man’s undying belief in his own music.

Once outside the confines of that iconic album the perhaps lesser known cult classics the band also gave birth to all those years ago came thick and fast, ‘Cock In My Pocket’, ‘I Got A Right’, and ‘Open Up And Bleed’ all flew by whilst still sounding as groundbreaking as they did thirty seven years ago. And as the crashing chords of the latter track echoed out long after the rest of the band had long left the stage, who was left stage-centre doing his demented chicken dance like some fucked up scarecrow??? You got it….. Mr Iggy Pop.

Encore time saw amongst others a skin-tight ‘Kill City’ finally getting its just rewards, namely the exposure of a mass audience that it so rightly deserved, and then just as quickly as it all began the night was over, and Iggy could finally go rest his aching limbs for round number two the following night.

Legendary stuff played by a truly legendary band.

Monday 3^rd May 2010

Having had the ticket for this gig (the second sold out show at the world famous venue) for what seems like a lifetime, I entered the Odeon (old school me) without seats for the first time in over a decade and the excitement increased with each pint I gulped. The support act Suicide didn't even quell my anticipation, even though I did manage to stay in the auditorium for the duration of their set. I did however contemplate suicide on more than one occasion if they were going to play on any longer. Maybe I just don't get it, maybe I'm too shallow or not 'arty' enough, or maybe I'm the purveyor of taste and can see this set for what it was - an excruciating racket that was nothing more than a load of old tosh when it was released way back when, and still sounds painfully bad in 2010. As Alan Vega leaves the stage I shake my head in disbelief that people around me thought they were 'special', pffff special indeed.

As the lights go out and the dry ice gets thicker, the Stooges take to the stage like gladiators entering the arena, waiting for the wild beast to be unleashed. Some frontmen have to try hard at their craft just to be ordinary, some have a natural ability to get the job done, whilst very few have a god given gift, and then of course there is Iggy Pop. “Holy fucking Jesus H Christ” is all I can think as he skips into the centre of the stage whipping his mic cord like a lion tamer, as he yelps and screams like a five year old after a case of Red Bull and sweets and not a 63 year old who should be thinking about his exit strategy.

Yeah it is he of the insurance adverts and for those who have disparaging comments for his new found sales patter “fuck you get over it”, look at it like this, it's the ultimate punk rock act as he milks the 'Man' for his dues.

Tonight Iggy Pop quite simply owns the audience, in fact by about the third song he bloody well owns London and seemingly doesn't even have to try as he has 'IT', yeah 'IT', that special 'X Factor’! Iggy is up there sweating from every sinew of his body. This guy is timeless and quite simply the godfather of frontmen. Iggy Pop couldn't sell out even if he wanted to.

'Search And Destroy' is slaying the 5,000 strong crowd as he has them eating out of the palm of his hand from the off, and the front of the Odeon gets obliterated as this band puts many a fine band to shame, with a sound that is both brutal and beautiful at the same time. It's tight yet loose as 'Raw Power' get laid out before us sounding as fresh and current as anything released in 2010. This isn't the sound of a band paying tribute to a 37-year-old album but a band telling the world to go fuck itself! The same feelings are there that drove this band on all those years ago, The Stooges wrote a near perfect album and still today 'Gimme Danger' has the hair on the back of my neck feeling like someone just ran a sand belter up it, as Iggy throws himself into the first few rows for the first, but not the last, time tonight. 'Shake Appeal' has Iggy demanding the house lights go up and then tells every fucker in the audience to get up on the stage because he needs a crew to watch his back, and at least 50 people duly oblige as the band crank out the riff. I can't believe how majestic this sounds - the beat of Scott Asheton’s drums and the wailing sax of Steve Mackay tied into the hypnotic rhythm of Mike Watt and James Williamson riff which sends those on the stage into a piranha frenzy whilst Iggy looks on like a shark patrolling the shallow water. Is raw rock 'n' roll really meant to sound this good?

My only worry is 'Raw Power' lasts less than 35 minutes and soon enough it will all be over and I really don't want this to end. 'Your Pretty Face Is Going To Hell' sends the stalls into a tailspin as beer and bodies get tossed into the air. Apart from the magnificent 'Raw Power' set we get treated to classics from all the Stooges albums with the obligatory 'I Wanna Be Your Dog' which sees Mr Osterberg bark, get down on all fours and throw himself around like a puppy in a washing machine. We get 'Funhouse' and ‘1970’, 'Cock In My Pocket' as well as 'Open Up And Bleed' before the night is through. James Williamson, who unassumingly hammered out song after song with equal amounts of finesse and power, sounds like he's actually made that guitar weep!  'Kill City' signals the end of proceedings as a beaming Mr Pop leaves the stage exit left soaking wet with his trousers round his knees. “Thank you and goodnight Hammersmith, it's been emotional”.

If there is such a thing as rock 'n' roll heaven then for the past few months I've been hanging out there. To my left, as I leave, Rik Mayall and Noel Fielding (who are not together) are grinning like a pair of Cheshire cats, and as we exchange hellos, (P)Rik leans over and says to me, "That man is a fucking theatrical genius, a master of his craft. The talented cunt!" This night is now getting weird as I agree and laugh.

It wasn't until the following day I realised they didn't play 'No Fun' or 'Johanna' or anything off the last studio album or about another twenty songs I wanted to hear, but I'm not greedy, there's always next time for the ones that got away. Quite simply Iggy and the Stooges are as relevant today as they were at the dawn of the 70's, I just hope they're appreciated now, because quite simply for unadulterated ‘Raw Power’ there is nobody better than the originals and there is none more original than the Stooges. You can think of 100 clever words to describe the music or the performance but I'll make it simple for everyone to understand.

Raw Fuckin' Power! Indeed it was!!!

I saw the Stooges, covered in bruises. They just saved rock 'n' roll!