IGGY
POP
Beat
'Em Up Iggy
Pop "Beat 'Em Up" Iggy Pop (and his early band, the Stooges) walked the line between the two camps. His music was every bit as brainy and ballsy as the MC5, but coated in machismo like the loin-cloth clad Nugent. Iggy was a closet intellectual seeking to legitimize the Id. Cutting through all pleasantries, he proved that songs about scoring, rife with barking riffs, were no longer embarrassing, adolescent delights to be enjoyed only behind closed doors -- nor were they the exclusive property of the Kiss army. He was being honest. Since the late '70s, Iggy has delivered inconsistent records, the worst of which caught him imitating his old material. It got so bad in the '80s ad '90s that you couldn't tell the difference between Pop and Nugent's hair-metal progeny. So it's a surprise that Pop's new album, "Beat 'Em Up," is a full 12 rounds of sweaty, sonic ferocity. While the sound of 1973's "Raw Power" had Pop riding waves of growling guitars, "Beat 'Em Up" is all bottom ?- Pop and the guitars hovering above the lunging bass and drum rumble. The first cut, "Mask," features guitars screeching overhead and a pile-driving rhythm with Pop's caustic lyrics damning everyone and everything, pointing fingers in every direction. "Where is the soul? Where is the love? Where am I?" he howls. In his Stooges days, Iggy's voice blazed its own cadence within the songs, sometimes pushing the beat or competing with the guitar. Thirty years later, his vocal lines still seem unpredictable, although his voice now occupies well-worn niches in the songs. On the title track and "L.O.S.T.," Pop's vocals prance beside booming guitar onslaughts. Although you can't make out half of what he's yelling during the latter track, the chorus explicitly mimics "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida." For the finale, "V.I.P.," Pop offers yet another surprise: he reveals the poet within him. With no guitars, he talks in rhythm about the hassles of fame for more than six minutes before the record quietly fades out. After a couple minutes of silence, he regroups for one last hand-pumping rocker. Overall,
"Beat 'Em Up" shows that this old dog has learned some new tricks in
addition to re-mastering his old ones. Iggy
Pop: Beat 'Em Up The tendency toward musicians such as Iggy Pop ones who have been around a while and continue to do good, interesting work is to take them for granted. In this world of excess, it's hard to recognize the economy of someone such as Iggy Pop. On Beat 'Em Up, he strips things down to the essential notes, nothing more, nothing less never wasting his listeners' time. Iggy
Pop: Beat Em Up Dont be fooled by the cover of Beat Em Up its not as nasty on the inside as it is on the outside. Yes, it rocks and it rolls and so on, but why is Iggys sound so fresh and clean? Hes always had a beautiful voice, and hes made a career of abusing it in delightful ways, and that voice, often times, stood out in contrast to the raw sounds that his bands produced (most famously, of course, The Stooges). Even on the Beat Em Up tracks that at least threaten the listener with a good sound beating, the twinkle and sparkle of polished production soften whatever blows might have connected. Beat Em Up does have its moments. "Mask" opens it up with Iggy ripping on Americas soul-crushing corporate culture over a throbbing rhythm, asking "where is the soul where is the love?" What comes next is a whole lot of filler tracks that go nowhere for far too long. In "Weasels", Iggy (predictably) rails that "Weasels control rock and roll," and yeah, sure, thats been obvious for ages, but hey do weasels control Iggy as well? Virgin has as many rodents running around in suits as the next Entertainment Giant, so I have to wonder is Iggy bitching in general about the weasels that run Rock Manufacturing Inc., or is he straining against the leash hes on? Honestly, folks the sound is soooo benign on a few of these tracks, youd think that this was Ozzys latest dopey opus if not for Iggys pipes. GG Allin was a newer, more frightening model of what Iggy was in an earlier age, hatched a mutant to entertain a meaner generation. GG never got any real respect because, when he wasnt masturbating onstage or cutting himself up and bleeding all over everyone, he was macing all the people in the front row with one hand and flinging his own poop toward the folks in the back with the other. He wasnt a very good singer either, HOWEVER GG always had a great rock band behind him. The Murder Junkies come to mind they seemed to play on raw instinct, knowing exactly where to go at exactly the right time. When they went into the studio to record, they played with the same sort of precision recklessness that propelled their live shows. Since there were no suits around, (GG smelled pretty bad and if he maced his fans, imagine what hed do to record company weasels ) there was no filter, and the result was great and powerful rock music. GG eventually died for his sins, but Iggys been clean longer than GG was alive, and hes still here making records so I wonder if The Murder Junkies are available? Beat Em Up ends up being more threat than promise, although Iggys old moves still flash into sight. On "Ugliness", easily the best track on the record, you can barely hear Iggy clapping in time just below the mike while he describes all the bad and awful things people deal with on a daily basis. Just when you expect to hear another tired guitar solo smack dab in the middle of the thing, he lays into a one note car horn instead, and the track comes off as totally spontaneous the way rock music should sound. Jeff Noise IGGY
POP: Beat 'Em Up Rock
Visionaries Return to Form Iggy Pop used to crawl through broken glass for his audience, but lately it's been tough for him just to put two strong tracks back-to-back on a CD. Recent-vintage Pop includes both the dimwitted punk-metal of 1996's "Naughty Little Doggie" and 1999's career nadir, "Avenue B," on which the former James Osterberg inexplicably tried his hand at faux-jazz, lush string arrangements, and Charles Bukowski-style confessional poetry. Reeking of the kind of "sophistication" that instantly sprouts quotation marks, that CD was enough to make a grown punk cry. On the new "Beat Em Up," Pop wisely lurches back over to the wrong side of the tracks, serving up plenty of the snarling punk nuggets that have made him both an icon and a fringe artist. New songs like the disc's scathing opener, "Mask," and the malfeasant follow-up, "L.O.S.T.," recall the singer's incendiary early work with the Stooges, while the hard-rocking "Savior" and the LP's caustic title track make good on the promise of "Instinct," Pop's 1988 metal-laced record. Afflicted with a terminal case of dyspepsia, these are the songs of a perpetual juvenile delinquent hellbent on wrecking the neighbors' peace and quiet. Pop is in fine, gut-wrenching voice throughout the disc, growling and howling across 72 minutes of the kind of feral noise-rock that he and the Stooges invented more than 30 years ago. A solid album that, amazingly, finds the 54-year-old singer warding off creeping musical irrelevance yet again, "Beat Em Up" is especially recommended to listeners who know Pop's music primarily through those annoying cruise line commercials that feature the classic "Lust for Life." On "Beat Em Up," there is no smooth sailing. Perry Farrell
On his first full length solo effort, "Song Yet to Be Sung," the always inscrutable Farrell borrows a page from Madonna's playbook, belatedly embracing electronic soundscapes and fusing them with both a newfound spiritual sensibility and his own rangy, arena-ready vocalizing. On "Happy Birthday Jubilee," the album's trancy opener, Farrell wails like an Old Testament prophet, albeit one who's probably been to a rave or two. "The red heifer is here," Farrell sings over the track's percolating synthesizers and relentless machine drums. "And cousins of twelve tribes / Count up all our faces." On the considerably less mystical "Did You Forget," Farrell samples U2-style rocktronica, looking around for his inner Bono and coming up with a simple but pointed catchphrase for the song's chorus: "Did you forget? / That is who you are," which Farrell manages to make sound both accusatory and redemptive. Elsewhere, the singer indulges in the kind of earnest but candy-coated dance pop that Jane's Addiction reacted against. On "Shekina" especially, you keep waiting for Farrell to affect a British accent and start singing about watching the world wake up from history. But that never happens. On his serious-minded new album, Farrell mostly sounds like he's on a mission from God -- not Jesus Jones. In an interview for the album's press kit, Farrell even outlines his plan to "take this Jubilee around the world," culminating in a kind of spiritualized Lollapalooza in Israel next year. Until then, Farrell's faithful can make do with "Song Yet to Be Sung," a hit-and-miss solo debut that's equal parts euphoria and devotion.
Iggy
Pop Beat's 'Em Up Pop's latest blast of aggro-rock, in stores Tuesday, finds him unhappy with the world in general. He takes on phoneys (Mask), losers (Jerk), record executives (Weasels), the record industry (Drink New Blood) and basically all of humanity (It's All Sh--, Ugliness). But the punk rock veteran saves the best almost for last -- there is a hidden track ---with the scathing, spoken-word number V.I.P., in which he successfuly skewers celebritydom and those who hang onto it. "Another interesting phenomenon associated with V.I.P. celebrityhood is the V.I.P. reflection effect during which anyone associated with the V.I.P becomes a sort of V.I.P. in their own right," Pop says in the track. "Such as the son of the V.I.P., guitar player for the V.I.P., girlfriend with the V.I.P., accountants of the V.I.P., the maid, the dog, the music publisher, all enjoy a sort of reflected glory." There are also slower, darker, more helpless songs like Savior, Talking Snake and Death Is Certain. After
1999's more introspective Avenue B, Beat 'Em Up is a refreshing return to Pop's
punk rock roots, with plenty of heavy metal flourish thrown in courtesy of Calgary's
Whitey Kirst -- Pop's songwriting collaborator and lead guitarist -- on songs
like L.O.S.T., Howl, the raging title track, Death Is Certain, Go For The Throat
and Ugliness. Iggy
over midlife crisis Looks like Iggy's over his little midlife crisis. After three decades as the self-styled "streetwalking cheetah with a heart full of napalm," Iggy Pop finally seemed to be settling down on his last album, 1999's Avenue B. A mature, introspective set of late-night ballads, it found the former James Osterberg re-examining his life and priorities through the darkened prism of advancing age and eternal loneliness. And what did he learn? Well, apparently, that he's way too old to start growing up. So like lotsa guys his age, the 54-year-old is embarking on his second childhood. Thing is, when the Ig does something, he goes all the way. His new CD Beat Em Up isn't just a rockier Avenue B, or the kind of nostalgically safe affair critics like to call "a return to form." No, this sucker is a full-blown regression to the raw power and coiled, seething anger of his nihilistic glory days. Iggy is on a search-and-destroy mission to reclaim his punk-rock crown from the nu-metal and rap-rock pretenders -- and he's armed with the rawest, raunchiest, heaviest, snottiest, loudest, grittiest, angriest disc he's made in decades. And the simplest. This trip is definitely a no-frills flight. There's no big-name producer, no fancy-pants guest stars, no synthesizers, no silky backup vocals. Just Iggy abusing the mic, twiddling the knobs and leading a loud, guitar-driven band through 72 minutes of high-octane rock 'n' roll reminiscent of his early work with The Stooges. That's no idle comparison. Iggy's new band The Trolls have a lot in common with Iggy's old combo. They're a power trio. They have two brothers on guitar and drums -- Whitey and Alex Kirst. Whitey's snarling, crackling riffs bear more than passing resemblance to Stooge Ron Asheton's electrifying style. Alex's propulsive, primal beats aren't too far removed from those of Scott Asheton. Another comparison is sadder -- as it was in The Stooges, death has claimed their bassist. Former Body Count member Lloyd (Mooseman) Roberts was killed in a drive-by shooting in L.A. shortly after finishing work on this album. The trip to Stoogeland continues in the tunes themselves. Beat Em Up's 16 tracks are mainly ragged, loosely structured jams, topped by Iggy at his most cathartic -- bellowing, grumbling, growling, belching, howling, yelling, sneering, screaming himself hoarse, even heckling his own band ("Come on Whitey, is that the best you can do?" he taunts during one guitar solo). Most cuts have the sort of three-chord simplicity and immediacy that suggest they were recorded within minutes of being written. Some, Iggy has said, actually were. One is the opener Mask, a chugging battering-ram of angst that was inspired by an exchange between a Slipknot member and a fan ("Which mask are you?") but also serves as one of Iggy's trademark rants against our duplicitous times ("Where is the soul?"). That poison cloud hovers over most of Beat Em Up, from the grim fatalism of Death is Certain ("There's no cure") and It's All Sh*t ("Nobody cares") to bite-the-hand-that-feeds-him showbiz indictments like Weasels ("Weasels suck and weasels blow / Weasels control rock 'n' roll"). Beat Em Up's capper, though, is V.I.P., a sardonic, sarcastic examination of celebrity's pitfalls and perqs ("When I go to the bathroom, I go in the V.I.P. toilet," Iggy boasts smugly). So
after all that self-examination, it comes down to this: Iggy's just one of those
guys who ain't happy unless he's got something to bitch about. He oughta be having
the time of his life these days. Listening to Beat Em Up, we sure are. Often public-television shows, health teachers, and science journals remind us that the human body is one of natures miracles. Nothing proves that more than the fact that Iggy Pop is still living. Typically, indicators of longevity dont include years of onstage mutilation, using piles of drugs in single nights, and a propensity towards violence. Long after his apotheosis as the godfather of punk and decades of unbridled self-abuse on a level with which only Ozzy Osbourne and Evil Kneivel have competed, he continues to weather trends and release records. Mask, the first track on Beat Em Up, his new album, demonstrates a surplus of energy that most teenagers have trouble faking, let alone possessing, as he croons with scorn, Youre wearin a mask/ You look better that way. (The lyrics to this song, like most Iggy Pop songs, shouldnt be taken personally.) Pops last album in 1999, Avenue B, was a meditative effort showing an older, wiser Iggy. Luckily for us, he moved out of his Avenue B apartment in New York, rightly claiming that the city had lost its atmosphere of danger, to Miami, where he apparently swapped older and wiser for brash and surly. Pop is ably aided by a muscular backing band, which, although sometimes delving into metal clichés, keeps the music better than interesting. But the main reason to buy a brand-new Iggy Pop record these days is not for the music, since the chance of it surpassing the music of his records with The Stooges is incalculably slim, but for the persona that crawls through in his cracked lyrics. Glancing at the song titles will prepare you for the world-view contained within: The Jerk, Death Is Certain, Its All Sh*t, and Ugliness show the pessimism with which Iggy, rock n rolls answer to Schopenhauer, has infused the record. Throughout, the lyrics show an off-the-cuff attitude and urgency, as if he were singing what he just thought about on the drive to the studio. The record cover deserves special mention since it is an excellent piece of sophisticated juvenilia. It features a cartoon body of a woman, whose face is suspiciously absent, clad in a bikini with a revolver strategically placed so as to question the femininity of the woman. On the Iggy Pop website, the cover art becomes interactive and even more juvenile and disturbing as you are allowed to disrobe the female gunslinger and make her gun shoot. Its filth most certainly, but it is also fun filth, like all good punk, and jarring, like all good ideas. In 1990, it made sense that when Iggy finally had a song, Candy, reach the Top 40, the song was more tame and mature than the volatile proto-punk he first became famous for with The Stooges. What doesnt make sense is that his mellowing simply stopped and his new record is refreshingly the loudest and most juvenile thing he has done in decades. Whether things make sense is certainly outside of the sphere of Iggy Pops cares. It is just a pleasure to hear him reclaim his ability to share a little of his personal hell with the rest of us.
Iggy
Pop: Beat 'Em Up Beat Em Up asserts its rawly powerful intentions right out of the gate with the opener, "Mask" (RealAudio excerpt). Over a grinding guitar, Pop delivers a double dose of contempt: "You're wearing a mask/ You look better that way." It's the most Stooges-like bit on the album, all urgent simplicity at least up until this burst of verbosity: "Complicated, crushed-up, disappointed, squirming, angry, thrusting, stabbing, regretting, starving, greedy human alien being ... on your way to the morgue." That's a lot of bitter punches to cram into one sentence; it's as if he's set out to outdo the darker wing of the metal contingent, to show his "children" just how hyped-up despair should be done. Actually, nothing else on the disc quite matches "Mask"'s intensity, though lyrically the mood is maintained. On "L.O.S.T" (RealAudio excerpt), Kirst and Marshall supply conventional metal support while Iggy keeps things downer and dirtier: "I walk through the filthy sterile wasteland/ When I'm no good they'll dump me on the scrap heap to die." Death and uselessness and feeling like you've had the stuffing kicked out of you are the recurring themes here. On "Football" (RealAudio excerpt), it all comes together in one simple but effective metaphor: "I'm a football baby/ Rolling around the field/ I've been passed and fumbled/ 'Til I don't know what I feel." The
accumulative effect of all this bleak bluntness is slightly comic: by the time
we get to "Death Is Certain," "Drink New Blood" and "It's
All Sh--," it's hard not to laugh at the absurd grimness of it all. But taken
in proper doses, it's nice to hear an old provocateur near the top of his game.
And besides, who else could sing "Where is the love?" (as he does on
"Mask") without sounding like a wuss? Probably nobody. Iggy
Pop: Beat Em Up Iggy Pop. The man. The myth. The living legend. The
worlds forgotten boy has returned with another slab of fiery,
punk-fueled hard rock that lays to rest the theory that rockers have to mellow
out as they get older. While he may not be a boy any longer, Iggy can still out
rock, out punk, out perform and outlast even the youngest, hippest MTV flavor
of the month rock poster boy. The man has more soul and passion in his skinny
little finger than most artists have in their entire lazy-ass, designer clothed
body, takes more chances on one album than many songwriters do in their entire
career, and has influenced three generation of rebellious rockers. Iggy was saying
fuck you to authority and corporate America back when it got you on the FBIs
most wanted list, was moshing and stagediving back when it was called aggravated
assault, and was overdosing on drugs when Nikki Sixx was still a Tator Tot chewing
toddler. He has defined entire genres of music within one song and defied entire
genres within one album. He was underground back when it meant unsuccessful
and indie back when it meant no major label will sign you. A true
icon in every sense of the word, Iggy Pop has stood the test of time and flourished
in the face of adversity time and time again. Yeah, sure there are some missteps along the way (the silly ballad Football is just too basic of an analogy to get too excited about and the rap rock chant of the title track sounds a little forced), but you gotta fall before you can fly and he certainly soars high on most all of this platter. The backing band is basically Iggys regular live band plus the late great Body Count bassist Mooseman, who died right after recording this (and his presence is felt in a big way on the title track and general heavy bottom end of this entire affair). They may not have the on-the-verge-of-destruction appeal of Iggys influential first band The Stooges (possibly the greatest rock band of all time), or the ahead-of-its-time fascination of his David Bowie-era line-up from the late 70s, but they aint no slouches either. Longtime guitarist Whitey in particular rips it up on every track, especially on the spoken word jazz odyssey of the closing track, VIP, and the raucous untitled bonus cut. So, yes, Iggy is back and harder then ever with his first real foray into molten metal and the result is a glorious brilliant mess, and fans would expect nothing less. The man is simply amazing. The fact that at his age he can still churn out records like this is nothing less than astounding. He truly is a maverick in every way. With The Stooges, he destroyed the 60s flower power movement with the violent discontent of their self-titled 1968debut album, practically defined heavy metal with the 1970 follow-up effort, Funhouse, and sculpted death rock, goth and punk with Raw Power in 1973. In the late70s, with Bowie, he helped invent industrial and new romantic music, and ushering in new wave in the early 80s. Since then he has churned out some of the strongest most lyrically poignant albums of the 90s (Brick By Brick, American Caesar and the severely under appreciated Naughty Little Doggy). Not since Neil Young has a musician from the 60s stayed so relevant and meaningful and just plain great as Iggy has over the last three decades or so. Plus, he is still the most high energy, ass kicking live performer on the planet who will rip yer friggin head off when he hits the stage every time and still runs circles around frontmen half his age. Amazing simply amazing **** With his new Virgin release "Beat 'Em Up," punk icon Iggy Pop says he was looking to create a garage-rock album that was also "kind of a '70s revival, classic rock album." At the same time, Virgin was hungry for an album that was "mindful of new rock," one that could "be played on the radio and will appeal to the new demographic," he says. The result is a solid mixture of both, a batch of songs that veers deeply into Pop's Stooges past on one track, only to leap decades into the future and mimic a Korn/Slipknot/Limp Bizkit riff on the next. "I wanted something with some integrity to it," he offers. "And then, having said that, I wanted to try and make it as accessible as possible." The songs on "Beat 'Em Up" -- produced by Pop and engineered by Danny Kader -- are among the first batch Pop has written since his recent move to Miami, ending a run of more than 10 years in New York. So, why does the 54-year-old Pop still crank out new material? What drives him? "A fierce desire to do something that doesn't suck," he replies. Beat
Em Up
The battle plan behind Iggy Pop's latest couldn't be simpler or more obvious even if it was one of those one-sentence plot descriptions Hollywood agents use to sell movie concepts: After releasing Avenue B, Iggy's impersonation of one of those darkly dignified but largely inconsequential recent Lou Reed albums, the punk godfather bounces back with his loudest, most adolescent and downright unwholesome album since the Stooges imploded nearly thirty years ago. These qualities suit not only the man but the times: On "Mask," an unrelentingly nasty and stupid riff scrapes at your skull as Iggy sings about the unreality of daily life and then screams, "Where is the love?!" During the course of seventy-plus minutes, Beat 'Em Up overstates its point, as the tracks live up to their titles - "The Jerk," "Ugliness," "It's All Sh*t." In a world without whining neo-metal bands, this record would be a godsend. Instead, it's merely a master's reclaiming of what some money-hungry chumps have devalued. Iggy
Pop Most rockers attempt to age gracefully by turning down the volume and contemplating the greater meaning of things. Not Iggy Pop. It isn't possible for him to get louder -- having already accomplished the apex of cataclysm with his original band the Stooges -- but Iggy isn't backing down for anyone. 1999's Avenue B may have struck some as retrenchment, with its odd spoken -word passages, but there's no longer any question of Pop's renewed dedication to noise. Beat 'Em Up is a relentless 72-minute attack of what Pop does best: tossed off asides, hard rock swagger, and tons of attitude, with song titles ("Jerk," "Death Is Certain," "Weasels") that sum it up nicely. The
twin-guitar attack of Whitey Kirst and Pete Marshall interweaves throughout, providing
power chords and churning rhythms, while Pop himself isn't afraid to warble slightly
off-key in search of emotion. It's an understatement to say he won't go gentle
into the good night. Iggy
Pop Iggy Pop is a rock icon. He's influenced generations of rock bands from The Ramones to The Jesus & Mary Chain, from the New York Dolls to At The Drive-In. It's not just his music but also his attitude. On the 1976 Stooges live album 'Metallic K.O', Iggy tells a bottle throwing audience to "f**k off". His 1977 solo album 'Kill City' was recorded during weekend leave from the UCLA hospital where he was recovering from drug addiction. Nineteen ninety nine's 'Avenue B' meanwhile, documented the break up of Iggy's marriage and was produced by Don Was, best known for the hit single 'Walk The Dinosaur'. Go figure. "Pop
is still snapping and snarling away like some mad old uncle who smells of wee."
If only... 'Beat 'Em Up' is a glorious mess lurching from the lunatic 'Drink New Blood', which would make Alice Cooper blush, to the ludicrous 'Howl' which had this reviewer's dog ripping up the stereo speakers. 'Beat 'Em Up' is at turns painful - the bruising title track and 'Death Is Certain'- and funny too - 'VIP' describes in graphic detail the surreal goldfish bowl life celebrities inhabit. Then there's 'It's All Shit' which is both painful and (arguably) funny. Sample lyric 'It 'Walks like shit, it talks like shit, it must be shit.' Get the drift? 'Beat 'Em Up' is not shit but ain't exactly loveable either. However, it does confirm that Iggy Pop can still kick up a fuss with the best of them even if the end result isn't as legendary as the man who produced it. Anthony Gibbons Beat
Em Up, Iggy Pop (Virgin) After
the relatively low-key, confessional and pretty much tedious grown-up statement
of 1999's Avenue B, Iggy Pop has re-girded his musical loins, roaring back with
his most consistently slamming release since 1990's Brick by Brick. With his musical
backing stripped down to two guitars (Whitey Kirst and Pete Marshall), bass (the
late Lloyd "Mooseman" Roberts), and drums (Alex Kirst), and with his
familiar enfant terrible persona in full effect, the past master of idiot nihilism
shows that he can still yowl with the best of them, snarling angrily about the
general wretchedness of life with all its hypocrisy, cheesiness and pervasive
not-niceness. It takes a staunch and (dare one say it) sensitive soul to maintain
this level of heated prickliness for so long most 50-somethings are a bit
more resigned to life's horrors and the Ig is rarely less than convincing.
And if the eternal wild child does occasionally lapse into a rote stance, chalk
it up to the demands of having to fill an entire CD. The past master of idiot
nihilism shows he can still yowl with the best of them. Beat Em Up asserts its rawly powerful intentions right out of the gate with the opener, "Mask" (RealAudio excerpt). Over a grinding guitar, Pop delivers a double dose of contempt: "You're wearing a mask/ You look better that way." It's the most Stooges-like bit on the album, all urgent simplicity at least up until this burst of verbosity: "Complicated, crushed-up, disappointed, squirming, angry, thrusting, stabbing, regretting, starving, greedy human alien being ... on your way to the morgue." That's a lot of bitter punches to cram into one sentence; it's as if he's set out to outdo the darker wing of the metal contingent, to show his "children" just how hyped-up despair should be done. Actually, nothing else on the disc quite matches "Mask"'s intensity, though lyrically the mood is maintained. On "L.O.S.T" (RealAudio excerpt), Kirst and Marshall supply conventional metal support while Iggy keeps things downer and dirtier: "I walk through the filthy sterile wasteland/ When I'm no good they'll dump me on the scrap heap to die." Death and uselessness and feeling like you've had the stuffing kicked out of you are the recurring themes here. On "Football" (RealAudio excerpt), it all comes together in one simple but effective metaphor: "I'm a football baby/ Rolling around the field/ I've been passed and fumbled/ 'Til I don't know what I feel." The accumulative effect of all this bleak bluntness is slightly comic: by the time we get to "Death Is Certain," "Drink New Blood" and "It's All Sh--," it's hard not to laugh at the absurd grimness of it all. But taken in proper doses, it's nice to hear an old provocateur near the top of his game. And besides, who else could sing "Where is the love?" (as he does on "Mask") without sounding like a wuss? Probably nobody. Sonicnet.com Rating: 3 1/2 Readers' Rating: 4 Iggy
Pop Iggy
Pop : Beat 'Em Up Now this might be extremely Freudian but the 'o' and 'p' at the end of Pop, as scrawled by the Iggster himself on the cover of his tenth solo album, look like a saggy, limp, stinking old man's cock. Fittingly, that's exactly what the record sounds like. After the introspective 'Avenue B' in 1999, 'Beat 'Em Up' is an attempt at capturing the Iggy Pop live experience on record, and it works. Iggy sounds knackered throughout, seems to have got his backing band from Muddy Sabbaff Powerchords R Us and comes across as a fairly ludicrous old guffer. There he goes, poor befuddled fool, barking like a dog on 'Howl', which could have been recorded in any geriatric ward in the country. You can almost hear him fiddling with himself on 'Jerk' as he tries to convince some skinny young lovely that he looks better in the mornings. Ah, and he's still the incisive social philosophiser, preaching that we all, like, hide behind masks on 'Mask' and awaking us to the fact, without a flinch, that 'Death Is Certain'. Woah, no shit Aristotle. He's been the father of punk, the grandfather of grunge and now he's having a go at being the great-grandaddy of nu-metal. And it's as embarrassing as your granny pissing herself at a wedding while dancing to Oxide & Neutrino. The lust for life is still in evidence, he just can't get it up on the relevance front any more. |
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