![]() Naturally, they were “fucking stoked” to be playing with Iggy Pop. I don’t mean that as a criticism – every band since the late 60s with guitars and attitude owe a debt of some sort to the Stooges. The Chats were in support – a rowdy three-piece act who belted out rudimentary Stooges-like punk. So Cooper’s Pale Ales in hand, we took our seats in the back row. Which was important because getting served at the Royal Mail Hotel before the show was virtually impossible. John had wrangled seats in the balcony so we had a great view of proceedings, and more importantly, access to a private bar. Take that society! Mind you, you don’t want to overdress for Festival Hall.Īs it happened, it was Iggy’s 72 nd birthday and surely the irony did not escape anyone that Iggy’s birthday coincided with Easter Sunday, the day of Christ’s resurrection. Yeah, that’s right, I just let it hang with the wrinkles. In the same spirit of rebellion and who cares attitude, I didn’t even iron my shirt before heading out to see him at Festival Hall on Sunday night. He has lived life to the full while sticking up a big middle finger to mediocrity and the musical mainstream. He has never caved into contemporary correctness or cowered to authority. The stage invasion continues through ‘Down on The Street’, the fans lurching and jerking as Iggy surveys the scene – once and always a master of it all.Iggy Pop is perhaps rock and roll’s most enduring rebel – “a street walking cheater with a hide full of napalm.” He has survived his contemporaries and musical compatriots, Bowie and Lou Reed. “Get up here and dance with me!” he urges during ‘No Fun’. ![]() With wonderful foresight, Iggy insists that the house lights are kept on throughout, so we can see every grin, every twinkling eye and every triumphant punch of the air from the pit. Instead he ends the song sweetly blowing kisses.Īfter a year of watching earnest, but somewhat lonely looking rock stars gigging in empty venues online, it’s almost as much of a pleasure watching the people in the crowd as it is Iggy. Is he… going to get his knob out? Though he may well have done 50 years previously, it’s a no show tonight. ![]() “Now let’s get down and dirty!” yells Iggy as his fingers jump to his belt, which he unbuckles before gesturing to his flies. There’s even a brass section, making everything that more soulful, at times coming on like an X-rated Otis Redding revue.Īfter an impressive run through ‘Lust For Life’, ‘The Passenger’ and ‘Some Weird Sin’ – during which Iggy toasts the crowd with a giant golden goblet, as befitting of the godfather of punk – the brutal thrum of ‘1969’ kicks up. He’s not backed by the all-star backing band that he took on the road for 2016’s ‘Post Pop Depression’, but who needs Joshua Homme and Matt Helders when you’ve got a man in his 70s singing about the joys of S&M? In fact, that album is ignored entirely in favour of a great, giddy gallop through Iggy’s greatest hits solo and Stooges and a glammy cover of his good mate Bowie’s ‘The Jean Genie’ thrown in for good measure. He’s been doing this for well over half a century now and still – still – the people come in their thousands to see those loose gyrations from a body made of veins like spaghetti. Bounding onto the stage to ‘I Wanna Be Your Dog’, his leopard print jacket lasting approximately a minute-and-a-half before it’s peeled off, revealing his infamous hairless torso, Iggy Pop can’t help but grin.
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