Book Review: Lost Rockers, by Steven Blush (etc.)

Text © Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2017

Live images by Robert Barry Francos

Book cover image from Internet

Lost Rockers: Broken Dreams and Crashed Careers

By Steven Blush, with Paul Rachman and Tony Mann
powerHouse Books (Brooklyn, NY), 2016
160 pages (hardcover); USD $15.00
ISBN: 978-1-576-87766-1
www.powerhousebooks.com

If the name Steven Blush sounds familiar, I’m guessing it is due to his previous seminal book, American Hardcore. Presently, he is assisted by Paul Rachman, who directed the 2006 documentary based on that first book, and by Tony Mann. who has drummed with just about everyone in the New York scene.

Tony Mann

Anyway, the book looks at some might-have-beens in the music biz in the past few decades, essentially some who had a touch of major stardom, coming thisclose, but who had it evaporate into the clear blue, be it through wrong timing, sometimes by the fault of third parties such as record companies, bitter rivalries, or occasionally by shooting themselves in the foot by the likes of ego or substance abuse.

While I’m not amazed that there are quite a few I have never heard of before this, I am even more stunned at how many I have seen in both their heydays and beyond. I will indicate those I have watched perform with a [*].

If you’ve been around any music scene for a while, you must know some bands that deserved the break and never got it. Off the top of my head, I think of the Marbles and the original formation of the Shirts, and of course the Dictators from New York, Willie Loco Alexander in Boston, the Jumpers from Buffalo, and I would even add in the Cramps to that list. Most of them were signed to major labels at some point, or on the verge of it, and then it all just went away.

There are 20 musicians (rather than bands) covered here. Some had relatively major hits, such as the opening article subject, Evie Sands, who was the first to record the classic Chip Taylor tune “Angel of the Morning.” Then there’s Robert Fleischmann, the original singer for Journey and Vinnie Vincent Invasion. Marc Bolan’s common-law wife and baby mama Gloria Jones is here, her career evaporating when the car she was driving crashed, which ended Bolan’s life.

Corpse Grinders

But not everyone has star turns, though should have, such as Gass Wild [*], who helped form the Pretenders, though I saw him in a version of the Love Pirates at Otto’s Shrunken Head in the early 2000s. I met him through the band The She Wolves, whose drummer was Tony Mann. Rick Rivets [*] was in a couple of bands I saw in the early New York scene days, the Brats and Corpse Grinders.

One of the people here who is not just famous but also a bit infamous is Cherry Vanilla [*], an ex-groupie who helped Bowie and MainMan conquer the States. She was at the forefront of the Max’s scene, and I saw her on a stunning bill with the Fast and (then) Wayne County in late ’76 or early ‘77. Some of her band members back then would be part of the core of Get Wet, another deserving band that almost broke and could be included in a sequel.

Cherry Vanilla

An interesting inclusion is Chris Robison [*], who was sort of an early sexually fluid musician who flowed between men and women (similar to Bowie and Lou Reed). As well as a solo act, he was associated with the touring band Steam (“Na Na Hey Hey [Goodbye]”). Also, he played with Elephant’s Memory (he may have been in the band when I saw them at Prospect Park with Brownsville Station opening) and the local New York group Stumblebunny (they opened for Peter Tork at CBGBs in ‘77, but I have no memory of the band).

Marge Raymond in Flame

One of the rockers in the ‘70s I really enjoyed was Flame, fronted by Marge Raymond [*], who is represented here. I saw the band play at Zappaz in Brooklyn in 1977. She’s in a ‘50s/’60s cover band now. Which brings me to a point: Marge seems pretty happy now, and who knows if “success” would have made an end-total betterment or crashing of a lived life. I mean, do you get the feeling that someone like, say, Axl Rose or Alan Price or Tommy Lee are actually happy in their relative career success?

Yes, there are certainly some depressing tales here, such as with Bobby Jameson [d. 2015], whose life has been street hardcore after the near-fame, but for most here, there is still wishin’ and hopin’ and thinkin’ and prayin’ going on, and some positive thoughts. Most are still making music on their own terms and through the book we learn that they deserve our respect.

Most of the pieces tend to run a couple of pages, though a few are nicely quite lengthy. There are also lots of photos, of which the “now” pictures particularly interested me; for example, Cherry Vanilla has not lost her zing at all.

Blush, who conducted all the interviews himself, does a fine job of keeping the interest of the reader. I found that even with those of whom I was unfamiliar, my curiosity was kept whetted and I read the articles through. At first I wished there was a disk of some of the music included, but then I remembered YouTube, so I could check to see what some of the recordings were like (especially check out Flame’s “Beg Me” and Cherry Vanilla’s “The Punk,’ but I digress…).

As a side note, I found it interesting that producer Jimmy Iovine makes more than one appearance as being a hindrance (personally, I find a lot of his stuff overproduced and clinical, but that’s for another day). The only real issue I had with the writing itself was the overuse of the term “left high and dry,” but that’s just the nitpicking hell that my brain does. Point is, if the repetition of that phrase is the worst I can come up with, well, that’s saying a lot in favor of release.

This is not the first book to be written about cult artists who never broke the big time. For two examples, there are Jake Austen’s Flying Saucers Rock’n’Roll: Conversations with Unjustly Obscure Rock’n’Soul Eccentrics (reviewed by me HERE) and Unknown Legends of Rock’n’Roll: Psychedelic Unknowns, Mad Geniuses, Punk Pioneers, Lo-Fi Mavericks & More. Each one has its own take on the lives and output of the musicians under the microscope.

While Blush takes a deep look at some of the artists, he does not analyze the music, and I feel the book is the better for it. He doesn’t talk down to the reading audience, which also makes sense, because the person who has the book in-hand most likely has a history of following music to some extent, and probably will have some knowledge of at least some of those discussed.

The name of the book is a slight misnomer, I’m happy to say, because it is not only rock that is covered, as there is both soul and folk included in the batch. Still, I would not change the title.

I’m pleased to know that as with American Hardcore, a documentary film version of this book is in post-production by Rachman. As much as I enjoyed reading this, I am also looking forward to the film. While there probably will be music in the documentary, this book is still essential, and certainly worth the read.

As a brief post-note, Blush actually has a new book out since this once came out last year, titled New York Rock: From the Rise of the Velvet Underground to the Fall of CBGB. I'm hoping to get the chance to check that one out, as well! 

Musician subjects in book:

Evie Sands

Alan Merrill

Chris Robison

Ginger Bianco

Brett Smiley

Betty Davis

Pat Briggs

Bobby Jameson

Rick Fox

Charlie Farren

Gloria Jones

Chris Darrow

Gass Wild & Johnny Hodge

Rick Rivets

Cherry Vanilla

Robert Fleischman

Kenny Young

Marge Raymond

Jake Holmes

IGGY POP: No One’s Dog [1988]

Text by Mary Anne Cassata / FFanzeen, 1988

Introduction © Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2016

Images from the Internet, unless indicated

Additional comments [in brackets] by RBF, 2016

This article was originally published in FFanzeen, issue #15, dated 1988. It was written by author Mary Anne Cassata. Check out her bibliography of biographies on Amazon, or other sites.

                                                                    

I’ve seen Iggy play a few times now. The first was at the Palladium in October 1977, with the Ramones opening. Another time I saw him was in March 1983 at the Brooklyn Zoo, with Helen Wheels starting the show. One memory that stood out from the Zoo concert was when someone threw some ice at him, and he stopped the show. He pointed his finger and said, very seriously, “Don’t you fucking throw ice at me. This is not a request, this is a command!” He started the song over, and yes, no one threw any anything else at him.

My most bizarre Iggy moment though was one day when I was riding the B train [which is now called the D Train, but I digress…] into work from Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. There was a guy sitting diagonally across from me who just looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. As he got off, I realized, “Hey, was that Iggy Pop? Nah, couldn’t be.” Then I learned that he lived in the neighborhood around that time, and yep, indeed, it was him. Now I wish I had realized it to say hello, at least. When I first told this story, Armand, the Montreal-based Teenage News fanzine publisher, gave me heck for not realizing who it was right off the bat (well, he teased me about it, anyway).

In March of 2016, Iggy finally has his first Billboard #1, as well as a new autobiography about the Stooges years, appropriately titled Open Up and Bleed. – RBF,

Iggy in Boston: Photo by Rocco Cippilone

What do you think when you hear the name Iggy Pop? Does it conjure up images of an original rock and roll institution? Or is it some sort of punk prototype? Or an articulate overaged juvenile delinquent? Diehard Iggophiles know this strangely smiling man was James Newell Osterberg. To some he is a hero. To the less informed, a villain.

But whatever one makes of him, Iggy Pop in performance is nothing less than a respected visionary. Andy Warhol [d. 1987] once stated that Pop was the best: “I don’t know why he never really made it big. He is so good.”

It’s not that Iggy never aimed for success, it just seemed to elude him. However, after more than two decades as an artist, it doesn’t seem to be a point of question anymore. His latest album, Blah Blah Blah [1986], ends a four-year hiatus from recording. It was the release of the first Stooges album [1969], though, which lent in developing this notoriously famous reckless image. Since that fateful time when the Stooges burst onto the national music scene, there was no doubt that James Osterberg has not only survived over the years, but in the process made Iggy Pop an unchallenged and intriguing personality.

Looking at him today, he certainly is a man changed for the better from his “monstrous” existence. No longer can he call himself “God’s garbage man.” Iggy concentrates now on a more substantial lifestyle. Keeping his music fluid and his personal life in some sort of fashionable order seems far more essential than living out recklessly dangerous rock fantasies.

Born in 1947, James Osterberg arrived in Ann Arbor, Michigan, to meet his future destiny. As the son of school teacher parents, he spent the first 18 years of his life in a mobile home camp. In his 1982 autobiography, I Need More, Iggy wrote about how vastly different James Osterberg was from the other little children he had grown up with: “I’d been a loner. When I entered the first grade I realized how incredibly much brighter I was than the other kids, and how I could pick up things faster than them.” The Osterberg’s moderate trailer home was structured in the middle of a large farm just outside of Ann Arbor. Apparently, his father preferred mobile living as opposed to a more conventional home for his family.

Being an only child was bad enough, but how does a little boy explain his living arrangements to his friends who might think it’s a bit strange? In his book, Jim remarked, “I wasn’t aware of houses until I was in the first grade.” It turned out to be quite a surprise when he learned that other kid lived in houses and not trailers. “They lived in suburban housing about a half mile down the road. I realized my way of life was considered – well, anyone with two eyes can see that a house is at least more secure.”

James Osterberg’s professional music career began when he formed his first band, the Iguanas (where his acquired name originates) in high school. He had always shown an ardent interest in music and hoped one day to be a professional musician. The novice band recorded two songs, “Mona” and “I Don’t Know Why” in 1965. Iggy was the drummer and didn’t sing lead yet. “I was the only one who was really into music in the band. The rest of the Iguanas weren’t so interested about it. There was a division in the band. They all liked Beatle songs and I liked the Stones, Kinks and Them.” From the Iguanas followed another short stint – The Prime Movers. But it wasn’t until his newest ensemble, The Stooges (Ron Ashton, guitar [d. 2009]; Dave Alexander, bass [d. 1975]; Scott Ashton, drums [d. 2014]), make their concert debut on Halloween 1967, in Ann Arbor.

The Stooges were beyond a doubt no ordinary trash rock and roll band just out there to make a buck. They played hard and angry, lashing out at teenage boredom, aiming straight to the heart of frustration. The memorable group pioneered the heavy metal sound which, by the early ‘70s, had dominated the music force. Originally known as The Psychedelic Stooges, they chose their name due to admiration for the famous comic trio of the Three Stooges. “What we loved was the one-for-all and the all-for-one of the Three Stooges and the violence of comedy.”

The group’s self-titled immortal Elektra debut album was recorded in New York at the famed Hit Factory studios. Produced by John Cale, the LP sold 35,000 copies on its first pressing which wasn’t considered bad for a new group. Such Igg-anthems as “I Wanna Be Your Dog” and “No Fun” were prime examples of unusual inner combustion. It was also during a televised concert in the Midwest that this undaunted rock hero stole the spotlight away from the likes of Grand Funk Railroad and Alice Cooper by throwing himself, willingly, into the live audience – among other energetic antics.

Recognized perhaps as one of the first performance artist, the legendary tales of Iggy smearing peanut butter on his chest, jamming pencil points into his flesh, rolling around on broken beer bottles, or pouring hot wax all over himself still come to mind today when his name is mentioned.

In 1970, Funhouse equalled the same rawness of the first album, and further proved that The Stooges were destined to be an influential band in making the classic LP. Iggy remembers most of the recording sessions as being “pretty wild” due to his experimental use of some controlled substances. “I was very stoned most of the time. We would go into the studio with an express purpose: we would do a song over and over again until we got what we wanted.”

Being adamant about overdubs, Iggy felt his voice was an instrument and a necessity in the band. During the sessions he even sang through a PA to get that acquired sound. Just when he was comfortable in thinking his self-proclaimed “Dark Ages” period seemed to be heading to a close, life suddenly had turned even bleaker.

One popular artist at the time who especially admired Iggy’s unconventional musical talent was David Bowie [d. 2016]. The rising British artist, at the time, was producing Lou Reed and Mott the Hoople. Iggy was one of Bowie’s three favorite American rock singers and he wanted to work with him in the studio. The two new friends spent extensive time in the studio perfecting Iggy’s musical sound. Further impressed by Pop’s performance and undisciplined personality, Bowie signed him to MainMan, his manager’s [Tony Defries – RBF] production company.

They then proceeded to put out The Stooges’ third album, Raw Power [1973], which became a critical hit. At its release, acclaimed rock journalist Lester Bangs [d. 1982] described the album as “a staggering dose of bone-scrapping rock from straight to the heart of adolescent darkness… Fascinating and authentic. The apotheosis of every parental nightmare.”

Immortal cuts like “Search and Destroy” and “Your Pretty Face is Going to Hell” were an impressive return to rock and roll’s most primal roots. Explains Iggy: “Unknown fact: I produced it myself. Most people think David Bowie did, but the credit says, ‘Produced by Iggy Pop’ – which is why it’s a great record.”

In securing a new record deal, Iggy wore a topcoat and tails, crawled onto the president’s desk of a respected major label, and crooned, “The Shadow of Your Smile.” After joining MainMan, his career plans began to hit a decline. “In favor of a reforming The Stooges, I was shelved.” Pop recalled. “Guitarist James Williamson had joined the line-up just after we finished recording for Elektra. We all went to England and rehearsed and rehearsed.” Despite Bowe’s helping hand, fame still eluded the group, more so its charismatic lead singer. It wasn’t long before The Stooges had disintegrated. Their last performance took place where it had first begun – Michigan. The January 1974 concert at the Michigan Palace, in Detroit, was captured on film and documented in all its shuddering glory on the Metallic K.O. album, which included songs such as “Gimme Danger,” “Cock in My Pocket,” and “Louie Louie.”

Lester Bangs describes K.O. as “the only rock album I know where you can actually hear hurled beer bottles breaking against the strings.” Following The Stooges’ fond farewell, Iggy and James Williamson decided to brave the unknown and collaborated together on the Kill City album, recorded in 1975, which was released in 1978 on Bomp Records. However, without solid management and enough gigs to keep them visible, Iggy soon began experimenting with heroin. Before a deep addiction had set in, in 1974 he admitted himself to a Los Angeles psychiatric hospital, and rid himself of his dependency on not only heroin, but barbiturates and alcohol. A decade later he confided to a reporter, “It’s not so much an impossible thing to do. Not if you really want to, and you really know what you have to lose.”

Throughout his private ordeal, Bowie had visited him in the hospital and lent constant support and encouragement. Having resumed their friendship, which began years before when the two met at the club Max’s Kansas City, in New York, Bowie took his newly rehabilitated sidekick to Europe. After Bowie’s 1975 Station to Station Tour ended, they flew off to the Chateau d’Herouville recording studio in France to work on what would be Iggy’s first solo album, The Idiot. In 1984, Pop told Rolling Stone, “The basic idea was to work without anybody. Just the two of us – although we started bringing in a bass player here, a drummer there.” They resettled in Berlin, Germany, where the two eventually finished up the project and lived for the next three years.

Of the brilliant effort’s creative conception, Iggy had stated at the album’s American release, “The funny thing about it is I was out of Los Angeles for a long time before I recorded this, and I just didn’t hear anything. I hadn’t heard what latest super duet was hot in the States, or what was happening in England or anywhere. Suddenly, about two weeks before we were going into the studio, we didn’t have any finished tracks at all. We just strolled in with a lot of themes and feelings we liked. David would work on the music at one time, and I would drift in and out and listen to it. Then I would come in on my own and put on the vocals. Then he would hear what I had done, and of course that would change the nature of the music. So the tracks grew from that kind of back-and-forth.”

Perhaps what he possibly liked better about the album is that the words “Produced by David Bowie” weren’t written anywhere on the back cover, because instead Bowie preferred, “Recorded by…” The remarkable “China Girl” springs from that landmark album, which makes it one of the more powerful moments, as well as “Funtime” and “Dum Dum Boys.” The celebrated LP and its successor, Lust for Life, were hailed favorably [The song “Lust for Life” would be licensed for many advertisements over the follow years – RBF], as were the live shows. With Bowie sometimes positioned on keyboards, one of those memorable concerts took place at the New York Ritz. John Rockwell of The New York Times cited the show as “one of the finest rock concerts in memory… the kind of show that could teach some needed lessons in intensity, drama and range.”

Lust for Life was recorded only 13 days, but wasn’t nearly as successful as the previous The Idiot. Iggy felt that the LP didn’t gain proper exposure due to the radio airwaves. “The U.S. DJs don’t like rock’n’roll messing up the airwaves,” he commented. “They substitute their own Cheerios rock’n’roll or whatever that horrible music is they call rock’n’roll. But they liked the gloomly unpredictability of The Idiot, the midtones and deep voice of the singer. Lust for Life was just too noisy for them.” The always opinionated Pop. The effort outlined his songwriting strengths and slightly dark humor, and teamed with Bowie’s music, turned it into a rock and roll grandeur. Better yet, it started to bring him well deserved and much overdue money.

“The first personal thing I bought on my first big paycheck, not counting drugs, was in Berlin, 1977, after I finished The Idiot album, and I had gotten a rather large advance for the Lust for Life album. David and I had determined that we record the album very quickly. Because we had done it so quickly we had a lot of money left over from the advance, which we split.” Part of the money Iggy earned was spent on buying an apartment in Berlin, and perhaps learning to assume responsibility for the first time in his life. “I renovated my apartment in the same building where David had a fairly large and handsome place. My place rented for $80 a month. I loved the place, and with the rest of the money, I bought nice rugs, wallpaper and an oak table. I had this bare apartment, and I wrote Lust for Life there.”

Having toured extensively for those two albums, its results appeared on T.V. Eye, recorded in 1977 at various Midwest U.S. concert dates. The LP also had concluded his stay with RCA Records and, unfortunately, wasn’t met enthusiastically by music critics. Though Iggy was disappointed by unfavorable reviews, he didn’t seem to take the critics harsh sentiments too seriously. He stated his distain a few years ago by saying, “I don’t know why everyone hated the record so much. It’s a good document. I think at the time it came out people were looking for me to give them the feeling on a live album they got when they saw me live. But you can’t see somebody on a record.”

In 1979, “It was time for me to move on,” and he switched over to Arista Records. Living in Berlin at the time, Iggy hoped his next and first album for the label would be far more special than any of the previous releases. He prepared extensively, and even took some guitar lessons. When the pressure mounted at times, the serious music artist would go for long walks to think things out.

New Values, Pop’s ninth album, was recorded in Los Angeles since all the musicians were American. It made better sense to fly to the States then to have the session musicians and other people involved with the effort come to Berlin.

One top rock critic raved at the LP’s release: “My favorite record of the year.” The owner liked it even better. “I was very happy with the songs. I wrote all of them myself, lyrics and music. There was some disappointment. I was a little unhappy with the sound. It was far too clean, but it was pretty damn good.”

His next album, Soldier, was also quite impressive, even if the critics once again didn’t seem to think so. It’s an aggressive record with a lot of spirit. An unidentified source, however, revealed its recording sessions were short of “pure hell.” Some of the stronger cuts included “Loco Mosquito,” “I Need More,” and “Knocking ‘Em Down (In the City).” James Williamson exited and was replaced by Glen Matlock, former bassist of the Sex Pistols. In a 1983 Trouser Press interview, Iggy said collaboration with Matlock didn’t prove too amicable at first. “We fought like cats and dogs, but we respected each other. Glen goaded me a bit and I goaded him back when we did ‘I Need More’.”

Midway through the sessions, Ivan Kral, who found himself suddenly out of the Patti Smith Group due to her retirement, joined on as guitarist. Iggy viewed Soldier as another “damn good recording,” specifically the opening track on Side Two, “Dog Food.” The song was originally supposed to have been included on Fun House, but was later scrapped. With the Soldier cover, Iggy says, “What I Wanted to show was the point between exhaustion and rapture – How I had been shot of my own music.”

Further proving his credibility, Pop wrote his autobiography, I Need More, a revealing insight into his personal life.

Of the 1981 Party album, which the performer laughingly called “one of my dogs,” critics were kind. Iggy, however, knew it really wasn’t up to par Pop standards. The theme, pure lighthearted fun, was a semi-complete departure from what fans had expected. Doing tasteful cover renditions of “Time Won’t Let Me” [original by The Outsiders in 1966 – RBF], “Sea of Love” [by Phil Phillips in 1959, though most would probably know it by The Honeydrippers in 1984 – RBF], and “Bang Bang” [Cher, 1966 – RBF] are interesting enough, but it still didn’t hold the attention of his distinct following. In England, some of the better reviews were received. “A fine rocky album from Mr. Pop, who consistently lives up to his reputation as one of the last truly crazed singers,” raved one popular music magazine. ”Iggy is driving himself harder than ever in search of thrills,” said the New Musical Express.

Joined again by Kral and co-produced by Tommy Boyce [d. 1994], a popular ‘60s songwriter, served up a true commercial pop-oriented sound. When asked why such an apparent style change, the ever-protective artist replied, “Party was supposed to be a commercial album. I did my best to give the record content. Ivan played the kind of music I’ve always loved. Call it middle-European… Every track is about somewhere in America. One is about a girl I met at the Mardi Gras. We had to go to the financial district to consummate our love. My definition of a rock’n’roll party is not all fun and games.”

Party, being his last effort on Arista, was followed by the next Igg-carnation, Zombie Bird House, on Animal Records (an independent label owned by Chris Stein, former co-founder / guitarist of Blondie). Chrysalis, the parent company, distributed the LP, which had exemplified a new musical direction. Stein acted as producer, and another ex-Blondie member, Clem Burke, contributed on the drums. Just as the music itself proved unusual for Iggy, his songwriting too became different from previous works. Reflecting on is first and only attempt on Stein’s now defunct company, Iggy offered, “The acquisition of a typewriter has made all the difference in my lyrics. When one types, something happens. You start believing what you’ve typed is of great importance. This was my first brush with a typewriter and I felt very cerebral.”

The songs were written purposefully short, and though following an extensive tour, reviews were not very favorable, and the same for the record sales. By 1982, Iggy discovered his popularity was rapidly diminishing, as well as the quality of his mere existence. His concerts, less appealing, were turning into major disappointments. He took a much needed hiatus from recording and touring for three years and moved with his then-girlfriend into Greenwich Village. Difficulty in creating songs had thrown him back a bit. For a year, the vulnerable artist had yet to pen another lyric. Looking for new alternatives to curb his self-destructive form of art, he found a serious companionship with a woman, who had helped matters tremendously.

In 1983, after finishing his autobiography, the singer felt he had reached a dead end in the music world. “I knew that book marked my end,” he recalled. “I couldn’t go on playing with idiots who played their hair dryers more than instruments. The audiences who were coming to my shows were only interested in the size of my dick… I knew something drastically had to change in my life.” David Bowie, at this point, was again the answer. The British rock star recorded his friend’s “China Girl,” which proceeded to zoom up the charts, saving Pop from heading into a life of obscurity, and even worse, poverty. While the proceeds to “China Girl” help pay his back taxes, the money left over allowed Iggy to reassess his place in the rock community.

With a reviewed vigor, Iggy flew off on a concert tour of Australia and Japan. It gets even better – always fascinated with Japanese women, he married Suchi [Asano, which lasted until 1999 – RBF] in New York. He met her in Japan. “There was something I liked in her eyes.”

Following a complete reorganization devoid of any drugs and alcohol, a new and healthy Iggy Pop emerged. He scouted out for a good doctor and business manager, paid his back taxes, and most importantly, learned how to live in a domestic environment. He says now, “I like to pull out the vacuum cleaner and vacuum the house. It was one of the first things Suchi and I bought together when we moved to New York. When I vacuum the house it makes me think and I feel great.” He also resumed contact with his son, Eric [Benson, born in 1970 – RBF], now 16, who lives in California with his father’s parents.

Since the release of his latest album, Blah Blah Blah, Iggy’s presently a more focused and responsible human being. The drugs and alcohol are securely buried in the past, as James Osterberg’s alter-ego proved it has more to offer than a blaring example of degeneracy. In fact, Pop candidly offers, “I always secretly believed my creative juices were reliant on artificial stimulants. I was scared to be completely straight, because I felt I’d dry up and have nothing to say.”

Blah Blah Blah, produced and co-written by David Bowie, had been described by one British record reviewer as “a virtual denial of that very spirit of warped possession… Blah Blah Blah is music to saunter through, evoking a region one can co-exist next to but rarely dwell within.” Pop’s successful album, his maiden effort for A&;M Records, also broke into national radio airplay. However, this doesn’t mean it’s proved stiff competition for Billy Idol, either. Perhaps having recently turned 40, Iggy doesn’t need to be that monstrous persona he was over a decade ago.

Much of the LP’s songs were written in the Caribbean and New York. Bowie collaborated on four cuts, including the title track. By May last year, the album was completed in one month at Mountain Studios in Lake Geneva, Switzerland, where Bowie now lives. Lyrics are essential to Iggy, and these days his writings prove to be on target as he has learned to come to terms with his own life. “I sincerely believe the lyrics on the album to be the best since my work on Raw Power. I worked very hard to make my point clear on each lyric. I’m interested in dealing with one-on-one with situations I was too frightened to deal with before.”

An interest in art also had peaked thanks to Bowie, who showed him how to paint his emotions. Enthralled, Iggy made several trips to the art store and stocked up on stretch canvas and acrylic paints. Some of his artistic endeavors are featured in the “Cry ForLove” video, which is also the LP’s first single. The purpose of expression, he explains, is “an exercise in visualization. David showed me how to stretch a canvas. I really enjoy painting. It’s fulfilling.” It seems that perhaps Iggy pop has truly found himself and doesn’t feel he’s heading towards the danger zone anymore.

A true originator, he is the necessary inspiration for thousands of lesser assumed young imitators who dare pounce the floor boards in the same riveting Pop manner. If a void should be filled in the role of the next “God’s garbage man,” then it better be someone who can intuitively expand on Pop’s insight, and not merely be a carbon copy. This is not to assume that the legendary rocker didn’t have his own musical influences from which to draw. “I borrowed from Jim Morrison. I’ve borrowed from James Bond,” he admits today. “So I’m in no position to cock-a-snoot at these acts for what they choose to use of mine.”

Along the way he contributed songs to the movies Desperately Seeking Susan [1985], The Hunger [1983], and Repo Man [1984]. He also expanded on some of his other hidden talents and spruced up his resume. Iggy took acting lessons and after attending more than 50 auditions landed small roles in The Color of Money [1986] and Sid and Nancy [1986]. His acting attempts have reflected in his music.

Iggy’s new goal: to reach those unbeknown to his work. Though music will always remain a top priority in his life, it doesn’t mean he’d rule out another chance at the big screen. No matter what Iggy hopes to execute in the future, you can be sure as always his prime motive will be to have fun. And maybe if new fans are so lucky, they’ll learn something valuable from this man who is often so underrated by the business.

Sums up Iggy Pop: “My work comes first, and it’s not what I can get out of it. I’m interested in using music to touch people in a variety of lifestyles. There’s a whole new world of communication possibilities out there.”

DVD Review: Ian Hunter Band feat. Mick Ronson, Live at Rockpalast 1980

Text © Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2015
Images from the Internet

Ian Hunter Band feat. Mick Ronson, Live at Rockpalast 1980

Directed by Christian Wagner
MIG / WDR
74 min, 1980 / 2011 / 2012
www.MIG-music.de
www.MVDvisual.com

Call me crazy, but I always thought of Ian Hunter’s infamous Mott the Hoople as the British version of the MC5. After he left the band, well, if you’ve ever had the chance to hear Mott, you know just how sorely he was missed. I saw Mott open for Sparks at Avery Fischer Hall in the mid-1970s and, well, it’s not a good memory.

Guitarist extraordinaire Mick Ronson, who died in 1993 of cancer, first came to the consciousness of the US through his work with Bowie’s Spiders of Mars. I still remember seeing the ginormous billboard promote his solo LP, Slaughter on 10th Avenue in Times Square in the ‘70s (I have a picture of it somewhere). When he joined up with Mott, both he and Hunter soon left to live in New York City and continue their collaboration.

When introduced by the emcee for this performance at Grugahalle, in Essen, Germany, on April 20, 1980 (Adolph’s birthday, FYI), I find it kind of funny that these two Brits are invoked as a New York band. This is part of the same tour that gave the world Hunter’s Welcome to the Club live double LP; in fact, the playlist is extremely similar. The one major difference, I’m sorry to say, is that there is no Ellen Foley, who often backed up Hunter and Ronson. Other than that, the band is the same.

After a brief instrumental of “F.B.I.”, Hunter strolls out with his guitar and after saying hello in German, the band lays into ”Once Bitten, Twice Shy,” a hit from his eponymous first solo release. They show they are there to take care of business. As with many of his songs of the period, they are a bit rough and yet poppy, and have enormous hooks that are just shy of stadium rock stature.

Hunter never had a “perfect” voice, which makes it all the more charming in its uniqueness. You can recognize it instantly, and not just because of the ever present accent. He also seems quite at ease on the stage as he continues on covering key songs from his solo LPs and some – but not much – Hoople material.

A stand-out song right at the beginning is the underrated Sonny Bono sans-Cher song, “Laugh at Me.” It’s the first time Ronson joins in with his vocals, as he shares a mic with Hunter for the first few stanzas of the instantly identifiable, round-chording of the eventually Republican Scientologist Bono (d. 1998; he would have been 80 this year).

After the ballad “Irene Wilde” where Hunter trade his guitar for a piano, he hooks up again to cover the Hoople’s grinder, “I Wish I Was Your Mother,” with Ronson on mandolin. On this one, Hunter has a sort of Dylan-esque patter to his voice.

But he picks it up again with the rousing jailhouse themed “Just Another Night,” including a stint of standing in the audience – next of a seemingly very nervous cameraman – as the crowd chants the title over and over, fed by the band holding up the words in German. This is followed by the first song that sounds like the ‘80s, “We Gotta Get Out of Here,” as it is drenched in a synth sound; it’s a tone I’m not particularly fond of, but the upbeat pace saves it on some level.

They redeem themselves with the lengthy, hard-hitting and mean spirited “Bastard,” which always reminded me of the song “For the Hell of It” from Phantom of the Paradise (1974). Also, they return to form with “All the Way from Memphis,” a rousing Hoople number where Hunter and Ronson trade complimentary guitar licks. I also find it amusing that the song “Cleveland Rocks” had such a strong second life with The Drew Carey Show. It really is a fun piece of fluff, and the band here rocks it up with no mercy.

For the encore, we get treated to the two leads’ biggest hits, Hunter’s “All the Young Dudes” and Ronson’s instrumental “Slaughter on 10th Avenue.” For me, these were possibly the least fave songs on the DVD, because, well, I’ve never been a fan of those two particular numbers. So much of the other material here is far superior. In my meager opinion, the only reason “Dudes” was as popular as it was is because it was written by the Thin White Duke, rather than the quality of the actual song.

The sound here, as with most of this series, is quite crisp, as is the visuals. However, there is some visual “noise” occasionally, seen as lines across the screen that crop up here and there. It’s a common effect from transferring from PAL to a non-European format. Still, it’s (a) not often or intrusive enough to ruin the experience, and (b) the quality of the music makes it worth it. The only extras are some 30-second trailers of other Rockpalast releases, the song list, a really nice booklet filled with black and white photos of the show, and technical information (i.e., credits). Note that this is also available as a CD, and I’m going to venture to guess it’s also obtainable in digital form.

Most of the band is dressed in stage clothes that represent more of the New Wave, with guitarist Tom Morrongiello’s curly mullet and black and white tiger-striped top (and sunglasses, of course), or another member in a black leather jacket that’s more Michael Jackson than Ramones, all of which would be outdated very shortly. Hunter, of course, wears what has become his signature outfit: white shoes, gray suit and white shirt with extended collars and loosened tie, sunglasses, and his big perm (which I’d have to be convinced that it’s not a wig).

As over-indulgent music grabbed hold of the ‘80s, many British vocalists would strike out on their own and have overbloated hits, such as Peter Gabriel’s “Sledgehammer” or Phil Collins’…well, everything. Just about the only one who rose above all that clamor, in my humble opinion, was Hunter with his “All of the Good Ones Are Taken,” which is sadly not included here because it would not be released for another three years after this show.

For a guy who is 41 years old at the time this was recorded (he’s 76 now), Hunter put together a great show for this concert. And we, the audience, are the lucky for it.

Band:

Ian Hunter: vox / guitar / keyboards
Mick Ronson: guitar / vox
Tom Morrongiello: guitar
Martin Briley: bass
George Meyer: keyboards / saxophone
Tom Mandel: keyboards
Eric Parker: drums

Song List:

FBI
Once Bitten Twice Shy
Angeline
Laugh at Me
Irene Wilde
I Wish I Was Your Mother
Just Another Night
We Gotta Get Out of Here
Bastard
All the Way from Memphis
Cleveland Rocks
Encore:
All the Young Dude
Slaughter on 10th Avenue

 

Bonus No. 1 unconnected video:

 

Bonus No. 2 unconnected video:

DVD Review: Lou Reed Tribute: The DVD Collection * 3 Disc Set

Text © Robert Barry Francos/FFanzeen, 2010-2014
Images from the Internet

 

                            

Lou Reed Tribute: The DVD Collection * 3 Disc Set
Chrome Dreams
279 minutes, 2014
www.Chromedreams.co.uk
www.MVDvisual.com

To those who are unaware, if there is anyone left, Lou Reed passed away on October 27, 2013. The good British folks who bring numerous and well-done independent documentaries about musicians and groups in the rock era, Chrome Dreams, have compiled three of their Lou Reed-related releases and put them into a three-disc box set. Cashing in? Perhaps, but the topic is important enough and of interest enough for me to say “thanks.” I had previously reviewed the final one in the set, so I am reprinting it here at the bottom.

 

The Velvet Underground: Under Review – An Independent Critical Analysis

Directed, produced and narrated by Tom Barbor-Might                       
Sexy Intellectual
85 minutes, 2006

Wow, this is definitely the Cole Notes (Classics Illustrated?) version of the story of the Velvet Underground (VU). Three minutes in Nico is being introduced to the band, as explained in an interview with Factory photographer and archivist, Billy Name, who was easily as influential on the scene as Warhol, though not as present in the public cultural zeitgeist. By seven minutes in, the first album is being recorded and drummer Maureen Tucker is describing the experience.

Mind you, I am not complaining about any of this. I mean, it’s easy enough to find a multitude of histories of every member of the VU. I probably have 5 or 6 on my bookshelf (I highly recommend Richie Unterberger’s 2009 White Light/White Heat). What makes this particular one special, to me is hearing from the people who were there, like Name and Tucker, so early on in this telling.

Besides, this isn’t a history of the Velvets, it’s a “critical analysis,” so unlike most of the amazing Chrome Dream catalog, it makes sense that a majority of those discussing the band are writers and critics who tell their opinions rather than second-hand anecdotes. The DVD starts going into depth, in fact, upon discussion of The Velvet Underground & Nico recording. The place is proper for Clinton Heyln, who wrote the book From the Velvets to the Voidoids (2005) to opinionate that “Venus in Furs” is the most important rock song since “Heartbreak Hotel.”

It gets especially interesting when they discuss the centerpiece of the album, “Heroin.” Norman Dolph, line producer of the album, discusses what the atmosphere was like being in the studio during the taping, and then Joe Harvard, who wrote the 33-1/3 Series book on the record, does a really nice analysis of not only what the song is saying lyrically, but musically. Tucker also tells a great story about her essential drumming/pounding on the song. Included is a live clip of the band playing it live.

Each song is dissected without being hypercritical and academically analytical, thankfully, placed in a context of fandom, so “Waiting for My Man” is explained in its Dylan influence, the subway sound of its rhythm (Robert Christgau here gives Mo her props), and the differences between the earlier “Ludlow Tapes” and the final product.

Sadly, the only Nico song discussed is “All Tomorrow’s Parties,” and I would have loved to have heard them discuss “European Son,” which needs to be broken down.

After the departure of Nico, there is a segment about them playing at the Boston Tea Party in, well, Boston, discussed by the manager who booked them, Steve Nelson. This makes a nice separation between discussing their first release and their White Light/White Heat.

This second LP, according to some of the critics here, is what influenced the punk scene more than the first, as they flash images of the Stooges (who were actually contemporaries of the VU, not followers), the New York Dolls, Suicide, Patti Smith, Richard Hell, the Ramones, Talking Heads, and Blondie over the title song. Personally, I don’t believe it was any one album that led to the punk movement, but it was definitely part of the brick in the CB’s/Max’s wall.

Of course, they focus mainly on “Sister Ray,” described as the “centerpiece” of the album. There is definitely not as detailed an analysis as the firs release, which is a shame, since I know the first so much better than the second. I was interested, and it wasn’t there.

To me, though, the one real flaw is the mostly unidirectional discussion of influence during the recordings. What I mean by that is that they talk a lot about how other musicians were influenced by the VU, but other than a brief mention of Reed’s Dylan fixation on “Waiting For My Man” and Cale’s non-traditional jazz origin, there is no explanation of why the second VU album is so markedly different than the first, or who they were listening to at the time. I believe that VU were made of the exact same influences as the Stooges and the MC5, but used the filter of different loci scenes. It isn’t until the third album that we see a discussion of where the foundations lay.

Little over half a year after the album’s release, Cale left (or as Mo smilingly describes him, the “lunatic”), which changed the direction, minus the drone and screech. They became “melodic,” especially with the addition of Doug Yule. It’s great that Yule is interviewed about his tenure here, which included their self-titled LP from 1969 (aka “The Grey Album”).

Discussed from it is the quality and origin of the guitar solo from “What Goes On.” I like the photo of Yue putting the bass under his chin like Cale’s violin. Another song discussed is how Doug sang “Candy Says” (the song, of course, is about Candy Darling), and how he didn’t know Candy’s back story. Mo talks about recording her vocals on “After Hours,” with Doug adding his thoughts. By this time, the discussion is more about the recording process than about the content.

They do finally get around to Sterling Morrison (d. 1995) and how underrated he was as a guitarist, after an hour in to the whole she-bang. Sadly, we don’t’ get to hear Mo talk about him much, which is strange since they were the rhythm section for the entire tenure of the VU (not counting Yules solo release using the VU name, which is summarily and rightfully dismissed here). There is some talk of the mysterious “missing” LP (eventually released decades later) and Live at Max’s Kansas City, with Doug’s brother Billy replacing a pregnant Mo on drums, but the analysis has just about disappeared and it’s become less of a critical discussion as a “what happened,” documentary, which in itself is interesting, but not what was promised.

The last real VU album was Loaded, again which Mo could not play on, and Doug goes on record saying that they should have waited for her; Mo says unwaveringly that she wishes she could have done the song “Ocean.” Rightfully noted on the DVD, however, that even although the band was in the process of falling apart, it did impact two of the band’s well known songs, “Sweet Jane” and “Rock & Roll.” Christgau here posits that they are the most important songs the VU ever recorded.

There is a brief discussion by Mo and Doug about their initial reactions at the time to Lou leaving, and little further after that, but they are right in saying that music today would not be the same without the Velvets. There is no doubt that the Velvet Underground was a turning point in music, and I certainly enjoy their output, but I must add that while they changed the face of culture, so did many others.

Extras are “The Hardest Velvet’s Quiz in the World Ever” (I stopped after No. 5, having gotten them all correct), contributor bios, and a 15-minute short called “Velvet Reflections” (aka additional interviews not used in the DVD).

While I think the box is a bit over the top with its descriptor “…it is the finest film on the band ever to emerge,” it definitely kept my interest throughout, and I would recommend it both for the fan and also those who are interested in music history.

Punk Revolution NYC: The Velvet Underground, The New York Dolls & the CBGBs Set – Part One 1966-1974

Directed by Unknown
Pride DVD
87 minutes, 2011

Of the three films, this is the one I was most looking forward to seeing, so I saw it last, of course… punk rawk! Most of the others were before my musical time (which for me began on June 20, 1975, my first time at CBGBs, seeing Talking Heads (their first show) opening for the Ramones. While I know of some of the people in the others, in this documentary, I have been in a room and shared conversations with most, and have physically seen the rest, including on stage.

The film posits that after the arrival of the Beatles, most of the new music in the US was from California, with the Byrds being the touchstone. That would change when John Cale met Lou Reed and they formed the Velvet Underground. A good point made here is that even though Reed was the central figure, without Cale’s avant-garde influence and Warhol’s push toward art, the VU probably would never have been so powerful a cultural force.

One important piece that they more dance around in the large VU history segment is that the band did not create a scene, but were part of the art collective. It was actually their legacy (i.e., recordings) that were picked up later in the cut-off bins for a buck or less after the band no longer existed that truly was influential to help create that scene half a decade later, when that was added to the likes of the Stooges, and MC5. But the New York CBGB’s scene as they’re calling it here – why was Max’s not included in the title, I wonder, as it features prominently here – was also an anti-movement, exploding as much against corporate/classic rock as for its influences. The black hole was as important as the primordial soup in this case, for the growth of punk rock. But I get ahead of myself…

However, there was a progression from Warhol to the scene, as they explain, as many of the “superstars” or near-super were from the indie theater (e.g., The Theater of the Ridiculous), including those who would foster the nascent scene, such as Jayne County, Elda Gentile (aka Elda Stiletto) – both interviewed here – Patti Smith, Cherry Vanilla, David Johansen, Debbie Harry, and Eric Emerson.

The doc veers a bit into how the Warhol crowd influenced Bowie (after all, this is a British film) before veering back to Emerson and his band the Magic Tramps being a catalyst to the opening of the Mercer Arts Center in New York to bands. This was what opened up a space for the true link between the Velvets and what was to come in 1974 with CBGBs, and the New York Dolls (who are still not in the corporatized Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum because they never made enough money for the record companies; don’t get me started). Stunningly, and rightfully so, this film also gives almost equal credit as the Dolls to the duo of Suicide (who, they point out, were arguably the first to use the term punk music in the very early ‘70s). Jayne County refers to them perfectly: “Suicide were so genius they went over everyone’s head.”

From there, of course, they jump to Richard Hell and Tom Verlaine, joining musically as well as poetic frienemies, with Richard Lloyd to form Television. The story is infamous now about how they approached Hilly Kristal to open up CBGBs to new music, as is related here by Hell and Lloyd (though not together, of course). Television brought their own opening act, the Stilettos, which would implode and, with a shake-up, become Blondie.

With the rise of CBGBs (and apparently the disappearance of Max’s since the showcase, which became even more amazing after the Warhol crowd abandoned it, is unfairly barely mentioned again), came the overshadowing of the Dolls, and thus ends Part I. No mention of the Ramones or the Heartbreakers, dammit.

It amuses me how they keep bringing Britain into the whole shebang (Warhol crowd goes to London! Bowie calls Television original!), yet they never once mention how Malcolm McLaren was hanging around and getting / borrowing ideas for his own British store and scene.

There are a couple of oversimplifications and a bit over crediting, but generally this is a nicely handled overview of the sex leading up to the birth of the New York Scene. What is really remarkable is some of the talent they get to speak up for it. Usually there’s an overabundance of writers who comment on the scene (though it’s right that Robert Christgau be represented, though he would eventually turn his back on the NY scene and focus on the British end of it in his columns), but here, the partial list of interviewees include Jayne County (who tends to be undercredited for her role), photographer Roberta Baley, the ever-great storyteller and photographer Leee Black Childers, Danny Fields, Elda Gentile, David Johansen (for a sec), Alan Vega, and Richard Lloyd.

Along with the contributor bios, the main extra is an 8-minute featurette called “Anarchy in the UK – The New Yorkers Cross the Atlantic.” There has always been the chicken-and-egg argument of who got to where first. Here, Richard Hell states that they got it from us. British author Tony Fletcher states that we got it from them when we crossed the ocean and saw what they were doing. I think Jayne County, once again, gets it closer, where she states that outside NYC, bands didn’t do well, but in much smaller and densely populated England, where there is numerous weekly music newspapers, the NY bands were treated like royalty and gained a reputation. What no one else is mentioning is that when the relatively popular British bands came here, they entered a vacuum. I remember Eddie & the Hot Rods playing Max’s to a half filled, non-dancing crowd (which upset them). Even the Troggs played Max’s in ’77 to a well received, but not packed audience. When I saw the Police and the Vapors (“Turning Japanese”) play, it was in the basement of a Hotel on 43 St, and it was hardly crowded, and this was after “Roxanne” had been out.

Now I really want to see Part II…

 

The Sacred Triangle: Bowie, Iggy & Lou, 1971-1973

Directed by Alec Lindsell
Narrated by Thomas Arnold                      
Sexy Intellectual
107 minutes, 2010
[Reprinted from the FFanzeen blog, October 31, 2010]

Let’s get right down to it:

This is a British documentary, so you know which one of the three is getting the main focus. Okay, picture two pyramids next to each other. The one on the left is Lou Reed and the one on the right is Iggy. Balancing between them is a line connecting the two (that is Marc Bolan, mentioned often but not in detail). And finally there is the third pyramid of the “sacred” triangle, David Bowie, on top of it all. That is the vision presented here. Okay, I’m done. Naw, not really, as this is still an interesting – albeit somewhat skewed – vision of the three.

Let me quickly add here that I am totally impressed by the choice of interviews that have been selected for this doc, which is so much better than the Pearl Jam one in this series. But more on the talking heads later.

There’s no doubt that Bowie was influenced by Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground, but that’s nothing new. Just listen to David Jones’ singing style around the Ziggy Stardust period, and it’s easy to see the progression from his earlier works. Personally, I’d rather listen to Reed’s take, but that’s just me walkin’ on the wild side on a Sunday morning when comes the dawning.

There’s plenty of clips here of the Velvets; well, as much as there really is, which is limited, and taken by the Warhol crowd “artfully” (i.e., in fast speed) while in Exploding Plastic Inevitable mode (Gerard and his whip dance is often present). Bowie was still in folkie / cutsie mode when he first heard “Waitin’ for My Man,” and (rightfully) became a huge VU fan. An example given here is his “Toy Soldier,” which is such a – er – homage to “Venus in Furs,” it even quotes it in a few place, such as the line “bleed for me.” The video for the song has someone dancing with whips. And on “Black County Rock,” as explained in this doc, Bowie even imitates Bolan. MainMan publicist and photographer Leee Black Childers, who would later manage Iggy and then the Heartbreakers, states here that Bowie’s true talent is to know what to steal. In fact he said this and many of other the other bon mots he posits in a FFanzeen interview conducted by our own Nancy Foster (aka Nancy Neon) back in 1982. [HERE]

Andy Warhol is shown as possibly as big an influence as the VU, and to talk about the theatrics of the Factory and its influence on Bowie are the likes of the very wound up VU biographer Victor Bockris, the fabulous aforementioned Childers (who used to have one of the coolest motorcycle jackets ever, with an image of Gene Vincent painted on its back), the equally extraordinary Jayne County, smartly dressed in bright red Little Red Riding Hood mode (she even matches the couch!), 16 Magazine publisher (early on) and Ramones manager Danny Fields, and the Psychotic Frog himself, Jimi LaLumia. They paint a vivid picture of Lou and Andy’s influence on not only Bowie, but music in general. But Bowie is the main focus here, and in this case almost rightfully so, as Lee, Jayne, and Jimi were all hired by the Bow-ster to work with Tony DeFries and help run his production company, MainMan. One person seriously missing from the interview call list, though, is Cherry Vanilla, which is a serious deficit.

But the person of interest for me here, interview wise, is definitely Angela Bowie. A while back I found her kind of abrasive, but I must say that my opinion has totally changed, and I now see her as incredibly refreshing. She holds nothing back, and will tell the most intimate details at top volume. My apologies to you, for any negative thoughts I may have had in the past. But I digress…

Other interviewees include writers Paul Tryoka and Dave Thompson, and musician John Harlsen, who was a drummer on the Bowie-produced Lou Reed first popular solo effort, Transformer (as well as being Barry Womble, of the Rutles), which included his hits “Satellite of Love” and “Walk on the Wild Side.” They all paint a very detailed portrait of Bowie, and what effect Reed and Iggy had on him, and how Bowie had affected them. Also included are some short interviews (more likely called clips) with the key artists involved, such as Bowie (from 2001 and 2007), Lou Reed (1986), Iggy (1988), and just as importantly, Mick Ronson (looking extremely frail shortly before his death in 1993). There would arguably be no Bowie to the scale he achieved without Ronson as a musical driving force (rather than an influence, like Reed and Pop), I’m convinced.

Possibly one of Warhol’s biggest influences (and he really is as big as either Lou or Iggy in the David Jones pantheon) is the idea that “You’re a Star!” and if you act like it, people will come to believe and expect it. Even before the money, there was the wardrobe, the limos, the expense accounts, and all the trappings. LaLumia states it quite well when he relates that Bowie claimed that “I’m an actor. I’m not a musician. I’m portraying a rock star.” I can’t argue with that, as I’ve always found that Lou Reed was true to what he believed, as was Iggy totally committed to what he was doing, but Bowie was posing, rather than being. Perhaps that’s why I’ve never found him to be someone I’ve looked up to musically, especially in the reality of the punk days of the Ramones and the ilk.

While Iggy’s role in the Bowie history (and vice-versa) is more commonly known, there is much less about Iggy here than either Reed or especially Warhol. Bowie famously helped Pop both get off drugs and revive his career. For me, Bowie major force was in the studio as a producer, more than a vocalist, or especially as an innovator, as he was a series of influences creatively recast. Angela probably had as much to do with Bowie’s success as did David or Ronson – or even DeFries. And I won’t even detail Cherry Vanilla’s outreach program.

The added feature to the DVD is a seven-minute documentary called “The Nico Connection,” which shows how she had touched the lives of all three musicians that are the focus of the main feature. There is a bio for each of the contributors, and it put a smile on my face to see my pals the She Wolves given a shout out by Jayne County, as they’ve worked together over the past few years.

As a last note, I would like to add that after viewing this DVD, check out The Velvet Goldmine, which will then make so much more sense.