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.”
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