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For The Love Of Ray J
Ray J
"Sexy Can I"
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Tough Love (Supertrailer)
Ingrid Michaelson
"Soldier"
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Sex Rehab with Dr. Drew
Carolina Liar
"Coming to Terms"
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My Antonio
Olivia Broadfield
"Holding On To You"
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Tough Love
Morningwood
"How You Know It's Love"
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interviews

Iggy Pop



Iggy Pop: Beast of Burden


 
The once and future Stooge explains how he became one of rock’s key wildmen. Prepare for sheet metal factories, Stones concerts, and elephants pounding the Earth.
 
by Tracy Lerner & C. Bottomley


 (Publicity)

Given Iggy Pop’s self-destructive tendencies, we sure do take his recorded output for granted. So maybe we should first acknowledge that Skull Ring is his 14th studio album, and then designate it an impressive one at that. Not only does Pop


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reconvene the Stooges, his original gang of Detroit punks, but he also teams up with Sum-41 and Green Day. Consider that neither of these latter-day bands would exist if it hadn’t been for the unholy racket Pop made in the ‘60s and ‘70s, and it sounds like Iggy’s come full circle.

First the Stooges. In the late ‘60s, the former James Osterberg and his unkempt cohorts made some of the most out-of-control rock ‘n’ roll ever heard. Songs like “TV Eye” and “1969” were so incendiary they could have been brewed up in a basement by the Weather Underground. Onstage, Pop changed the rules of performance with a manic persona that withstood thrown bottles, flying mic stands and - in one memorable gig immortalized on Metallic KO - an entire battalion of Hell’s Angels.

The group split up in a druggy haze in 1974, and Pop was literally rescued from oblivion by fan David Bowie, with whom he made The Idiot and Lust for Life. Earlier this year, after hearing that guitarist Ron Asheton was playing Stooges songs to some acclaim, Pop decided to reunite the group. The other Stooges are older and heavier, but on the four songs they cut for Skull Ring, they still set the pace for younger guests like Sum 41, Green Day and Peaches, whose mix of spit and spunk owes much to their riotous precedent.

Surrounded by friends old and new, Pop sounds more in the moment than he has in years. He spoke with VH1 Classic about how sheet metal and Detroit revolution inspired his sound, how David Bowie and Keith Richards influenced his songs, and how anyone can make a great album - it’s just all in the timing.

VH1: After all these years, what inspires you to get hunkered down in the studio and make a new album?

Iggy Pop: It’s easiest to make a record when you’ve never made one before or when you haven’t made one for a long time. That was the case with my first album, and again with The Idiot. Although, if you’ve been out with the band and had a good tour and it’s working and you feel it and the audience feels it, you’ll make your best work if you can get into the studio fairly quickly. That happened to me first with Fun House in 1970, which was basically the live set that my band The Stooges were doing at the time. Same thing when I worked with David Bowie. We had done a world tour in the ‘70s and everybody was psyched up. We knocked out a bunch of songs in two days, and went in and recorded it in two weeks. That was Lust for Life. [Watch Clip]

VH1: Where did the onstage Iggy Pop come from?

IP: I started out with an intention to do something very gentle, but I lived in America in a revolutionary era. I finally took a cold look around at people and thought, “So that’s what they want? Okay.” Then it got out of control. It went too far, and I rather enjoyed it. But I’ve always had the two sides. I’ve never been really about, “Yow! Rock ‘n’ roll!” There’s literature in there - and passion. [Watch Clip]

VH1: How did the music fit with that persona?

IP: I was inspired by the last big gasp of mass industrialism, Detroit. I was taken on a class field trip when I was about eight years old to the River Rouge Steel Plant. These are the mills that feed the Detroit assembly plants. I was taken to the sheet metal stamping grounds, and [was in] awe of the organization and the brute force of applied capitalism. I went, “Gee!” It went into me in a certain way and came out with a certain musical style. It’s freeway music. [Watch Clip]

VH1: How does stage work differ from studio work?

IP: When you’re on stage, you separate the men from the boys and the real deal from the posers. Anybody can make a good record. You can make a good record. You get a good producer, a good band, somebody to sing for you, whatever it takes. It’s been done, you know. But very few can go out and do it live for the people. For me, it doesn’t have to be any particular reaction: they can clap, smile, just stare, jump or not. But when you feel that, there’s nothing like it. The sad part of it is that you’ll wake up the next day with a headache and the moment’s gone forever.

VH1: When you’re on stage, do you become someone else?

IP: When it’s good, performing live should be like flying while elephants pound the earth. Any actor will tell you that they do their best work when they forget what they’re doing and just pay attention to the other actor. I think the same is true about live rock. Just sing the bloody song. Don’t worry about your pants, don’t worry about where you’re putting your legs, don’t worry about your hairdo. Other than that, pay attention to the crowd. Once I get into that, I don’t know who I am at that point. That’s the best it gets. [Watch Clip]

VH1: What was the one concert you saw that had a seriously profound effect on you?

IP: Rolling Stones, 1969, at the sports arena in Detroit. It was incredible. There were no monitors, no light show, no reverb, just the driest, deadest-sounding amps you’d ever heard. It was almost an hour long, the first show they’d done that began to approach the lengths of a modern rock show. Before this, when you saw the Beatles or Stones you went to a 25-minute concert. That’s what it was the first time I saw them. But suddenly this went beyond screaming girls to a bunch of not-as-innocent adolescents and young adults watching and listening - and they were able to deliver. There was blues behind it, and there were future sounds coming out in front of it. It was rock at its best. [Watch Clip]

VH1: You once said Keith Richards constructs his songs like a scientist.

IP: I don’t remember saying that, but I would listen to the Stones when I was trying to figure out how I could go about writing songs. There are all sorts of things Keith Richards is covering. He’ll be very careful and particular about the bass and the drum relationship, and then there will be a certain guitar lick from a Jimmy Reed record or something that’ll go over it. The whole thing fits together in a certain way, and generally, will fit the times that it was recorded in. It’ll have something to do with the greater world around it, and it’ll always have a catchphrase. He’s really good at that, y’know, so hats off.

VH1: I have to ask you about your work with David Bowie.

IP: I’ve made some astonishing music with David Bowie. I was lucky to nab him when he had so many ideas that he couldn't put them all to use under his own flag. He was able to try all sorts of darker experiments with me. He probably had more confidence in me as a solo artist, than I had in myself. He was like, “You don’t need the drugs, you don’t need the band, you don’t need to rock, you’re good.” I’m like a lot of singers - a singer should be a super-groupie. It’s what hip-hop artists called “representing.” A singer will take on the characteristics of whomever he’s working with and amplify those. I did that in one way for my first band the Stooges, but in a much different way for David Bowie. He’s interested in geo-politics, well I know a little bit about that! That would come into a song like “China Girl.” We worked like that. [Watch Clip]

VH1: Define punk.

IP: If you looked in the dictionary, you’d probably find that a punk would be a person with some sort of a pretense to violent or criminal power who didn’t really have the grits. [Laughs.] Something like that. The first time I saw the word used was in a review of the Stooges’ first album. It said, “This is the music of punks cruising for burgers.” They had a point, you know.

VH1: Are you comfortable with words like “icon,” “Godfather” and “trailblazer”?

IP: I always hated all of that, now it doesn’t matter. There’s like a dumb intuition to the public. They’ll tag you a certain way and they’ll be right. So if people think that about what I’ve done, thanks.

VH1: What do you think it is about your music and your persona that has had such an influence on so many artists?

IP: We’ve tended to use and discard all sorts of really good ideas that were picked up out of the blue. It’s not based on looking around and saying, “Oh, somebody’s doing this; I think it’d be about the right time to hop on this trend.” So there’s a lot of stuff there. For instance, if you want to poach my haircut, you’ve got ten or twelve different hairdos to choose from. The same goes for my riff-age, some of the lyrical ideas, that sort of thing. There’s plenty to go on. I wore dresses in the early ‘70s, and I was just looking through the New York Times Magazine and there are men in dresses. Dude, I did that in 1972!

VH1: If you had never sold a record or played a big arena, would you still feel like a musician?

IP: Yeah. When I have a record out, [I’m] called upon to spend a lot of time being “big” - basically talking on camera or making a video. The more of that I do, the more obsessive I become about breaking away for a day, going home, and sitting in the living room remembering how to play a little folk or blues song on acoustic guitar - badly. Because otherwise I don’t feel like a real musician. I just feel wrong somehow. So, yeah, I would still feel like a real musician if I didn’t get any support. I may even become a better real musician without support, although, in this game, without any support it’s also very likely you’ll wind up a real dead musician! [Laughs.]