The Stooges – The Weirdness

by Dale Nixon

Talk about an antagonym.

Actually, that word itself should probably be defined first. An internet creation for a word that has two contradictory meanings, i.e. Awful: Extremely unpleasant, ugly vs. Awe-inspiring [typically, a feeling of admiration].

Fancy wordplay aside, the Stooges “comeback” album reeks of frustration. This time, 34 years after the seminal explosion of Raw Power, it is not the frustration borne of the hopelessness triumvirate of sex, drugs and rock n' roll. It's more boredom, middle age and income potential.

That in and of itself is the crux of the problem. First off, the “weirdness” implied and promised by the album title is wholly lacking from beginning to end. It is an Iggy-as-maestro effort right down to the too clear vocal mix rising decibels above what should have been a seething swampy morass of Ron Asheton's guitar noise and the chainsaw backbeat ably provided by one Scott “Rock Action” Asheton.

At this point, I have to admit I've never been a big fan of the murky production/”recorded by” style of one Mr. Steve Albini. How about some bass in the mix, Steve? But it's hard to lay the blame at Albini's feet, as I get the feeling that Albini himself stood in awe during the recording process, and as such did frightfully little reining of Mr. Pop's lyrical excesses which blossom from annoying to full-blown retarded by mid-album; “She took all my money and didn't say thank you.”

Okay, Iggy, that is just what we needed. Another middle-aged rocker sloganeering about the inequality of alimony.

Lyrical depth is another area in which Pop's implied weirdness falls short of the mark. If you are going to be truly bizarre in this day and age, you have to put something forward a bit deeper or more shocking than “my idea of fun is killing everyone”. There are already people that have been there, done that, and rode the chair to prove it. Leave it nebulous. Be “dirt-y” and revel in it. I mean, for crissakes, Gary Glitter flies to Cambodia to buy 11-year old girls. Being “deep fried” really doesn't cut it.

And nothing dates a record as made for 2007 like a gratuitous reference to Dr. Phil.

It makes you wish for a snatch of the multi-dimensional brilliance that shod “I Wanna Be Your Dog”. Pop's trademark double entendres are singled out here. They fall flat, literally and figuratively, with a vocal style that relies on tunefulness and singing (never an Iggy strong suit), and distinctly lacks in spit and snarl. If you thought Pop's vocal inflections on Little China Girl were bad, get a load of the title track, which sounds like Pop doing a karaoke version of David Johansen's Buster Poindexter character.

A ripoff of a lounge singer version of an Igg-postor.

Of course, one would presume that Pop is simply content to enjoy steak, expensive red wine and cruising his Cadillac into the AARP commercial golden years. If his payback is to take the grey-crowned Mike Watt and the Asheton brothers into the cruise ship realm for guaranteed retirement income, that's fine.

But somehow I can't trust Iggy's motivations. It's almost as if he made a mediocre album on purpose, to put the notion of The Stooges as a superior unit to Iggy Pop, solo performer, to bed once and for all.

And I'm still on the fence about whether it should have even been called a Stooges album, because it sure isn't a comeback.

Whatever The Weirdness is, weird it is not.