Concert Review: Iggy & The Stooges Hit D.C.

by Hilary Crowe

Old punks young at heart and young punks with the utmost respect for their elders stood frozen in line, shaking in their boots with excitement and the frigid, 40-degree night air. The street was paved with an uncharacteristic silence, save for the few fans bumming smokes off each other and swapping mosh pit war stories. All felt something epic was about to happen; felt the presence of a legend too great to be contained by this formerly-abandoned warehouse in the shadows of Howard University Hospital.

Such was the general preoccupation that few noticed Albert Hammond Jr., of The Strokes, rushing by in the throes of teenaged girls waving their cell phone cameras and Sharpies. After his early solo show (“Aww, he’s thinking of the kiddies,” joked a snarky woman ahead in line), it was obvious that Hammond was desperate to vacate the 9:30 Club’s V St. premises as quickly as possible, and rightly so. As intimidating as anxious, hypothermic Stooges' fans can be, Iggy Pop has been known to eat baby-faced rock-pop heartthrobs like Hammond for dinner – and steal their girlfriends for dessert – for 40 years now, and counting.

Last week, little more than three weeks from his 60th birthday, Iggy tore onto the 9:30’s stage just before midnight, sporting a dirty-blonde mane, tanned hide and sleek physique that would put any 20-something to shame. As Ron Asheton shook the first few riffs of “Loose” from his six-string, Iggy began to work the sold-out crowd, which lurched forward and pinned everyone against each other, scarcely able to breath under the weight of hundreds reaching for Iggy as he danced past their outstretched hands, posturing, nearly gyrating his hips out of his dangerously low jeans, hemorrhaging howls and sex, only breaking for a minute to yell “Thanks for fucking coming!” before taking the Lord’s name in vain and launching into “T.V. Eye.”

That’s not to say that Iggy ignores his fans, even for a second; he’s simply an expert at seduction. He plays a cat and mouse game with his audience: stares ’em down with frighteningly blue eyes, giving them a taste of what he’s got, then gives them what they want, but on his own terms. His inimitable bipolar magnetism – X-rated Iggy and everybody’s pal Jim – is a force no other frontman can claim.

After the first few songs, a personable Iggy pulled a few lucky fans onstage for a “No Fun” dance-jam session, and thereafter began his love affair with District fans: stage-diving, playing to them, strutting among them, mugging for pictures, and kneeling on a few shoulders when the stage proved much too small, even though Iggy was given free reign of most of it – the rest of the Stooges on its perimeter, propelling their fearless leader with a never-ending supply of sticky grooves, full-bodied bass, and fuzzified, acidy guitar licks.

Between songs, Iggy doused himself, and occasionally the audience, with water and motioned frantically for the tech guys in the back to turn up the lights. “Let’s get some fucking lights on in here, I wanna see everybody!” he’d yell, throwing his arms up and waving like a giddy five-year-old to the adulating, undulating sea of admirers at his feet and above his head. He did this after every other song, his hardened visage surveying the room with wide eyes and goofy grin, taking it all in, loving his audience as much as they love him.

Throughout the set, Iggy’s energy never dropped, part of his long-running stage presence that explains his impeccable anatomy. Even during the comparatively slow “Dirt,” a vocal highlight of the night, Iggy writhed on amps a la lounge lizard temptresses of yore and rolled about, deliberate and tense, making the song’s masochistic and sensuous lyrics bleed with new life. And Mike Watt, formerly of the Minutemen, more than earned his title of being the most dexterous punk bassist, as he pushed old Stooges songs into new territory, grounding the Ashetons’ feral rhythms (original band member Scott Asheton remains on drums) with impossibly thunderous, predatorily prowling bass lines.

The highlight of the show was an incendiary “I Wanna Be Your Dog” reprise, one of three encore songs. After his band left, Iggy spent a good five minutes saying goodbye to fans, dancing around sans-music and jumping into the crowd to indulge a few fans before hopping on stage and signing off with the same delightfully silly wave he’d been throwing all night. But the best part of the night was the reassurance Iggy and his Stooges gave to fans. Yes, The Weirdness, their new release, is not the best record around, but the Stooges remain the best damn rock and roll band out there. And as such, The Weirdness sounds infinitely better when performed live, though recognizably different next to their earlier work. Iggy’s endearingly ethereal, guttural growls, rollicking stage antics, and better than ever backing band proved that after all these years, Michigan’s most infamous native and his Stooges remain hard to beat.

(Photo of Iggy Pop of the Stooges performing in the crowd at a recent Stooges' show in Boston by iris.rigby of Boston via Flickr, using a Creative Commons license. To see an R-rated version of "No Fun" performed at SXSW 2007 in Austin, Texas, please check below.)



(For a full review of the new Stooges' release, please see "The Stooges & The Weirdness." And to hear the full 9:30 Club set from the Stooges please check out NPR's podcast of the show.)

The Stooges
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Iggy Pop
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