The Stooges + Sonic Youth

The Stooges + Sonic Youth

Homecoming 2003 or How I Ended Up Onstage With Iggy and the Stooges In 1967, a young, aspiring bluesman named Jim Osterberg left his hometown of Ann Arbor, Michigan for Chicago to study legendary drummer Sam Lay. He was looking for inspiration, for a way to incorporate the traditional African American blues ethic into his own white, Midwestern upbringing. He discovered that the problem with most white blues bands was their tendency to overthink the whole thing as opposed to letting the sound and feel come naturally, freely. Legend has it that after smoking a joint down by a sewage treatment plant near the Loop one night, Jim conceived of a new blues. A simple blues wherein Jim could describe his life experiences through music the way the Chicago bluesmen did. He would appropriate their vocal phrasings, their rhythms, and above all, their presence, into something new. Jim returned to his hometown as Iggy Pop, a man reborn. He would soon form the Stooges with the Asheton brothers, Ron and Scotty, and the late Dave Alexander. They would lay the foundation for what we now call punk rock. Three or four chords of in-your-goddamn-face-no-matter-if-you-like-it-or-not whiteboy rock and roll blues that would change the face of popular music forever. All due respect to the Lou Reeds, the Johnny Rottens and the Joey Ramones out there, but in 1967 Iggy Stooge invented punk rock, all by himself. The Stooges were signed to Elektra records by legendary A&R guy Danny Fields as part of a package deal with fellow local hellions the MC5. They would release two excellent LPs (and one not-so-excellent) between the years of 1968 and 1973. The first two, The Stooges and Funhouse would establish the Stooges as the world’s loudest, scariest band. Iggy would routinely shock and antagonize his audience by incorporating peanut butter, broken glass, raw meat, blenders, vomit, blood and whatever else would squirt out into one of the most commanding and horrifying stage presences of his or any other generation. Iggy’s schtick, combined with the Asheton brothers’ relentless, pummeling throb, became a working class rallying cry for the youth of Detroit — a giant “fuck you” to not only the pseudo-idealistic rhetoric of the hippy generation but the white collar, conservative ideals that shaped and controlled the nation as well. It has been said that Iggy wasn’t so much theatrical as he was great theater. If Alice Cooper was a showman, Iggy Pop was a revolutionary. He wasn’t trying to entertain the audience by giving them something to dance to and feel comfortable with. On the contrary, Iggy and the Stooges wanted to freak you out, piss you off, and force you to accept and deal with the inevitability of change. It soon became obvious that this manic fire would prove too hot to burn; a failed, drug-addled, somewhat humorous attempt to drive a 12 foot truck under a 10 foot bridge (Washington Street in Ann Arbor) landed several Stooges in the hospital and prompted Elektra to finally give up. Being dropped surprised no one; nobody was making any money and Iggy was an incredibly loose cannon — far too risky for a major label commitment. The Stooges called it quits in 1973, another tragic rock and roll drug casualty. Punk, as well as Iggy himself, would go on to flourish in trendier, more suitable locations — London, New York, L.A. — but its roots, and his, will forever stretch back towards the working class streets of Detroit. Which is precisely what made August 25, 2003 so damn special. Thirty years after the fact the fans are of a much larger number. A sold out DTE Music Theater, ironically victimized by its own company’s massive power outage on the original showdate of August 14, was the chosen location for this little reunion party, Sonic Youth the selected warm-up act. As an unabashed SY fan, I was determined to get there early, to not miss a second of this historic bill, this incredible day. I found my seat, conveniently located 9 rows back, dead center under the pavilion, and took a second to laugh at the utter misfortune of my travel partners, relegated to the distant hillside along with all the other cheapos who wouldn’t pony up for good seats. They would soon regret that decision. Sonic Youth took the stage and wasted no time making their weird, beautiful noise. Though they themselves have proven to be as influential and important a band as, say, the Stooges, they seemed quite honored to be playing second fiddle this night. They blasted through several of their classics — “White Kross”, “Eric’s Trip”, “Teenage Riot”, “Kool Thing” — before ending their set in an appropriately destructive fashion. “Expressway To Yr Skull”, one of their oldest, most powerful and engaging pieces, left the stage in absolute ruin; triple-threat Lee Ranaldo, Thurston Moore and Jim O’Rourke engaging in a playful, onstage guitar/sword fight that resulted in layers of otherworldly electro-shrieking guitar noise and ended with O’Rourke flat on his back, defeated. Smiling, I took in the legions of Stooges fans suffering with their hands over their ears and wondered how SY would have been received in 1969. Then I realized, oh yeah, they probably wouldn’t even have had the chance to exist if Iggy hadn’t come along when he did. As the stage techs emerged and the guitar racks and effect pedal units were carefully hauled away, the chanting began. STOOGES! STOOGES! Detroit was ready to receive Iggy again. The ageless elf hit the stage with a snake-like quickness, the barrel chords of “Loose” fixing a vicious groove behind him. My first reaction was one of shock, he looked pretty good for a 57 year old ex-junkie renegade rock star. Shirtless, grizzle-faced, painted on jeans — Iggy looked pretty much the way he’s looked for the last 25 years. Twisting and contorting himself into pretzel shapes, doing that dance that only he seems willing to do, Iggy pranced around the stage for the first few cuts, taking it all in for a moment before casually diving headfirst into the first couple rows. That one gesture effectively erased the thirty-odd years that have passed since the Stooges last rocked and seemed to assure the crowd that, yes, this was still a punk band playing a punk show, and the crowd (albeit 19,000 strong) should feel free to behave accordingly. From that point, it was totally on. “1969” became tribal utopia. Scotty Asheton and uber-bassman for hire Mike Freaking Watt (Minutemen, fIREHOSE) locked horns on the songs’ rumbling underbelly, prompting Iggy to climb atop his amps and hump them — a move not befitting most 57-year-old men, but Iggy has always walked a different line. “I Wanna Be Your Dog” (version one) followed, Iggy barking and cavorting on all fours before once again hurling himself into the eager crowd. His performance is as unpredictable and visually appealing as ever — a mischievous imp back in his element, fearless. I had been chatting before the gig with a writer from the Chicago Tribune who had caught the New York show a few days earlier. He claimed it was a strange night for the Stooges, 5000 people in an outdoor venue — a little too subdued for his taste and not enough of what made the Stooges stuff of legend. “Well,” I explained, fully unaware of what was to come, “this is Detroit. This should be more suitable.” I was right. ”Real Cool Time” followed “TV Eye”, two of the Stooges’ greatest, best-loved anthems, and apparently it was too much to handle for a few guys. One guy managed to break through the security line and make his way onstage with Iggy, getting a few steps in before being tackled and hauled back. Iggy promptly and defiantly objected, demanding the security guy let the guy go, let him stay onstage. He than did something incredibly brave. He turned to those of us close enough to see, and gestured for us to come up as well. “Come on! Come on up!” At this point I must break form and say a few words. Most of us (music writers, whatever) do this stuff for overwhelmingly selfish reasons. Free shows, free discs, a bit of exposure, ego-stroking, etc. However, if you’re determined to stick with it long enough, endure the crappy records and next-to-no pay long enough, you may get lucky and find yourself in a situation you never could have fathomed. I once interviewed the great Jerry Only after a Misfits gig with two young “fans” perched on his lap. We ended up sharing life stories. Needless to say, a surreal moment that I will never forget. On August 25, 2003 I was lucky enough to share the stage with Iggy Freaking Pop. I was one of the 40-50 folks lucky enough to be invited onstage with him that night. Truth be told, I didn’t actually see Iggy once I got up there — he was instantly mobbed — but I spent the rest of “Real Cool Time” and the entire version of “No Fun” jamming a foot and a half away from Mike Watt(!) and Scott Asheton(!), staring, probably with my mouth hanging open like a moron. Punk is about connecting with people, sharing ideas, and relishing the common and uncommon factors of our lives — the minutiae that makes us the same and different. We were all the same on August 25, 2003. Older guys, young punkers, boys, girls, fat, skinny, tall, short, ugly — Punk doesn’t care. Looking out at the thousands from the stage, I briefly wondered how many of them had been at Mother’s in Ann Arbor for the Stooges’ first show in 1967. How many had tagged along with the MC5 when they played the doomed, infamous Democratic National Convention in Chicago in 1968. I wondered if, had I been around back then, would I have been Punk? Later that night I figured out what it was that Iggy had so blithely stumbled onto down by the Loop, way back when. Punk is a consistent, timeless culture. The sound, the mesage, the look — it’s all still being done, albeit less genuinely and for the most part, less ferociously. Punk is a commodity now, a target audience. Iggy was in NYC to present an award at the MTV Video Music Awards three days after our show. The recipients of said award, AFI, appeared to not know who the skinny, old guy was that was handing them their award. Iggy kindly shook hands with these little boys before retreating to the unlit, backside of the podium while they said their thank-yous and what not. I was baffled. How could my onstage-with-Iggy experience mean so much more to me than AFI’s? Why don’t they get it like I do? In a perfect world they would have gotten down on their skinny little knees and thanked Iggy proper. I guess a lot of it comes down to luck. Some of us are lucky enough to be in the way when the shit goes down, while others choose to stay home and let the local news to tell them what happened outside. As Iggy wound up his set at DTE (“I Wanna Be Your Dog” version two), I noticed Sonic Youth-er Lee Ranaldo standing just offstage, giddy as a schoolgirl, snapping up photos of Iggy, Ron, Scott, and Watt — a simple fan just like me and the 19,000 others in attendance. He realized the greatness of this particular moment, just like me, and, like the rest of us, was simply glad to be able to witness it. This was something to behold, a magnificent homecoming for rock’s original anti-hero. I am forever changed.