Tag Archive: 27 club


Iggy: the Sequel

Before the late 2000s when I first started actively listening to the Stooges, my biggest experience with Iggy Pop was in commercials. They were for everything from cruise lines to diet plans to greeting cards to luxury cars. (click here to see a 90s ad for Carnival cruise lines). Iggy had granted blanket permission to any company to license his music for their use, regardless of what they were selling. He made a lot of money from it, but I don’t think that’s why he did it. He says the songs weren’t commercially conceived, so he doesn’t care how they’re used commercially; in his mind, those are two separate things. I imagine some shoe company was bugging him to use one of his songs on a TV ad, and Iggy finally said, “do what you want; I don’t care.”

Iggy’s thought process is similar to a lot of other artists’, but he ends up in the opposite place that most people would. Every artist out there would say (or pretend) that their art didn’t have any commercial element to it. Making money is looked at as somehow beneath people who make art, even though it’s always part of the goal. So many musicians would completely reject a thing like a song of theirs’ being used in an advertisement. If I were a musician, I’m not sure where I’d fall in the spectrum.

Iggy making lots of money off of corporate America is pretty ironic when you consider Iggy’s place in the punk music pantheon. If somebody came to Johnny Rotten asking for licensing, he’d probably do his best to defecate on them. Punk is all about disobeying the rules and not falling in line, so that includes a middle finger to big business. But give punk music just a little money and public exposure and it becomes a corporate brand, much like anything else.

Grrr… off-topic. This is supposed to be about Raw Power

Dave Alexander, died in 1975 at age 27

By 1971, the Stooges were effectively broken up. Rock and roll stardom is not the only thing that brings on decadence and drug abuse; it also comes when you have almost no success at all, like the Stooges. Bassist Dave Alexander was fired from the band in August of 1970 for showing up to a gig too drunk to play. Alexander is one of the many less-known members of the 27 Club, musicians who died at age 27. After leaving the Stooges, his alcoholism only got worse. He died in an Ann Arbor hospital from fluid in his lungs, admitted for pancreatitis due to his extreme drinking. In 1977, Iggy released “Dum Dum Boys” in which he talks about him.

They carried on, hiring James Recca to fill in for Alexander, and even adding childhood buddy of the band James Williamson as a second guitarist. But even apart from Alexander’s drinking, all the other members except Ron Asheton were hooked on heroin. Iggy’s addiction was particularly bad. Their live shows moved from wild and unpredictable to disappointing and dangerous. The Stooges were sick, like an end-stage cancer patient, and could not sustain itself for much longer. Elektra saw it coming and dropped then unceremoniously from the label. After that, there was nowhere to go, not even down. The Stooges were kaput a mere 3 years after they started.

you know you’ve been watching too much Velvet Goldmine if…

Enter David Bowie. A year after his band split, Iggy met Bowie and became good friends (not that kind; you’ve been watching too much Velvet Goldmine). Their friendship was based on Bowie’s admiration for Pop and his talent, and since virtually no one had heard of Iggy or the Stooges, his desire for Pop to get his due recognition. Iggy relocated to London, and Bowie’s management company agreed to sign him as a solo artist. Bowie also convinced his label, Columbia Records, to sign Iggy to his very own contract.

With this rebirth, Iggy contacted his old friend James Williamson, member of the Stooges in their last iteration. The two of them set out to record another album with British supporting musicians, but couldn’t find any good enough. This would become Raw Power. Since no suitable English studio men could be found, original Stooges members Ron and Scott Asheton were flown over. It’s not exactly the Cinderella reunion story you might have been expecting, but it worked… sorta. Ron Asheton was very annoyed with his and Scott’s “second choice” status, as well as his relegation to bass while Williamson took all the guitar duties.

There was also the unevenness of the new project being named Iggy & the Stooges; Ron had to be asking why Iggy was suddenly the top dawg. The answer is David Bowie; if Iggy hadn’t been resurrected under Bowie’s wing, we wouldn’t even be talking about him now.

Next: You can call me Jim… or Iggy… whatever you’re more comfortable with… Jim, Iggy… yeah, call me Iggy.

Any band with a history as long as that of the Rolling Stones is bound to have a wide evolutionary arc.  The Stones I first heard when I was 8, for instance, are very different from the band of the 60s. In ’89, Mick’s swagger and showmanship was in its decline, no longer a compelling force but instead a nostalgic one. But in the mid-60s, the power and sexuality of the Stones was an alarming thing. Their trials and tribulations, while not as well documented as the Beatles’, were no less life-changing, or more importantly band-changing. After so much attention, adulation, and hyper-focusing from the media, any band will undergo fast changes. In just a few short years, the Stones were a different band.

Beggars Banquet shows the changes they’ve gone through, but more notably shows the place they came from, which isn’t necessarily where their listeners thought it was. It’s a grimy, unapologetic record, leaving the polish and sheen of the Stones’ past behind them. Keith Richards says being in prison really gave him time to think, and as a result, he and the Stones stripped everything in their sound down to its bare essentials. What was left is what we hear on Beggars Banquet; it turned out to be the first truly great record they ever made.

When you pop the CD in on track 1, it’s already in a groove. The light hand percussion gives hints to a darkness and sleaze that last throughout the entire 6 minutes of “Sympathy For the Devil.” The vocals have suaveness and arrogance, the bass playing is funky and soul-infused, and the guitar skitters in a mad dance of chaos. In the hands of some other bands (like Guns ‘N Roses, Ozzy Osbourne, Tiamat, and Bon Jovi), it doesn’t seem to have the same sinister, slithering tone. I think the Stones, with their original recording, glimpsed something primal, something true, something diabolical.

“Sympathy For the Devil” is a first-person narrative from none other than Lucifer himself. He lists his deeds and misdeeds through history, taking credit for events such as Jesus’ crucifixion, the Russian Revolution of 1917, the Crusades, and the assassinations of both JFK and RFK. The genius of this song lies in the way it lays Lucifer bare. It shows with accuracy that the biggest danger we face from the devil comes not from the devil, but from ourselves. Satan can only act when we fail to act. His work is not directly in the evils of this world, but in the hearts of humans who perpetrate those evils all by themselves. Like The Screwtape Letters, it features dead-on characterization of a fallen angel caught up in his own pomposity. I think this is one of the most instructive and useful songs for Christians, and anyone interested in the nature of evil should study it very closely. Perhaps the most insightful lyric is this: “Just as every cop is a criminal, and all you sinners saints…”

Brian Jones

The next song promotes the stripped-down feel of the whole album and informs the listener of what’s to come. “No Expectations” could easily have been written by Robert Johnson, and fits right in with the Stones’ down-and-out musical motif. Jagger recalls this as the last significant contribution of Brian Jones, one of the founders of the Rolling Stones. They were all sitting around in a circle on the floor, and Jones did the slide guitar part that forms the backbone of the song. Drugs and sex distracted Jones from his band duties, hamstrung him in both his professional and personal lives, and ultimately undid him. He drowned in a pool at the age of 27, about six months after Beggars Banguet was released.

Brian Jones is a member of the prodigious 27 Club, a group of musicians who died at the age of 27. Arguably, the founding member was the rock and roll icon and mythological figure Robert Johnson, and they include Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison and Kurt Cobain, just to name a few. Most deaths are alcohol or drug-related, but some are from car accidents, diabetes and falling off a horse, with one member even being raped and murdered. The latest member is Amy Winehouse, whose misadventures and odyssey with alcohol were well-documented both in her music and by the celebrity media.

“Dear Doctor,” another song with little adornment, is next. It tells in simple terms the story of a young man forced into a marriage but saved from it by his fiancé’s wayward ways, and his joy and relief upon hearing of her infidelity. The goofiness and comedy of it are not shied away from or apologized for. For some reason, Jagger sounds authentic even in this exaggerated, song-and-dance setting. That’s one of his special powers; the ability to sell almost any song despite its character.

More on Beggars Banquet on Thursday!