QUOTE OF THE WEEK: “Punk rock, as soon as it became labeled ‘Punk Rock,’ became increasingly reductive ... I can’t believe people get away with it, and I can’t believe people listen to it .” — Iggy Pop

SONG OF THE WEEK: “Broken Hearts Are For Assholes” — Frank Zappa

I’ve been so filled with holiday cheer, party spirit (parties celebrating the beginning of 2005, ya know) and communal love lately, I’m starting to fear that I may be losing my touch as a tried and true, dyed-in-the-wool curmudgeon. So, while on a four-hour road trip the other day (just after the start of 2005), I mentally began making a list of all the stupidity, ignorance, selfishness and plain ol’ human stinkiness I saw along the way. Here’s what I came up with:

YOU’RE PROBABLY AN ASSHOLE IF...

1) You’re under the age of 65 and drive a brand new vehicle (yes, that includes 2005) of ANY make, model or style. Cool young peeps can’t afford bullshit like new SUVs, minivans or sports cars, and even if they could, they’d find a better use for the duckets than some plastic piece of shit extension for yer penis with an American flag bumper sticker. You all deserve to wake up to a rusty, oil-leaking, beat-to-hell Citroen rotting in your two-car garage. Or better yet, wake up in a tar-paper shack somewhere on the outskirts of some shanty-town with only the rags on your backs and a clap-trap rickshaw in your muddy drive-way.

2) You slow down even one unnecessary iota to eyeball a police traffic stop, road-side incident or accident. If you find other people’s pain and suffering so fucking interesting, you deserve to be the one in the accident. Fucking dickheads.

3) You own a wristwatch or jewelry that’s worth more than your monthly rent or mortgage payment. You should be fitted with gold teeth and then strapped into a chair where poor people can use pliers to wrench each and every ounce out of your greedy, materialistic pie-hole.

4) You think Nashville is releasing its best material in years, or will be in 2005. You should be immediately bound, gagged and thrown in the back seat of a ’60 Pontiac with a bad exhaust leak and forced to listen to nothing but Handsome Family, Slobberbone, Scud Mountain Boys and Neko Case records all the way to Denton, Texas, where you’ll be thrown, still bound and gagged, into the mud, shit and detritus of a real cowboy rodeo. If you survive, you’ll be allowed to move to Nashville with nothing but your black Stetson and a pair of mismatched dress socks. Good luck, Cowpoke!

5) You drive, walk, run, or are otherwise engaged in mobile activity while using a cell phone. All I can say is, I hope the brain tumor rumors are true. Word.

6) You routinely call local, Clear Channel-owned radio stations playing Adult Contemporary music to try and win lunch at a fast food joint for you and your co-workers. You should immediately be transported to a soup kitchen in the Bronx, where you’ll be forced to listen to old-time gospel standards while serving lunch to people who actually need to gain a pound or 10. You don’t. Trust me.

7) You smoke cigarettes which are longer than the average pen or pencil. You’re not only obviously trying desperately to replace something sorely missing in your life, but you’re a genuine fire hazard to those around you. You’re a secretary, and you use the word “tushie” quite often, don’t you? Mmm-hmm.

8) You think you’re God’s “Chosen One” to lead ANYTHING. Listen, pal—every despot, dictator and tyrant worth his or her salt throughout history thought they were the chosen one. Guess what? They’re all dead!! Yayyy!!!

9) You actually believe that any one person is God’s “Chosen One” to lead ANYTHING. Listen, pal—every civilization throughout history that put a person on a pedestal fell post-haste. Guess what? They’re all dead!! Yayyy!!!

10) Your idea of a fun night out enjoying local music is going to a suburban bar, dancing to an ’80s cover band, snorting cheap coke, fighting with your girlfriend and puking on the floor of your new car. Don’t worry, though, we don’t want you to change. Who needs people like you at cool local gigs featuring actually-talented original artists? Naw, we’ll kick back and watch you on the 2 a.m. repeat of the 10 p.m. news, where there’ll be graphic footage of your drunken wreck, which happened while you were simultaneously driving, talking on your cell-phone, checking your $2,500 watch, turning up the latest Toby Keith CD, lighting your six-inch cigarette, balancing a hot cup of fast-food joint coffee between your chubby knees, and repeating your “GW is a tool for the Lord” mantra. Guess what? Someone just like you is slowing down to gape at your misfortune. Yes, at home, we’re laughing ...

Oh, I’ve got lots more, dontcha know—but I think you get the idea. Now here’s your Fun Feat for the week—take one long drive through your town or neighborhood and see how many folks you can spot who match the descriptions above. You may be surprised, but then again, I’ve got a hunch you already know who they are. Now for this week’s reviews:

Iggy & The Stooges
Live In Detroit DVD
(CREEM, 2004)

This live DVD, featuring a reconstituted Stooges, comes right from the birthplace of the band’s sound itself. Featuring original Stooges Ron and Scott Asheton on guitar and drums, respectively, Steve Mackay on sax, and powerhouse former Minutemen bassist Mike Watt backing the Ig-ster, the show is probably the best recorded showcase of the outfit’s latest tour you’ll find, and not just because it was filmed in the Motor City. eleven days before this taping, the band had been all set to play a triumphant Michigan homecoming when the now infamous New York/East Coast blackout went down and the gig had to be postponed. At the rescheduled show, feeding on the frustration and energy of their long-suffering fans, Iggy and Co. layed down a thick, mind-melding, booty-shakin’ set of classics and a couple of fresh cuts.

There’s no bullshit, ass-kissing pomp and circumstance here, kids. Iggy spouts a few “It’s great to be home, motherfuckers!!” and it’s right into the music. Ah, the music—spot-on, blazing versions of Stooges gems like “Loose,” “Down On The Street,” “1969,” “I Wanna Be Your Dog,” “TV Eye,” “Dirt,” “Real Cool Time,” “No Fun” (featuring a frantic Iggy shrieking, “No Fun,’ ‘No Fun,’ Goddammit, play ‘No Fun!!’) and others prove that time has only improved the prehistoric electric boogaloo these cats damn near invented. The Asheton brothers have obviously spent the past 25 or 30 years honing the material, and Watt’s talent is such that I shouldn’t even have to mention it, but I will: Fucking grand, mate, fucking grand!

Iggy, of course, is at the top of his game here. Thrilled to be playing this make-up gig at home, he flounces, bounces, hops, jumps, slithers, shimmies, mock-fucks and leaps his way through the 14-song set, finally beckoning to his faithful followers in the crowd and packing the stage with fans (a common sight at Iggy gigs, but particularly cool to watch knowing many of the worn but happy faces on the stage were around for The Stooges’s first gigs way back when), telling security to kiss his ass, the show won’t go on without his people up there with him.

Massive energy abounds—the songs feeding the crowd, the crowd feeding Iggy, Iggy feeding the band, around and around until you feel like tearing off your shirt and baying at the fucking moon right along with the venerable Mr. Osterberg. And though Ig’s face more resembles that of a recently-excavated Egyptian mummy than any corporate-built, robotic “rock star” you’ll see on today’s circuit, his body is so tight, so buff, so ELECTRIC, I bet even that iron-pumping, prose-spouting monkey Henry Rollins would think twice about fucking with him in a dark alley.
“Skull Ring,” a new track, rattles with energy and passion onstage, but methinks a close album play would reveal it to be more along the lines of some of the less imaginative material Iggy did with James Williamson over the years.

Man, I sure don’t miss that shit. This is where Iggy belongs—with his soulmates and road-buddies, screaming, shrieking, howling, moaning, delivering tender profanities to his true fan base. This DVD includes some great extras, as well—an intimate, almost-acoustic (drums are a cardboard box) in-store performance taped in NYC, a kick-ass “Sing-Along with Iggy” section (take that, lame karaoke bars!), the expected, hilarious Mike Watt tour journal, a photo gallery, and a CREEM magazine archive spot. All in all, the absolutely, positively BEST way you can spend those few extra bucks you got from Granny this Christmas. BUY THIS DVD NOW!!!!

That’s it for this week, kids. Tune in next time ’round for CD reviews, rock ’n’ roll news, and more rants, raves and rock ’n’ roll raunch. Until then—make yer own damn news. ||

If you have local music news, gigs, CDs you’d like to see mentioned in this column, or you’d just like to complain that wearing a new Movado and cutting old people off in traffic in your flag-adorned SUV doesn’t necessarily make you an asshole, tell somebody who cares. Anybody else, send replies to:
(temporary e-mail) jamescrouch_1@juno.com.