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 The
Major Lift
By
Erik Hage
‘My
dick is turning into a tree,” proclaims Iggy Pop, inexplicably,
on “Trollin’ ,” the opening track to The Weirdness,
the Stooges’ first studio album in more than three
decades. But beyond the surreal horniness of the lyrics, the
track—with its wallop of buzzsaw-sludge guitars and pounding
Neanderthal rhythms—presents real hope that the dirtbag kings
have returned, assuming the proportions of a cultural enema
to wash all of the Fall Out Boys and Fergies from the national
cavity.
And now that we hear Iggy Pop’s “Lust for Life” selling numerous
products on TV, it’s easy to forget the cultural grenade the
Stooges tossed into the ’60s musical universe when they first
arrived. Their impact wasn’t truly felt until years later,
when, with the beginnings of punk, they could be seen as the
first to climb from that primordial ooze. But the Stooges
weren’t “proto-punk”; that just cheapens them. They never
belonged to any movement, as precursors or otherwise.
They simply followed their own brazen impulses, bundling them
in a sort of brilliantly uncalculated incompetence, meanness
and dumbness. The opening, guttural guitar roll of “I Wanna
Be Your Dog” was all one needed to hear to know they weren’t
in 1969 America anymore (even though they were). My buddy
(Trouser Press founder) Ira Robbins put it best a few
years back at Salon.com: The Stooges were “pollution-fueled
aliens . . . who fit into the cultural fabric like cigarette
holes in a couch.”
 And
so the group, with Mike Watt on bass, reconvened in 2003 for
a well-received tour, with Iggy in appropriately apeshit and
sinewy form. The Stooges also reconvened in the studio as
a backing band for some tracks on Iggy’s solo album, Skull
Ring (though pop-punk kids Sum 41 propelled the album’s
best track, “Little Know It All”). Frankly, that should have
served as the reunion, for this album is pretty bad. Here
the group, Iggy in particular, seem like they’re trying to
intentionally play it dumb, and the typically flat, murky
production from Steve Albini doesn’t help. (Albini, a story
in himself, is often hired for his “hip” factor; his production
usually sucks.)
The group no longer naturally possess the lumpen neophyte-isms
that once made them unique (i.e., they can play well now);
yet Iggy chooses to sing through his nose or make his pitch
go all wobbly to recapture some of that old dumb magic. Guitarist
Ron Asheton’s tone often sounds like ’80s metal to my ears;
his busy, high-wailing, noodly leads (which he first started
exercising on Fun House) also get tired after a while.
Perhaps, in true Stooges fashion, this is willful self-sabotage:
an end to an end to an end to an end.
Scotland newbies the Fratellis have released a much
more enjoyable album and are yet another group that I’ve discovered
via an iPod commercial (the first being the Caesars). Just
give in to it: The music on commercials is far better than
that on radio—and pop music has never been a philanthropic
or nonprofit endeavor anyway. I’d rather have a kid discover
Nick Drake via Volkswagen than Switchfoot via Clear Channel’s
cookie-cutter playlists. If I must, from here on out, associate
the Kinks’ Village Green Preservation Society with
Hewlett Packard, so be it. And to anyone who disagrees: May
Pete Townshend give you the old hardbody-Gibson-to-the-back-of-the-head-boffo
that he gave Abbie Hoffman at Woodstock. The media landscape
is far different than it was in the late ‘80s, when Michael
Jackson sold the Beatles’ “Revolution” to Nike.
 At
any rate, the Fratellis’ Costello Music is great. The
commercial single “Flathead” comes off like the Violent Femmes
with much more grandiose and complex pop ambitions. There
is a lot of whimsy at work here, but the snappy, athletic
rhythms show that the group have real chops. “Got Ma Nuts
From a Hippie” sounds like some kind of skiffle-punk-ska amalgam,
while “Creepin’ Up the Backstairs” is a light-footed, energetic
romp that pits pop mastery against the proverbial tongue-in-cheek.
In her own corner of the United Kingdom, young English singer
Joss Stone approximates Aretha Franklin like no young
skinny white girl ever should. There’s a part of me that wants
Introducing Joss Stone to be bad, but it’s simply terrific.
“Tell Me ’Bout It” has the funky drive and vocal command of
Aretha’s early work. In fact, a good portion of the album
takes cues from the quality R&B of the ’70s. On “Tell
Me What We Gonna Do Now,” the musical bed and Stone’s luminous
vocal attack clearly echo Al Green (though Common’s rap contribution
sticks out awkwardly). In choosing to reach back to earlier
soul and to ignore the influence of more recent vocal gymnasts
like Mariah Carey or Christina Aguilera, Joss Stone has come
out with a top-notch R&B album.
LCD
Soundsystem have released something entirely less groovy,
setting Stephen Malkmus-style vocals to throbbing techno-disco
with the lead single, “North American Scum.” LCD auteur James
Murphy seems intent on being cute and clever on Sound of
Silver, and even his keening, non-dance-rock closer “New
York I Love You but You’re Bringing Me Down” seems to rip
a bunch of bedroom, mope-rock clichés, all the way back to
Daniel Johnston. If you’re looking for the new indie-rock,
hipper-than-thou, smarmy-smart album to hate (I know I am),
this is it.
 Finally,
Reprise has released my ultimate wet dream of a set, pulling
together all of the Bee Gees’ studio work from 1967-1968.
I am going to have to pull a quote yet again from Ira Robbins,
who recently pointed out that it is entirely possible to be
in a tiny minority about something and still be absolutely
right. While the world genuflected over Sgt. Pepper,
truly the Beatles’ worst album, the earth kept spinning, and
one of the great overlooked accomplishments of the era was
the breathlessly emotional, orchestrated pop of the Brothers
Gibb (long before they made their name with disco).
Songs like “Massachusetts,” “I’ve Gotta Get a Message to You,”
and “To Love Somebody” are some of the most gorgeous pop songs
ever recorded. Period. This set culls stereo and mono mixes
of the first three albums (Bee Gees 1st, Horizontal, Idea)
and pads it out with a bunch of outtake scraps. Hopefully,
this time around, more of the world will listen to work that
rivals Pet Sounds and blows Sgt. Pepper out
of the water. Maybe someone should stick “To Love Somebody”
in a commercial for eHarmony. That’s bound to kick it into
the zeitgeist.
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