![]() It’s an intelligent, sassy garage rock record that’s obsessed with two things: sex and death.", "The lyrics here are some of the finest Iggy has ever written, perfectly balancing out a more morbid line of thought than he’s followed before with an undiminished lust for late life.", "The raw, powerful 'American Valhalla' confronts the afterlife with a shudder over a glowering bass thud.", "POST POP DEPRESSION is an album in which Iggy allows himself to walk in shadows, rather than cast a bold new shadow of his own. Backed by Homme’s vocals and a stomping fit of guitar blues, he implores critics, dissenters, and snarky know-it-alls to kiss his ass on the way out the door.4 stars out of 5 - "On his awesomely gnarled 17th solo album, he plays the low-rent elder statesman, a spectacularly scuzzball Leonard Cohen still snarling, still hoping to get his rocks off.", "Iggy’s vocals and lyrics are astounding - he’s like an angry young man all over again, and is far more gnarly and potent than any of his contemporaries. But just when it sounds as though rock music’s most celebrated wild man is limping out of the game with hunched shoulders, Iggy saves his snarling best for last. But if those aren’t the words of someone who realizes he’s come to then end of a long road, then what are? A similar air of finality hangs over album closer “Paraguay”, which for the first two or three minutes lays bare his intention to ride off into the sunset in almost heartbreaking fashion. As such, “Sunday” rollicks and shakes with the kind of menacing swagger befitting the last of rock and roll’s tried and true bad boys.īut while Post Pop Depression is full of life, it’s also checkered with countless allusions to Iggy’s musical mortality. “I’ve nothing but my name,” he states with dead seriousness at the close of “American Valhalla”. “What is the problem if I disappear,” he asks on “In The Lobby”. Given this is an Iggy Pop record, there’s a certain sex appeal quotient that needs to be met. The duo delves in to Smiths-like indie pop on “Gardenia”, perhaps the record’s most uplifting track. If there’s one commonality between Iggy and Homme, it’s how both know how to walk the line between fun and seedy. It’s a record marked by various strains of strange, but that’s not to say there isn’t fun to be had. There’s a dark dose of Palm Desert in tracks like “American Valhalla”, with its cryptic xylophone intro, and the Spaghetti Western eeriness of “Vulture”. Given Homme’s hand in putting the record together, it’s little surprise that much of Post Pop Depression is colored with plenty of his main gig’s arid weirdness. “I’m gonna crawl under your skin.” Leave it to the master to turn an otherwise sweet sentiment luridly on its head. “I’m gonna break into your heart,” he sings. It’s a formula executed precisely on opening track “Break Into Your Heart”, in which Ig’s deep baritone treads over a twisted, echoey guitar. ![]() There’s a great give-and-take at play between the two collaborators, with Iggy’s dangerousness and raw sexuality meshing with Homme’s hypnotic guitar rock. The hush-hush affair, which also features contributions from Queens of the Stone Age guitarist Dean Fertita and Arctic Monkeys drummer Matt Helders, was kept well under wraps, and the record’s nine tracks deliver on the surprise. Instead, he and producer/collaborator Josh Homme take some surreal but invigorating steps out of his furious comfort zone. But rather than go down in a hedonistic blaze, the singer doesn’t take the obvious road out on Post Pop Depression. He started with the Stooges, and he’s devoted the last decade-plus of his career to bringing that band’s volatile sleaze rock into the 21st century. What else is there left to conquer?Ĭonventional wisdom would suggest Iggy would go out the way he came in. That all makes his 17th and potentially final record an incredibly hard act to follow. He helped jumpstart punk rock, merged seamlessly into garage rock and new wave, found chart topping solo success, and later found his way back to punk rock with the reunited Stooges, all while setting a superhuman bar for ugly rock and roll showmanship. ![]() At 68, Iggy hasn’t just turned over every possible stone, he’s decimated them all into a thousand pieces. That fact stings, but there’s a healthy amount of reality behind the King Stooge’s announcement. If we’re to believe the man himself, Post Pop Depression is Iggy Pop’s last romp through the rock and roll mire. ![]()
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