Iggy Pop
Beat 'Em Up

THE REVIEW

This album scratches the skin and brings out the monster inside you.
A bit like in John Carpenter's "The Thing," imagine being hit by a bus, and the doctors are trying to revive you with a defibrillator... you suddenly open up your belly, toothy, and eat their hands.

Ah, Iggy is always Iggy, even when he makes less successful albums like this one, which seems to have come out of the mind of Body Count, remember them?
Anyway, between one riff and another, there's always time to raise your armpits and scratch noisily to the rhythm of "You're wearing a mask, you're wearing a mask..." Otherwise, we can talk about "Howl": the call to gather the pack of wolves, the fight for the female with feathers on her head; icy guitar flashes and the Iguana howling like Bacchus in heat, a sick Bacchus holding a chalice and looking at you sideways saying "'nammo a scupà?".
Iggy is the master of the joy of being human, of being able to talk about one's own odors without being ashamed, of expressing oneself with the strength of the glutes alone.
Listen to "All Shit" to believe it: a declaration of intent where our man confirms a sad reality: it's all a colossal shit... everything.

Well, actually the more I listen to this album, the more I realize that it's this that's crap...
madonna what a disjointed album! Well, in fact, it's rather weak, the songs are written left-handedly, and the mess of guitars doesn't cover up the lack of ideas... But who cares? The Iguana is always the Iguana and for this reason alone you must own it like one owns a twenty-year-old girl: gently from behind and without too many compliments.
Nothing else matters; this abortion is worth more than 300 albums by the Strokes or similar groups, rest assured... and then where do you find a blonde guy at 60, perfectly blonde; does he dye his hair?
Yes, maybe he does dye it, but this artist remains a god... bah, I've lost the desire... could it be this sluggish album?
The choice is yours, connoisseurs!