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Rating: THE REVIEW
MASS PRODUCTION
Were you looking for a reason to suppress the unbearable osmosis of industrial waste, and the pearl gray steam that taints the spotless sky. You were looking for the old key drenched in rust and dust, left who knows where for too many wandering years. New Frontier and American Dream outside that impassive door, of a hypothetical social inventory. But James was looking straight in the face at the whore who tormented his nights of dust and suicidal adrenaline. James, grab this awkward moment by the balls. Shoot the rainbow-colored TV masquerading as Judas and screaming in the voice of Nixon. The people said we were negative, we could take without the need to give..I just wanted some noise with the dum dum boys, and sing a dragged out da-da-da..' What do you care about the standardized common thought; you are a Jewel, remember that! Live and hope that the next one does not take away your lucid, suburban madness of an outcast. Live and shoot Uncle Sam, James, and fuck the President. Yes, fuck the dining companions of power: I want to paint on this chipped wall, slave to vomit and piss, your biblical end, a definitive Golgotha that annihilates the human moral apocalypse. David picked up the Michigan boy on the road. Son of the night flood that unveiled the post-'68 utopias and lost among enormous surges and frailties. He loaded him into the car, destination France. Chateau D'Herouville, then the cold Berlin winter of the Hansa Studios. The things were hard without the dum dum boys, I couldn't speak their language and I remember how they stared at the ground. Almost as if they could sink the entire world..' Sister Midnight managed to soothe wounds that had been bleeding for a decade. It was enough to call her, Sister Midnight, she felt your somewhat idiotic despair. A roof, a shelter for two shipwrecked souls hostage to an executioner's fate: Calling Sister Midnight, can you hear me call. Can you hear me well, can you hear me at all. Calling Sister Midnight, I'm an idiot for you..' The cold heartbeat of Nightclubbing is an electroshock with the fumes of Alomar's acid guitar: prelude to post-punk, a signal from a near future of 'unknown pleasures'. Like zombies after the Nuclear Bomb, we cross the deserted city, observing people never seen before. We are ghosts, walking drugged. Night passengers learning new dances, and ancient rites. Because Funtime still exists, a time to have fun among the ruins of a humanity that can only be artificial and nothing else. A glimpse, a bright new-wave blade penetrating the flesh of the present. But James had a sick heart, splashes of crazed blood on the walls. Now, little bastard, you watch the stars collide. And an empty and constant feeling, from which you cannot escape, binds your foolish soul. Like the tight laces of old shoes. You feel like wreckage without her gaze, a tragic Brando? Try to dream, filthy junkie. Don't you understand that you'll end up begging for the usual forgiveness, locked in a filthy toilet? Pray once again, worm. You're sick, and you only want your little China girl around. A fucking unconscious euphoria, and the peace of her stern eyes with complicit words: Shut your mouth, Jimmy. Shhhh..'
I'd stumble into town. Just like a sacred cow. Visions of swastikas in my head, and plans for everyone. It's in the white of my eyes, my little China Girl..You shouldn't mess with me
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Summary by Bot
This review praises Iggy Pop's album The Idiot as a haunting and innovative post-punk work filled with raw emotion and vivid imagery. It highlights the dark, industrial sounds and key tracks like Sister Midnight and Nightclubbing. The album is depicted as a powerful reflection on urban decay and personal struggle. The collaboration with David Bowie and the novel production are also noted. Overall, it is celebrated as a timeless classic fusion of punk energy and experimental artistry.Tracklist Lyrics Videos
Iggy Pop
Iggy Pop (born James Newell Osterberg Jr.) is an American singer and songwriter, widely recognized as a foundational figure in proto-punk through his work with The Stooges and a long solo career that includes the Berlin-era albums “The Idiot” and “Lust for Life.”23 Reviews
Other reviews
By Mr.Moustache
The vocal line emerges right away from its personal catacomb in 'Sister Midnight,' and you already begin to understand that what he is singing is Iggy Pop, not his image, just him.
'Mass Production' is a painfully slow ballad celebrating unconscious self-destruction, a journey mortally wounded.
By Blackdog
"'The Idiot' is an absolute, epochal album. Irritating in its modernity."
"James Newell Osterberg, aka Iggy Pop, had already understood that the risk was a dialogue between replicants."
By Bowie_mangione
"The Idiot, the little dog, the guinea pig of his magnificence David who worse than Faust sold his Stoogesian soul for Uncle David’s experiments."
“Iggy is so subservient to his deity Bowie that he sells his soul and face just to produce an album that has nothing to do with the stage beast he has always been since the days of the Stooges.”
By DonCallisto
It starts with a slow rhythm from a determined bass and cutting guitars... reminds me of David Bowie in Low, the first of the Berlin trilogy.
Most of you, at the minute 0:43 after 30 seconds of doubtful and disgusted faces, will say, 'what the hell is this crap?!?!'... But I highly recommend it to those who like Berlinese Bowie.
