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Rating: 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
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 Sister Midnight (04:19)
Calling Sister Midnight
You've got me reaching for the moon
Calling Sister Midnight
You've got me playing the fool
Calling Sister Midnight
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
Calling Sister Midnight
I'm a breakage inside
Calling Sister Midnight
Calling Sister Midnight
You know I had a dream last night
Mother was in my bed
And I made love to her
Father he gunned for me
Hunted me with his six gun
Calling Sister Midnight
What can I do about my dreams
Listen to me Sister Midnight
You put a beggar in my heart
Calling Sister Midnight
You've got me walking in rags
Hey where are you Sister Midnight
Can you hear me call
Can you hear me well
Can you hear me at all
02 Nightclubbing (04:14)
Nightclubbing we're nightclubbing
We're what's happening
Nightclubbing we're nightclubbing
We're an ice machine
We see people brand new people
They're something to see
When we're nightclubbing
Bright-white clubbing
Oh isn't it wild?
Nightclubbing we're nightclubbing
We're walking through town
Nightclubbing we're nightclubbing
We walk like a ghost
We learn dances brand new dances
Like the nuclear bomb
When we're nightclubbing
Bright white clubbing
Oh isn't it wild...
03 Funtime (02:54)
Fun
Hey baby we like your lips
Fun
Hey baby we like your pants
All aboard for funtime
Fun
Hey, I feel lucky tonight
Fun
I'm gonna get stoned and run around
All aboard for funtime
Fun
Last night I was down in the lab
Fun
Talkin' to Dracula and his crew
All aboard for funtime
Fun
I don't need no heavy trips
Fun
I just do what I want to do
All aboard for funtime
Fun
Baby baby we like your lips
Fun
Baby baby we like your pants
All aboard for funtime
Fun
Everybody we want in
Fun
We want some we want some
All aboard for funtime
Fun
Baby baby we like your lips
Fun
Baby baby we like your pants
All aboard for funtime
05 China Girl (05:08)
I couldn't escape this feeling with my China Girl
I'm just a wreck without my little China Girl
I hear her heart beating loud as thunder
Saw the stars crashing
I'm a mess without my China Girl
Wake up mornings, where's my little China Girl
I hear hearts beating loud as thunder
I see stars crashing down
I feel tragic like I was Marlon Brando
When I look at my China Girl
I could pretend that nothing really meant too much
When I look at my China Girl
I 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
I'll ruin everything you are
I'll give you television, I'll give you eyes of blue
I'll give you men who want to rule the world
And when I get excited
My little China Girl says
Oh baby, just you shut your mouth
She says shhhh
08 Mass Production (08:24)
Before you go Do me a favour Give me a number Of a girl almost like you With legs almost like you I'm buried deep in mass production You're not nothing new I like to drive along the freeways See the smokestacks belching Breasts turn brown So warm and so brown Though I try to die You put me back on the line Oh damn it to hell Back on the line--hell Back on the line Again and again I'm back on the line Again and again And I see my face here And it's there in the mirror And it's up in the air And I'm down on the ground By the way I'm going for cigarettes And since you've gotta go Won't you do me that favour Won't you give me that number Won't you get me that girl Yeah, she's almost like you Yes, she's almost like you And I'm almost like him Yes, I'm almost like him Yes, I'm almost like him Yeah, I'm almost like him
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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.
