The Copernico High School in Pavia was born about 20 years ago from a branch of the prestigious Taramelli High School and was gifted at birth with a very peculiar structure, a typical example of the results of 1980s architecture—an agglomeration of corridors, bridges, and walls with large windows tangled among themselves and impossible to describe.
Not too long ago, I attended this high school on a daily basis, and to pass the time during the boring lessons, we invented some amusing and playful games.
Listening to the first CD by the Stooges reminded me of that time when the teacher, thanks to yet another news story (probably the story of erikaeomar), talked to us about the unease an adolescent might feel, obviously with misplaced words. The very next hour, we hung a big poster on the window overlooking both internal and external corridors, with "Youth Discomfort" written in large letters—an utterly pointless and ironic joke that the principal himself ordered us to remove within ten minutes because it was not very politically correct.
All this anecdote serves only to demonstrate the relevance of Iggy's early words, singing about nothing less than the youth discomfort in American suburbs, which is at least as bleak as that of the Po Valley in terms of recreational activities.
The Stooges vented their typically adolescent anxieties in this frenzied, abrasive, misogynistic rock'n roll album, a summary of lessons from the Doors, Velvet Underground, and the lascivious echoes of Hendrix's guitar. It becomes a pillar of rock'n roll because it takes into account all the problems of youth with desperate, raw, and abrasive guitar distortions, without unnecessary frills, developing them in a fiery live context where Iggy plays the role of the exalted fool quite well, appearing sincere even as he dives into the sweaty tangle of the crowd or grinds the microphone into his intimate parts.
It seems pointless to dwell on details like the producer or other various trivialities because it is above all the honesty, pure feelings, and disillusionment with which this album was played that will be hard to replicate.
Well it's 1969 okay
All across the USA
It's another year
For me and you
Another year
With nothing to do
Last year I was 21
I didn't have a lot of fun
And now I'm gonna be 22
I say oh my and a boo hoo
And now I'm gonna be 22
I say oh my and a boo hoo
It's 1969 okay
All across the USA
It's another year
For me and you
Another year
With nothing to do
Another year
With nothing to do
It's 1969
So messed up
I want you here
In my room
I want you here
Now we're gonna be
Face-to-face
And I'll lay right down
In my favorite place
And now I wanna
Be your dog
Now I wanna
Be your dog
Now I wanna
Be your dog
Well c'mon
Now I'm ready
To close my eyes
And now I'm ready
To close my mind
And now I'm ready
To feel your hand
And lose my heart
On the burning sands
And now I wanna
Be your dog
And now I wanna
Be your dog
Now I wanna
Be your dog
Well c'mon
Oh gi ran ja ran ja ja ran....
Tonight
I'll hold myself tight
I won't fight, I won't fight
Then I whisper to me
Then I whisper to me
Then I 'll lay right down
and I 'll lay right down
on my back
on my bed
in my hotel
and I'll be in love
Well, all night, all night
and in the mornin' I'll be ready
To see you, to see you
Don't forget to come
Room 121
Don't forget to come
I'll be shakin' I'll be tremblin'
I'll be happy, I'll be weak
And lI'll love you, and lI'll love you
And we'll fall to sleep
We'll fall to sleep
Six o'clock, dong, dong
real far, real far
good-bye, good-bye, good-bye
No fun my babe
No fun
No fun my babe
No fun
No fun to hang around
Feelin' that same old way
No fun to hang around
Freaked out for another day
No fun my babe
No fun
No fun my babe
No fun
No fun to be alone
Walking by myself
No fun to be alone
In love with somebody else
Well maybe go out, maybe stay home
Maybe call Mom on the telephone
Well c'mon, well c'mon
C'mon c'mon
Now Ron, I say Ron
C'mon an lemme hear you tell em
Lemme hear you tell em
Now I feel
I say lemme hear you
Tell em how I feel, yeah, my man
No fun to be alone
It's no fun to be alone
Hang on
Don't you lemme go
It's no fun to be alone
To be alone
Can I come over tonight?
Can I come over tonight?
What do you think I wanna do?
That's right
Can I come over tonight?
I say we will have a real cool time tonight
I say we will have a real cool time tonight
I say we will have a real cool time tonight
I say we will have a real cool time tonight
I said we will have a real cool time tonight
I said we will have a real cool time
We will have a real cool time
A real cool time tonight
You took my arm and you broke my will
You made me shiver with a real thrill
You took my arm and we walked along
Down the road to a quiet song
I looked into your cool cool eyes
I felt so fine, I felt so fine
I floated in your swimming pools
I felt so weak, I felt so blue
Ann, my Ann I love you Ann
My Ann I love you right now!
Little doll I can't forget
smoking on a cigarette
In my life a real queen
prettiest thing I ever seen
Uh-huh
You're the one who makes me sing
Bring happiness and everything
you're the only real one
A real way to have some fun
Uh- huh
But I don't know you little doll
I don't know you little doll
Come on shake
Come on shake
Come on shake you little doll
Shake you little doll
Come on.... shake
come on shake
Shake you little doll
The music world receives one of the most violent punches in the stomach ever delivered, and it does so in a totally revolutionary way: this is punk.
Iggy Pop sincerely declares his deviance: no one had ever been so radical.
A pagan rite of initiation into the music of the devil, the album without which probably no one would have ever talked about a certain 'punk rock'.
8 tracks for a total duration of just 35 minutes [...] episodes that alone are worth as much as an entire album from any rock band today.
You don’t wash. You smoke. You do drugs. You dance like madmen. You don’t go to Church. Ever. Aren’t you ashamed?
Those damn rockers, they had done it without our knowledge, the biggest folly of their lives: They had listened to a Stooges record.
After this record it’s over for everyone else, there’s no more room for anyone.
Don’t you want to turn up the volume to the maximum and blast it even louder, wishing that your amplifier and speakers explode?
Distilled anger, anguish, personal abysses and animalistic, fierce, lust for life.
The black cover with yellow writing and those 4 faces, 4 ghosts from the sewers of Ann Arbor.