Stooges Storm Sin City
(While the Stooges were out on the West Coast to do their second album, they decided to play a couple of gigs. The first was a gala press reception at the Whiskey Au-Go-Go, with wall-to-wall media, including Andy Warhol and entourage. Andy split in the middle of the set, why no one really knows, but it definitely wasn’t because he had any trouble with old wounds (at least not physically). L. A. is possibly the only other place in the world that could have nurtured a band like the Stooges (though it would then produce Alice Cooper actually) and it seemed only fitting to have a little note on the Stooges in the land of the plasticburger. So here it is. - Ed.)
The Stooges were a dare. We’ve heard of you, now let’s see how great you are. We’ve seen the best at the Whiskey Au-Go-Go. We’ve seen Little Richard swagger on out and Morrison fall. off the stage. Dare you Detroit boys to do better.
The musicians walked, no, sauntered on stage. They sat down. They started to play. Iggy walked on stage, dressed in faded, overwashed blue jeans, bare chested with long, gold encrusted evening gloves. Impressive? Well, perhaps, but let’s see some more.
Iggy started singing, moving, working, looking more like a Body Shop stripper than a musician. He’d grimace, then smile with eyes that played on physical contact. His attitude demanded attention, while the music said fuck off.
See me, watch me . . . you can’t help it.
The audience was there to gape, to giggle, to laugh. They were there to find truth or fiction to a hype-dream.
Iggy jumped down from the stage, claiming the area as his private property, defying the right of groupies and photographers to get that close.
The music had the remembrance of seeming sameness, but then who listens to the flutist when the cobra dances?