Soldier
Iggy Pop

Joe (You thought the leaden winter would bring him down forever...) Fernbacher, Creem, 6/80


Now here’s a nostrum for the hebetude of the ages. This giddy splash of sonic-comedy for the nonce sets aside Iggy Pop’s overly publicized after-image as the vitriolic paramour of the much sought after punk ethic. Iggy, long the brooding, self-destructing looking glass image of the desperate 70s, has lifted the veil of pretense surrounding the darker aspects of rock’n’roll attitude and has launched himself into the 80s on tsunamis of laughter ’n’ satire. Surf’s up!

On Soldier, Iggy’s cadaverous berceuses are replaced impishly with vulterine wit and crisp vignettes of comedic bellicosity. Anyone who doesn’t realize that Iggy’s been rock’s only comedian since the beginning really doesn’t understand the inherent humor of rock’n’roll and the inherent brilliance of the Pop’s constant excursions into the pawky parody that underscores the basic textures of rock’n’roll. The minute you begin to take the music, the poses, the business of rock seriously, you no longer possess the primordial spark of attitude which created rock music in the first place. The minute you take Iggy seriously is the minute you cease to really understand the real pain and torture of his sneering psychology.

Raw Power was chock full of the kind of gallows humor you’d expect Alfred Hitchcock to crack a smile to; Fun House was about, what else, fun--the only recurring theme and serious aspect of Iggy’s philosophy. Fun being the true brotherhood of opiated release keeping a majority of humanity from crossing the river Styx (the mythology, not the group) into the cinerous regions of conformity and automaton delight. Fun is serious business. Even the Ig’s much acclaimed New Values had flashes of laughter ranging from the self-parody of “I’m Bored” and “Girls” to the outright musical slapstick of “African Man.”

Soldier has all the yuks of a Jackie Vernon album and the quick wit of Henny Youngman doing a three minute skit on a telethon for deranged Lithuanian midgets. For those who are going to decide that this album isn’t good because it isn’t laced with fiery rock damnations or physically abusive power canvases boy, are you missin’ the proverbial boat. If you want doom and demise go buy the new Styx LP or the latest Public Image; if you want something that’ll lift up your spirits in a paroxysmal display of rock beauty then Soldier is the drug prescribed by rock’n’roll doctors everywhere.

All the Pop-toons on this album are beau ideals of berserker hedonics. Starting with the opening vociferation of “Dog Food,” which is self-parody mixed together with outright cynicism on the aseptic punk stance, the Ig hits the id with an image of Lorne Greene subliminally flashing across the Twonky-eye decked out in the sparse fashion of a Soho punkite: a torn T-shirt sporting a burning map of the Ponderosa, crusty, shit-stained leather chaps, a safety pin stuck snuggly in his cheek, seated atop a squirming Hop-Sing while supping on a can of high-yield Alpo.

“I Need More” is about the intrinsic danger of the American dream. It’s a fat song about the desire for overabundance. The Ig tells us that we all really want as much as we can take, we want to distend our psyches with “More future/more laughs/More culture/Don’t forget adrenaline/More freedom...”. “I Snub You” is a barcarole bump into someone on the street. These two songs and the absolutely crushing “I’m A Conservative” (in inner look into the philosophy of the Incredible Shrinking Man), are the aces in this deck.

All the Popographs on Soldier abound with this insane cackling; and all the Popographs on Soldier abound with an energy that’s a welcome relief from the ergless tundra currently spreading through the music biz like some incredible green slime in search of an identification fix. This hecatomb to kicking up the mental heels and sayin’ “Whoopee” is a well received dose of lighthearted medication. It only stands to reason that what the Ig should record next is a disco-ized version of Red Buttons’ “Ho Ho Song.” This record makes me smile.


© Joe Fernbacher 1980

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