Iggy Pop – Post Pop Depression

So ... when did you come of age with Iggy Pop? Did your ears first meet Iggy in 1969 as I did, was it 1973, or was it in 1977, when a song about a enger sent your fingers rushing to dial the radio station to see who was singing.

I’ve lived nearly my whole life with Iggy, I’ve lived nearly my whole life attempting to like his music, his theater, his character, and his vision. Yet after all this time I still find Iggy Pop to be nothing more than a novelty, with a mere handful of songs that I enjoy. So why in the world would I think that Post Pop Depression, especially claiming it as his swan song, complete with Queens of the Stone Age in tow, would be any more, or any different.

People would like to tell you that there’s something raw and hedonistic about Iggy Pop, and for mere moments that’s true ... but those moments come on fast and and are just as fleeting. Here we are, stepping into the 21st century, and Iggy Pop is attempting to doing the same old shtick he did in the latter half of the 20th century, and doing it not nearly as well. Post Pop Depression is not something I even care about, much less hold dear to my heart, praising the powers that be, thrilled and saddened in the same moment that I’m holding a new Iggy Pop album in my hands, and knowing it will be the last.

Most music rags are afraid to tell you they don’t like the album for whatever reason ... but I’m not. MOJO gave it page after page and talked only about the secret nature of the release and Iggy’s Rolls Royce. Rolling Stone talked endlessly about the old Iggy and his emergence with the Stooges. Iggy tells us that he likes the songs, and so do some of his friends; though he says it in a less than convincing manner. Make no mistake about it, Post Pop Depression is not bad because it’s the music of an old man, it’s also not bad because of its association with Queens of the Stone Age ... it’s just bad because it’s a grouping of songs presented in a manner that’s irrelevant. If Iggy had one thing going for him, it was that he was a one trick pony and you always knew what you were gonna get. But this, this is Iggy trying to be relevant, and failing utterly. He might have well recorded with Primal Scream, they couldn’t have helped him make it any worse.

The album has a feel of desperation laced with incomplete thoughts, structured to guide the listener nowhere. This is not punk, this is not 21st century punk, this is frustrating musical purgatory that will not last for more than one or two playings ... truly post Pop depression. Here we find Iggy Pop making the rounds with Josh Homme, each hoping to gain some credibility from the other, just as Iggy so transparently did with Lou Reed, David Bowie, and a host of others. There’s no search and destroy here, there’s also no psych punk Queens of the Stone Age ear splitting anthems, it’s all slightly affected nervous energy, injected with a spirit that belays the end of a roller coaster ride ... no hills, no downward plunges or sharp curves, just the jittery end of the ride stop and dis-embarkment.

Review by Jenell Kesler