Iggy Pop would take two tabs of LSD before a show (to get him in "the mood") and then during a chaotic performance by his band, The Stooges, the stage would be bombarded with beer bottles from irate punters. As the acid majorly kicked in, Iggy, no longer able to stand up, would writhe on the floor screaming his lyrics until his naked torso was covered in blood, carved open by the shards of broken glass from the audience's missiles.
If you throw in the long years addicted to heroin and virtually any other drug he could get his hands on, it seems a miracle that Iggy didn't go the way of Jim Morrison, Keith Moon, Brian Jones and other sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll lords of the swinging '60s -- to an early grave. The dude seems to have an iron constitution, or maybe a pact with the same devil as Keith Richards. And here he is, reminding us of his uncanny endurance with his 14th solo album, "Beat 'Em Up."
Of course, it's not the best stuff he's done. It doesn't come close to the albums "Funhouse" and "Raw Power" that he did with The Stooges three decades ago, records that sound fresher than 99 percent of today's rock 'n' roll music, albums which, even now, are glued to my turntables. In fact, buy them before you buy "Beat 'Em Up."