Gimme Danger: The Story of Iggy Pop

this book is wild, right up there with victor bockris's books on lou reed and patti smith. joe ambrose has taken the bull by the horns and made a serious effort to understand iggy pop, career druf fiend, enthusiastic pro-Regagan Republican, and the maker of some of the finest ever punk rock records. as a lifelong fan of the Igster i was taken aback by some of the less acceptable facts in this elegantly written book but i was still glad to know those facts. i know joe ambrose and regard him as being a generally good and reliable writer with three great novels out. this stuf the drainpipe guy is saying is just sour grapes because joe has some negative things to say about iggy. disfunctional middle aged men like to idolise people like iggy or keith richards but gimmer danger is aimed at the more intelligent readers, interested in culture as much as they're interested in apocryphal tales of on the road excess and "important" ten minute guitar solos.

Gimme Danger: The Story Of Iggy Pop is the definitive biography of the "Godfather of Punk" Iggy Pop, perhaps best known for his outrageous stunts on stage, including self-mutilation. Scrutinizing closely a life that swung the pendulum from self-deprevation to extreme hedonism, Gimme Danger unfolds a potrait of a complex musician and artist whose career has left a permanent mark upon popular culture entertainment to this day. An expertly researched account, detailed to the verge of lurid, and recommended for anyone keenly interested in learning more about this charismatic yet unpredictable figure.

Actually, I haven't read this book, but I glanced at it in the bookstore to see how it decribed the Stooges' appearance at Max's Kansas City in August 1973. The Stooges were booked for four straight nights at Max's that summer. The performances started at midnight and cost five bucks. I took the Greyhound bus from Ithaca, New York to the Big Apple to see the Stooges play on the third night. As luck would have it, the show was cancelled because Iggy had rolled around in glass the previous night, thereby requiring stitches. Therefore, the third and fourth night's performances were pushed back a week to allow Iggy to recover. I returned a week later --- again by Greyhound --- for the third night's show, and sat in the second row to the left of the stage. I came back the next night. I arrived at 9 pm and guaranteed myself the best seat in the house. (Seating was not reserved.) While waiting in line, Mickey Ruskin, the owner of Max's, kicked some kid out of line because he said he was "on drugs." A guy behind me in line noted the irony and commented, "Kicked out for drugs from Max's Kansas City!?" Finally we were let in. The stage was upstairs. And there I sat, front row and center, knees rubbing against the tiny stage. Minutes later, James Wlliamson walks on stage with the Asheton brothers, and they kicked into the opening riff of Raw Power. Moments later Iggy comes hopping onto the stage...The show lasted 45 minutes. Iggy spent the evening diving over my head, onto my head, and standing in my lap....Toward the end of the set, I handed Iggy my Miller beer, which he proceeded to pour over his head. Therefore, I give the book 5 stars for decribing this incident on page 150 or so, but I delete one star for the implication that the beer was given to him from a side table when there were no side tables at the show. And in the paperback edition, I hope it has an index with my name in it as the provider of the beer......

Admit it. We're fascinated by a wreck on the highway and cannot help but look. It's the same way when reading about Iggy Pop. The book is most journalistic in its objectivity. And that ain't bad. Mr. Pop's story is quite sensational enough when told matter-of-factly. We sure don't need someone who is in love with the insanity and celebrity that embody this lifestyle. I genuinely enjoyed the book, having read it purely out of curosity more than anything else. I don't even own a single CD by Mr. Pop, although I'm certainly aware of his body of work, not to mention rock 'n' roll reputation for excess.So, like a multi-car pile-up on the boulevard, I hadta look. But at the same time my interest is laced with a sense of saddness and sorrow for those involved. I'll add this: it's probable that lesser rock mortals have died for far fewer indulgences. Some people can do whatever they want in this world, and there's no big penality.