Sharing a cigarette and some feelings with Iggy Pop

Iggy Pop bummed a cigarette off of me at a Marianne Faithful show.  That silly Marlboro Light made me feel special.  A couple of years later in L.A., I finished swimming my morning laps.  On emerging from the pool there was Iggy Pop sprawled out on a lounge chair soaking up the sun.   After all, he is a lizard.  I quickly wrapped a towel around my hips, and approached him. “Excuse me Mr. Pop?”  We had a conversation about the lyrics to “Gimme Shelter.”  Monster Magnet was recording the song for a charity record.  The night before, Dave Wyndorf swore there were sounds not words in parts of the song.  Dave was flummoxed and asked me to get the lyrics for him.  That very next morning the rock gods presented me with a Speedo wearing solution specifically designed to address our dilemma. Mr. Pop conceded, “He’s right, there aren’t real words in a lot of that song.  If I can’t find words to sing what I feel I don’t use words I just sing whatever comes out.  Whatever I feel.  Tell Dave he can sing whatever he wants. But he has to feel it.” 

I haven’t had any conversations about the new Iggy Pop record Post Pop Depression.  I am surprised, given my past working relationship with Josh Homme who produced it, plays on it and is now touring with Iggy, but then again I’m not.  I don’t think most of my friends have actually listened to it.   The story might be enough- Josh & Iggy went to the desert...blah, blah, blah.  When Bowie produced Iggy’s records we listened to them, but that was before we could spend all our free time streaming on Netflix or Hulu or On Demand.  And look, I realize that by pointing one finger at you three are pointing back at me.  What the non-conversation about Post Pop Depression makes me think is that maybe all this hullaballoo about Spotify, Apple and Tidal killing music is nonsense because teenagers don’t pay for music and Gen X no longer listens to it.   Go listen to the record.  Like it or hate it, go feel Iggy.  The apocalypse, political, LGBT, trying to get by comedic guy/gal, or mobster thing you are addicted to will still be there by the time the 9^th song fades. I promise.

Iggy kicked off the “Post Pop Depression” tour in Texas.  The show’s opening lines were, “Hey baby we like your lips… All aboard for funtime.”  By the time the tour makes its way to New York in April funtime may translate into a 72-hour binge of “Game of Thrones.” I am going to see Iggy.  Not because of the obvious, well okay, yes because of the obvious.  Plus, I like to think that, “I just do what I want to do.”  On Post Pop Depression Iggy declares, “All I’ve got is my name.”  Mr. Pop, I can hit pause for that.

Blog the truth. Get caught in the lie.

I read an article today about a millennial who lied to his boss about a death in the family.  He needed the time off, really, to build a tree house, which he blogged about.  Of course his fellow millennials read the blog.  If you are a millennial, not a blog goes by unread especially if it appears on Medium.  Tree House dude got a slap on the hand and eventually praise for his marketing prowess.  I do love all the millennial companies with their sexy three or four letter names.  Or two names each made up of three or four letters.  In reality, I would like to work for one.  However, I began to think about what might have happened if back in the day we blogged the truth, and got caught in the lie.  

If I blogged that all those Motley Crue tickets were used for my brother's bachelor's party and not to take Nick Zinner and some other hipsters out on the town, how would my boss have reacted?  One of my very cool bosses sat in front of me signing off on travel requests.  He came to one and said, "this one's fake," signed it and moved on, but the lie was never rubbed in his face.  What would have the consequences been if I blogged about the fake request he signed off on: claiming to see a new and hopeful young band.  In reality I was heading for Memphis to see Dgeneration, when I no longer worked with them.  I even hopped the bus and travelled to Nashville for the next night's show. It would have been a good blog; I painted Danny's fingernails red on the journey to Nashville.  Good blog or not, I don't think I would have been slapped on the back for my marketing chops.

We live in a state of over share.  I remember when it was something I did on the phone with my best friends.  Now I've done it on this site.  There are like 200 people that I don't know who have insight into my sex life.  We've all done the Facebook cringe.  We tweet, snap chat, Instagram, vine, everything we do. We give ourselves no room to lie.  Everyone knows where we are all the time.  You cannot tell someone you are working tonight because they are going to see the photos you post on your FB page of the party you attended tonight.  And we blog stuff.  I like to blog.  However, I think when I have a desire to over share I am keeping a burner phone handy and programming it with direct dial to SlugLine.