Iggy similarly benefits, double and even triple-tracked, his voice covering a range of frequencies only an (I wanna be your) dog could properly appreciate, arch-punk over tattling sniveler over chewed microphone. For the first time, the Stooges have used the recording studio as more than a recapturing of their live show, and with David Bowie helping out in the mix, there is an ongoing swirl of sound that virtually drags you into the speakers, guitars rising and falling, drums edging forward and then toppling back into the morass. Ron Asheton has switched over to bass, joining brother Scott in the rhythm section, while James Williamson has taken charge of lead the power trio that this brings off has to be heard to be believed. Even the “love” songs here, Iggy crooning in a voice achingly close to Jim Morrison’s, seem somehow perverse, covered with spittle and leer: “Gimme Danger, little stranger,” preferably with the lights turned low, so “I can feeeel your disease.” Hovering around the same kind of rough, unfinished quality reminiscent of the Velvets’ White Light/White Heat, the record seems caught in jagged pinpoints, at times harsh, at others abrupt. Raw Power is the pot of quicksand at the end of the rainbow, and if that doesn’t sound attractive, then you’ve been living on borrowed time for far too long. breakingglass Forum Resident Location: Atlanta All links point to a 2023 remaster now Raw Power (Iggy Mix - 2023 Remaster) This is the first I’ve heard of it breakingglass, 3 mikmcmee, ChromeHead, Cool hand luke and 3 others like this. There are no compromises, no attempts to soothe or play games in the hopes of expanding into a fabled wider audience. Well, we all have our little lapses, don’t we? With Raw Power, the Stooges return with a vengeance, exhibiting all the ferocity that characterized them at their livid best, offering a taste of the TV eye to anyone with nerve enough to put their money where their lower jaw flaps. At their last performance in New York, the nightly highlight centered around Iggy choking and throwing up onstage, only to encore quoting Renfield from Dracula: “Flies,” and whose mad orbs could say it any better, “big juicy flies … and spiders….” The band shuffled personnel like a deck of cards, their record company exhibited a classic loss of faith, drugs and depression took inevitable tolls. For awhile, it didn’t look as if they were ever going to get close again. They haven’t appeared on record since the Funhouse of two plus years ago. Others tiptoe around the edges, make little running starts and half-hearted passes but when you’re talking about the O mind, the very central eye of the universe that opens up like a huge, gaping, suckling maw, step aside for the Stooges. Nobody does it better, nobody does it worse, nobody does it, period.
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