This show, in this venue, clearly represents long-overdue vindication for Iggy Pop: acceptance, artistic legitimacy, success. No one alive has paid quite as many dues as Iggy, or is more deserving of a place at centre-stage in this grand bastion of gilt-edged respectability, and he’s damn glad to be here.
From the moment he bursts on stage, to the pounding rapid heartbeat of Lust For Life in a firestorm of flailing hyperactivity, even veteran Ig-goers recognise this as no ordinary show. Iggy is on fire. Beaming his crazed ‘n’ kooky Alfred E Neuman grin, he waves maniacally at tier upon tier of mirrored delight.
By the second song (Sister Midnight) he’s stripped to the waist, beating his bare chest, and by the fourth (Sixteen) he’s stage-diving, crowd-surfing and bleeding from a head wound.
Just turned 69, this battle-scarred icon of outrage (fronting his finest touring band since his Bowie-bolstered resurrection of 1977) is in the full flush of another artistic renaissance. Alongside Queens Of The Stone Age’s Josh Homme – the lead guitar-playing focal point of tonight’s impeccable supporting cast – he’s currently enjoying the highest-charting album of his career with Post Pop Depression, and its fresh material shines bright in a set forged mostly in 70s Berlin. Brimming with more than enough confidence to dispense with his usual Stooges baggage, Iggy delivers a performance for the ages.
