As she is doing it, she is listening to music through Spotify, which most people her age do rather than download or buy physical product. She is playing The Stooges “I Wanna Be Your Dog” I can hear it through her door from the adjacent kitchen as I wash dishes. She repeats the song. When it was over, she repeats it again, then again. I finally knock on her door and say, “You know, there are plenty of great Stooges songs besides that one!” She opens the door, looks at me slightly embarrassed but then defends herself. “I’m listening to the Iggy Pop anthology and this is the only song I like. The rest of it is too poppy, like The Ramones”
I slightly gasp. Not that she couldn’t be any more wrong about The Stooges but she based her opinion from Iggy Pop's Anthology? It’s like basing a writer's’ entire work on CliffsNotes. I told her to listen to the entire Funhouse album from beginning to end. I remember that album scaring me. It was so raw, so bluesy, so primal, that I knew by listening to it that my life would never be the same. I was right. It was like a hex or voodoo, maleficio, a Fukú, something, was put on me once the first notes of that album played on a cassette player in my friend’s car. I remember listening to Iggy's guttural screams, Ron Asheton's complete mutilation of his guitar, the unrelenting trance that was the rhythm section and thinking, "Wow" Not to mention the free jazz sax on some songs, altogether it was a mind-blowing experience for my young head.