As you may recall, I have a sadistic appreciation for the greatest of all mid-performances failures: rockers falling off stage. So, I'm really quite miffed to have let aged punk Godfather Iggy Pop's latest entry into the pantheon of rocker vs. gravity failures slip past my radar until now. The incident occurred at last month's Tibet House benefit concert at Carnegie Hall. Pop pulled a Moses, parting the crowd as he heaved himself into an orchestra pit of journos and photographers who, despite lauding him for decades, failed to support him physically. That small collection of craven concert-goers have unwittingly fucked things up for those of us who would've caught the recent Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductee, as Pop has just told Rolling Stone's Austin Scaggs:
When I landed, it hurt, and I made a mental note that Carnegie Hall would be a good place for my last stage dive.
So, in addition to The Stooges continuing to tour, in spite of guitarist Ron Asheton's death, audiences won't even get take part in Iggy's trademark in-your-arms disregard of the fourth wall? That's shitty.
I don't know if such is still the case, but when I was growing up in Southern California, Axl Rose lived in a mansion nestled alongside Malibu's Latigo Canyon Road -- a winding mountainous thoroughfare, not unlike the one Slash careens off in a 1966 Shelby GT350 midway through the SECOND video for "Don't Cry." Just at the end of Rose's property-line, a cautionary sign warning motorists to "beware of falling rock" was posted with pitch-perfect irony. I'm not kidding. My heart would smile every time I passed it. I like falling rock, but not this time.
When you take this shameful image of these sad sacks scrambling for safety as a 62 year-old, 62 pound Iggy Pop lurches towards them, and juxtapose it with the iconic one below, of a Cincinnati audience holding him up like a God in 1970, the result is a depressing before-and-after, that one can't help but expect to see depicted on the tombstone of rock 'n' roll.