Gimme Danger

Iggy and the Stooges (Rock 'n' Roll)
iPod choice: The Stooges (1969) / Funhouse (1970) / Raw Power (1973) / Metallic KO (1974)



Sean was a real chancer. Born of high-powered Irish politicians, he was the black sheep of the family. We had a lot of adventures together, mainly in and around San Francisco and down the west coast to LA.

Like me, Sean loved Iggy Pop, and we listened to The Stooges, Funhouse and Raw Power as we drove around in his souped up Chevy. We both agreed we'd love to meet Iggy some day. "Ah, but he'd probably just tell us to fook off," said Sean. I had to admit he was probably right.

One time we were on our way to see Iggy play in San Francisco. Sean was out of his tree - Raw Power cranked on the car stereo - practicing his handbrake turns in front of the Paradise Lounge at 6^th and Folsom. Then, "for the crack", he said, he took off down Market Street in pursuit of some brothers, burning rubber and cackling hysterically. How the cops didn’t catch us I don’t know.

Another time we got thrown out of a biker bar in Hayward. As usual, Sean had managed to offend someone.

You don't want to do that in Hayward.

As we were leaving the bar we noticed some rough-looking dudes in the parking lot. They were trying to break into a truck with chains and crowbars. They eyed us threateningly.

Indifferent to the malevolence emanating in our direction, Sean enquired sarcastically if they needed a hand.

“Not now, Sean,” I prayed, “I'm too young and delicate to die.”

They growled at us menacingly, gesturing with their crowbars.
“Get outta here if you wanna leave with your wallets and your watches!”

We high-tailed it toute suite. Sean was rattled.

“Good crack, eh?”
“Are you kidding?” I screamed. “Those guys were gonna cut our throats!”
“No sweat,” said Sean. “Put Iggy on. Gimme Danger, if you please.”

We finally ran into Iggy himself in a parking lot in Santa Barbara. We'd just seen him perform a kick ass show in a tiny club on State Street. He was short and muscular, accompanied by a burly minder and two gorgeous blondes.

“Great show, Jim!” I shouted at Iggy, as he was climbing aboard the tour bus.
“Thanks, man” he replied.

"That was Iggy," gaped Sean.
"Yes, that WAS Iggy."
“And he didn’t tell us to fook off.”

Later that night we were on Route 101 heading for home, Metallic KO blasting on the stereo. Sean had his foot to the floor, both of us high as skunks.

Iggy’s bus passed us near Montecito, rolling south to LA. We were leaning out of the windows, yelling "IGGY!" as it cruised by. I don't think Iggy heard us, he was otherwise engaged, but the sign on the front of the bus said it all: Rock ‘n’ Roll.

Iggy & The Stooges, "T.V. Eye", live in Cincinnatti 1970: