Iggy Pop, Blondie, Generation Sex -Crystal Palace Park, London – 01/07/2023
Iggy Pop, Blondie, Generation Sex
Crystal Palace Park, London
01/07/2023
Live Review by Rory Bentley
July kicked off the gig calendar with the inaugural debut of the Punk all-dayer Dog Day Afternoon at Crystal Palace Park. It was a bill stacked with legacy acts from Punk’s heyday and topped by the legendary torso of the immortal Iggy Pop. If you like old Punk bands this is the day for you and as luck would have it I fucking LOVE old Punk bands.
After the typically harrowing battle across London to get to our air b&b in the stabby end of Croydon, I arrived with my long-suffering wife to the sound of The Buzzcocks tearing things up with a taut, boisterous set of Melodic Punk ragers. With the Sun out and a lukewarm can of extortionately priced Danish lager in my hand I couldn’t think of a better way to kick off a Saturday afternoon. The obnoxious fun of ‘Orgasm Addict’ and the melancholic, driving splendour of ‘Ever Fallen in Love (With Someone You Shouldn’t’ve)’ were particular highlights of a storming set from one of Britain’s finest Punk bands.
Belfast legends Stiff Little Fingers are up next and are quite frankly phenomenal, playing the archetypical festival set crammed to the gills with hits and delivered with ferocity and boundless energy that belies their advanced years. Jake Burns is on great form in every sense of the word, his voice still capable of ragged melodic power and his stage command more than up to whipping up the assembled thousands. Although the likes of ‘Tin Soldiers’, ‘Barbed Wire Love’ and a barnstorming ‘Alternative Ulster’ get fists flying and bodies moving, my own personal highlight was a beautiful version of ‘Doesn’t Make It Alright’ which was dedicated to the late Terry Hall. As a skinhead lad with strong Coventry connections (Apart from football-wise- Leicester til I die etc), I felt like sobbing all over my Docs and braces!
In recent years I’ve found it very difficult to enjoy The Sex Pistols, thanks entirely to John Lydon behaving like an embarrassing old edge-lord twat. Thank fuck for Generation Sex then, the Punk supergroup made up of former Pistols Steve Jones and Paul Cook and Generation X’s Billy Idol and Tony James respectively. As the opening riff of ‘Pretty Vacant’ chimes out the place goes fucking nuts and with good reason. The band are the perfect mix of tightness and the manic energy of their heyday and Bille Idol is Billie fucking Idol, mate. Idol’s voice has lost none of its soaring grit and hearing him lend his signature rasp to a feral version of ‘Bodies’ was a real treat. Likewise hearing the cantankerous Steve Jones sledgehammer his way through Gen X classics like ‘Kiss Me Deadly’ and ‘Ready Steady Go’ is equally fulfilling. The whole set feels like a massive raucous party and it’s great to see four old blokes bringing such a sense of genuine menace to what could have been a forgettable nostalgia trip. Closing things out with a scabrous version of ‘My Way’, stripped of the homophobic lines and now not sung by a talentless murderer, this was one of the day’s highlights.
Blondie’s setlist is fucking ridiculous. In an majestic hour of pure jubilation they peel out banger after banger after banger without a moment’s rest. Seriously, it’s borderline irresponsible to open with ‘One Way or Another’, ‘Hanging on the Telephone’, ‘Sunday Girl’ and ‘Call Me’ back to back! Birthday girl Debbie Harry adopts the role of life and soul of the party and stalks the stage with peerless swagger and coolness. Her voice may not possess the raw power it once had back in the day, but it does hold up surprisingly well as she makes the necessary adjustments to her delivery that means she never sounds strained or out of her depth. In fact ‘Heart of Glass’ is note-perfect even if her bizarre mirror-encrusted robe that she dons makes her look like Ziggy Stardust’s condom for a brief moment. The band are absolutely shit-hot as well, bringing intensity and some head spinning musical chops to these classic anthems, with ‘Atomic’ in particular turning into a pure shred-fest towards the end as everyone is reminded that despite their obvious commercial ear, Blondie can fucking Rock with the best of them when it’s time to throw down. Joyous!
If you look up the term ‘Bad Motherfucker’ in the OED there’s a picture of Iggy Pop right next to the definition. Or if there isn’t there should be, I don’t know- university was a long ass time ago. The man born James Newell Osterberg Jr. is as synonymous with Rock and Roll as Marshall amps and questionable life choices. The fact that the guy is still cranking out excellent albums like this year’s adrenalized beast of a record “Every Loser” is supremely impressive, the fact that he is still a live force that can go toe to toe with any of your favourite ‘new’ Rock frontpeople and knock their respective dick/clit/sexual organ of choice in the dirt is mind-blowing.
As the man bounds onto the stage, immediately shedding his leather waistcoat, it’s on. For the next 90 or so minutes he is a screaming, crooning, convulsing, gyrating, violent blur of motion and madness, peeling out Stooges classics like ‘T.V. Eye’ and ‘Raw Power’ with feral energy that shouldn’t be possible to conjure at 20, let alone 76 as well as louchely slithering through solo killer cuts like the mass singalong in ‘Passenger’. Just like Blondie, Iggy has assembled a touring line-up of absolute monster players, with his horn section being a particular highlight as they punctuate these discordant anthems with stabs of drama as well as pitching in with some raucous gang vocals. Better still, Iggy’s energy has clearly rubbed of on this gang of pros and they beat the absolute shit out of their instruments and prowl the stage with a similar ferocity to their leader.
‘Search and Destroy’ is devastatingly brutal, feeling like it’s about to fall apart at any time in the best possible way, and a surprisingly early showing of ‘Lust For Life’ feels so massive that it threatens to sink London under its sheer enormity. It’s fair to say that a bill stacked with bands of a certain vintage will likewise attract fans of a certain vintage in their droves, and it’s a long old day for those that are more grey in the mohawk by the time the headliner arrives, so you’d be forgiven for feeling a little drop in energy from the audience as the sun goes down, but not a bit of it. To witness the carnage that ‘I Wanna Be Your Dog’ unleashes as the moon rises over London is to witness pure lycanthropy, with Punks of all ages screaming the chorus back like crack-addled werewolves.
A scintillating encore that features a skin-crawlingly unnerving version of ‘Nightclubbing’ and a kinetic dash through new song ‘Frenzy’ closes out one of the best headline sets you’ll see this or any other summer. In an era where ageing rock stars mime their way through tired re-treads of once virile songs, Iggy Pop is as pissed off and wild as he was in 1969, do yourself a favour and catch him while you can.
LINKS:
Promoter:
Disclaimer: This review is solely the property of Rory Bentley and Ever Metal. It is strictly forbidden to copy any part of this review, unless you have the strict permission of both parties. Failure to adhere to this will be treated as plagiarism and will be reported to the relevant authorities.
