One can Iggy Pop yeah really credit that he’s having Every Loser following the Leisetreter predecessor, which was often sold below value Free makes the plan once more”to beat the shit out of the listeners“. The only thing is that the really convincing songs are simply missing.
Where the basic attitude may be absolutely right – and the appearance of the 75-year-old indestructible is once once more amazingly energetic, even if his voice of course no longer has the power of before – the nineteenth solo album simply lacks the substantial substance.
Especially and above all the straight and simple rock numbers that want to hit the shit – the horrible call-and-response party
Not bad per se, that’s not – but also standardized run-of-the-mill stuff, whose announcement is more important than the songwriting, which does without really sustainable hooks and melodies – what the general enthusiasm in the feature pages over the long haul comes across as a compositionally attempted modular work Every Loser then the bottom line is really only through the brand Iggy Pop as a seal of quality on the 37 minutes.
The frame around it keeps the still neat charisma in the landscape Iggy with that of trend-modernist Andrew Watt (who, as a producer, once more has his bilious pseudo-[un]fat, synthetically soulless plastic trademark sound-imposes) put together backing band called The Losers – Duff McKagan, Chad Smith and Josh Klinghoffer – alongside a number of illustrious guests – the Jane’s Addiction-Crew Dave Navarro, Eric Avery and Chris Chaney as well Pearl Jam-Guitarist Stone Gossard, plus drummers Taylor Hawkins and Travis Barker – but where the record lacks an overarching aesthetic goal that virtually all records of the past two decades have had, and Every Loser meandering between its orientations, with a relative amusement regarding all the solid standards.
Strung Out Johnny (which, like all the numbers that blatantly exceeded the 3-minute mark, turned out to be too long) pleases with its comfortable and poppy leaned back mid-tempo including pleasant harmonies background and sparkling synthies, meanwhile the calmly grooving frame with cowbells New Atlantis with the sonorous voice of Shatner is more convincing than the Duchovny-Dadrock in between. The funky radio rocking danceability of All the Way Down would hardly have a right to exist without Iggy (Velvet Revolver or other high-gloss sleazers, one would never have let it go so benevolently) and gradually loses oneself in any cliché construction kit that is symptomatically catchy, but simply immediately forgotten once more and doesn’t matter. By no means to be overlooked: how might the withdrawn My Animus Interlude so brazenly stolen apparently without Mogwai-Go through credits?
Was Every Loser then saved by a hair’s breadth above average (but the revaluation between the points does not subjectively justify it, at least in the underwhelming moment while writing these lines) are the fleeting highlights of the record (and the sometimes really wonderfully grotesquely stupid lyrics!). Above all, the really beautifully revitalizing ballad Morning Showwhich once once more proves that with elegant harmonies Iggys with such an unmistakable voice, the cozy tendencies are now simply best: wonderfully soulful and smoky!
The flippant little Interlude The News for Andy at least sways lovable and the disco feeling driving through the Smithian 80s Comments makes jogging mood before the closer The Regency offers an almost gripping hook and leads to a conciliatory finale. Every Loser disliking following that is almost impossible – and with a less shitty production that doesn’t polish itself as much more symbiotically with the raspy voice of Pop would have tolerated as an addition, instead of counteracting them too bluntly, there would have been a (very) good record here (yes, one even thinks regarding it nostalgically by now Post Pop Depression). But as it is, Andrew Watt in all his functions remains the bone of contention of an all-round okay addition to the Iggy Pop‘s discography.
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