Surely this wasn’t a Toronto audience. But there they were — about 75 thirty-somethings, crying tears of joy to “Real Cool Time” and “No Fun,” ecstatically pogo-ing onstage at Iggy’s behest. Some were even jumping off the balconies to get in on the action. Ushers also had their hands full, breaking up any auxiliary dancing going on in the aisles (it’s apparently forbidden on the hallowed ground that is Massey Hall). And despite there being more music critics-per-square-inch present than at a free SXSW BBQ, our city’s notoriously staid music fans were giggling like schoolgirls at the sight of the reformed Stooges.
Earlier on, Toronto hardcore kingpins Fucked Up also couldn’t disguise their giddiness at landing such an auspicious booking. But this hadn’t stopped stout singer Father Damian from roaming the still-empty hall with a wireless, announcing that he was Iggy Pop and that he’d “let himself go.” And despite his sudden reluctance to balcony dive (“it looks a lot higher up here than it did from down there,” he joked), these high-octane punks proved themselves worthy successors to the Stooges’ legacy.
Not that the Stooges were at all shabby for a bunch of old Detroit geezers. Running onstage, the shirtless, sinewy and twitching Iggy owned the room, despite his advancing years and plumber-crack-revealing leather pants. But it was the incendiary, caveman-style guitar playing of Ron Asheton — literally frying the ears of those directly in front of the P.A. — that really made the band roar. At one point, Iggy actually went and turned up Asheton’s amp, imploring the soundman to turn it “louder, louder,” bringing the din to even more (gloriously) painful levels. Boiler suit-adorned bassist Mike Watt and drummer Scott Asheton also sounded flawless, despite having had all their gear ripped off the night before in Montreal. One can only presume the Gibson Lounge came to the rescue.
“Ladies and gentlemen — the Toronto dancers,” Iggy announced as the happy throng was finally ushered off the stage. “We’re all famous now.” It’s a pretty ballsy move, inviting a mob onstage mid-set. But after hearing the bulk of The Stooges and Funhouse albums — “Loose,” “1969,” “I Wanna Be Your Dog” et al — no one in the audience seemed to mind a short punter-clearance break.
Original Funhouse saxophonist Steve Mackay — who Iggy almost body-checked off the stage — emerged for the second half of the set, which began with “1970” and soon devolved into the cacophonous “L.A. Blues.” Alas, this is also where songs from the maligned recent disc, The Weirdness, finally surfaced. But in this context, “Trolling” and “I’m Fried” fit in quite well – especially when “Search and Destroy” and “Little Doll” were strategically placed between them. And after several encores and sweaty excursions into the audience, Iggy and company finally finished with a scorching rendition of “Little Electric Chair” (from Iggy’s 2003 Skull Ring album).
Looking somewhat stunned as they filed out, numerous people could be heard muttering that they could die happy now. You also got the sense that, once this tour wraps up, the Asheton brothers will be saying the exact same thing. Ah shucks, everyone just loves a mushy ending.