In the latter part of the '60s,as Detroit's racial tensions boiled toward riot temperatures,a bunch of underskilled colege-town burnouts plugged in their amps and created a crass and messy mixture of Motown's rhythmic heartbeat and John Coltrane's holy wail, adding deafening distortion via pre-pinball Who to arrive at an unprecedently brutal riff-rock.The Stooges--four dum-dum boys from the not-so-mean streets of Ann Arbor,Michigan,and nearby Ypsilanti--combined the transgressive antics of singer/perfomance artist James Osterberg(better known by his nom de rock Iggy Stooge) with fast power chords,ample feedback,and enough wah-wah to damage the chromosomes of listeners.Unlike the similarly straightforward, no-frills punk thud that they would inspire,however,the Stooges grooved and swang.Their dissonant attack wasn't merely heavy metal but something much funkier-noise,maybe,but noise raised to the level of art.Produced by John Cale,the Stooges' first album is a masterpiece (aside from the yawn-inducing proto-goth indulgence of the ten-minute-long "We Will Fall"), a perfect summation of teenage angst back when it didn't pay one thin dime.Armed with three chords and just one thing on its mind,the band rips through primal mating calls like "Real Cool Time," "Little Doll,"  and "I Wanna Be Your Dog," the ultimate anthem of sexual debasement and animal lust.Iggy reduces the most turbulent year in modern American history to a cant of utter boredom and alienation on "1969"("another year with nothing to do"),while "No Fun" 's numbskull haikus ("Maybe go out/Maybe stay home/Maybe call mom on the telephone") articullated the slacker ethos decades before such ennui was de rigueur.


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