it's primal scream - raw sweat and testosterone.
Scott Asheton's drums pound like the hammer of some weird Norse god waging war in a Detroit abattoir whilst his brother Ron eviscerates bloodied strips of flesh from the carcass with dumb-slashed guitar riffs. Meanwhile Dave Alexander, rooted to the killing floor, plucks out deep, sonorous bass notes.
And above all this chaos Iggy screams for his life.
There are certain times when nothing but 'Fun House' will do.
Here's what Iggy says ...
'You see, what sounds to you like a big load of trashy old noise is in fact the brilliant music of a genius, myself. And that music is so powerful that it's quite beyond my control and ah ... when I'm in the grips of it I don't feel pleasure and I don't feel pain, either physically or emotionally. Do you understand what I'm talking about? Have you ever felt like that? When you just couldn't feel anything and you didn't want to either. You know? Like that? Do you understand what I'm saying sir?'
Yes Sir, I do indeed.
