Review Summary: The more things stay the same, the more they stay the same.
Assessing the legacy of Iggy Pop is rather complicated. By and large, the veteran vocalist has mostly coasted off his innovative (and legendary) work in the late 60s and 70s with both The Stooges and his own solo career, popping up every three or four years since to deliver his own mediocre brand of whatever’s currently popular (or to my fellow Brits, advertise dodgy insurance companies). Fast forward then to 2016, and we get to Post-Pop Depression - the Josh Homme-produced career revival no one saw coming, with Iggy sounding fresh (for a man approaching 70 anyway), rejuvenated and ready for a late-career renaissance. Unfortunately, it’s looking more and more like that album was just a brief moment of inspiration.
Every Loser starts off reasonably decently with the two pre-released singles Frenzy and Strung Out Johnny, but quickly devolves into mediocre garage rock revivalism whose modernisation is almost entirely reliant on the occasional buried synth line in the background or nod to new wave aesthetics or songwriting. Those tracks that lean further into this style (New Atlantis, Comments, The Regency) end up being the half-bright spots across the record, at least in contrast to the recycled and generic golden oldies garage stylings of Modern Day Ripoff or the beyond awful Neo Punk. Iggy’s vocal performance across this record also contributes to its mediocrity - the bland monotony rarely showing even glimpses of the larger-than-life personality and brand he’s cultivated for himself over his half-century career.
The most prevalent issue however is lyrical rather than musical - the album is littered with the kind of vulgar sleazeball lyrics that sound ripped out of the mind of the creepy uncle at family reunions whom parents have to warn their teenage daughters about. The aforementioned black hole of artistic integrity Neo-Punk is a prime example of this, the seedy and distasteful refrain of “Got a cuss on my voice, I’m a neo punk // Got a spot on the voice, I’m a neo punk // Oh, ladies come and flash my junk” whilst repulsive, seems uncomfortably cultured next to the faux-adolescent barrage of crassness that is Frenzy, opening with such gems as “Got a dick and two balls, that’s more than you all // My mind will be sick if I suffer the pricks.”
Beyond these surface-level assessments there is little to discuss, because this album offers nothing beyond surface-level intrigue anyway. Where once there was optimism brewing around new Iggy Pop projects, it is now replaced with a dejected acceptance that this is likely the standard going forward. Maybe it’s too much to expect for a man in his mid-70s to be cognizant enough about the current musical landscape to release something more culturally relevant, but with Iggy’s success with his radio side gig championing new and exciting alternative sounds, it’s hard to explain Every Loser’s lack of inspiration.
