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Iggy and the Stooges


The Authorized and Illustrated Story of the Stooges book cover

Despite my day-to-day guise as a verile, pugnacious, veritable man-of-the-people Union leader, you don’t have to slip slide yer footwear into one of my dark alley hideaways in order to discover my not-so-secret lifetime vocation as a certifiable Doctor of Igology, as a perpetual pupil forever steeped in The Ways of the Stooge, as a knee-bending pulpiteer awash in the dirty but divine light of The Bleeding Church of Raw Power.



After many years of being a full shoe-gazing participant in the sweaty-palmed carnival of freaks known as rock fandom, I’ve come to realize  that Ultimate Sin # 1 a band or artist can commit in the eyes of those-who-know is to blow away fringe or cult categorization and actually score a hit, i.e., create a song or an album that sells. Committing that Ultimate Sin # 1—achieving a modicum of popularity—will result in posters being torn down, websites shut off, compact discs tossed away, while also unleashing a steady, whiny, siren song that generally goes “He/She/Their not half as good as they used to be when I saw ‘em play in front of twenty college kids and a coupla half-zonked rock scribes at the cool daddy rock club that’s now a Starbucks.”