Iggy Pop & The Stooges

Incredible. Iggy Pop in the deep south for the only Italian date of his world tour. The answer to anyone wondering how this national exclusive was possible in an area so far removed from the usual summer festival circuits lies entirely in the Meltin'Pot brand. A brand that, for some years now, has had the appealing idea of promoting its summer collections with free concerts in Salento.

And this year they really went all out. Not to be missed. Better to get there early. By three in the afternoon people are already there. Fans from all over Italy and beyond. The boredom of the long, sun-baked wait is broken by characters who look like they've stepped out of late-70s London, entertaining the crowd with their pearls of wisdom. This isn't a reggae concert, there's no eating and no sitting down. It's a punk concert. Because when you talk about punk, it's impossible not to go back to the three sublime albums by Stooges, which in the space of four years quietly upended the world rock scene. Quietly because, despite not enjoying the spotlight, honors and glory like other contemporaries, they laid foundations without which it's impossible to imagine a different fate for dozens and dozens of willing and unwitting disciples in the decades that followed.

The show opens with a slick, sci-fi stage set, a bit out of place and ill-suited to the standards of an Iguana show. But there's still more waiting to be done... After the odd Japanese duo Yumi Yumi and Sweden's answer to the Gallagher brothers, Mando Diao, the long wait is finally over. The piazza in Melpignano, usually packed for the Notte della Taranta, is ready to welcome the Iguana onto the stage.

The usual skinniness. Cocky gaze. Inevitably bare torso. Low-slung jeans. Extremely low-slung, in fact. Underwear on show. Too uncomfortable for a fifty-eight-year-old. The showman greets the crowd, yelling and hopping about. Finally, the ride begins. The opening is fiery, with the two opening tracks from "Funhouse", but in reverse order from the album. First "Loose", which anyone who'd come for "Lust For Life" might have mistaken for "Smoke On The Water", then "Down On The Street". Utterly vicious. Cruel. He writhes. He thrashes about like a man possessed. He climbs onto the amplifier. The microphone forever roaming. But it's not just acrobatic showmanship on his part. His voice is warm. Frozen in those rotten, unrepeatable years. "1969". Nostalgia. Dazzling. He bends over. Crouches down. The Iguana starts to bark. Even those who'd come for "The Passenger" will have gotten the hint by now. The anthem "I Wanna Be Your Dog" arrives merciless, after two seconds of thrilling silence before its immortal riff. Impossible not to scream along, even though there isn't an inch of free space, lungs and stomach crushed between the crowd and the barrier. The solo sends chills down your spine. He's uncontainable. Bouncing left and right like a loose cannon. Always with his faithful microphone, tortured beyond belief. His trousers start slipping down a few more inches.

His stage presence has a magnetism all its own. It overshadows the marvels of the Asheton brothers, whose stage presence is, by contrast, nonexistent (Scott relentless on drums and Ron with his muddy guitar), and even those of Mike Watt himself, less flashy without his big moustache (though his dry, thunderous bass lines remain flawless as ever). At times they seem to be amusedly watching the reptile's show. There's no respite. The songs come one after another in a breathless whirlwind. "Tv Eye" is a tornado. The Iguana turns into a wildcat. "Bella Italy. Afanculo". The most reflective moment of the night comes in the toxic blues of the emblematic "Dirt". A performance that only the other highlander, Jagger, could match at a similar age.

He takes a bit of a breather, because with the pairing of "Real Cool Time" and "No Fun" it's utter mayhem all over again. He gestures to the crowd to break the barriers and climb onstage ("Do you wanna break these fuckin' borders?"). Security, backed up by a squad of riot police (anarcho-insurrectionists spotted in the crowd, these days...), doesn't understand (English) and tries to hold back the flood of people trying to reach the stage. Iggy insists, "When I tell you to get up here, fucking get up here", then turns provocatively to the cops: "Don't worry, guys". He asks for water and spits it at them. Four or five manage to get onstage. Moments of glory. The police keep catching stage invaders who, often roughed up, are thrown back into the crowd. Iggy, so to speak, pours water on the fire, reading out an unlikely banner with enviably good pronunciation: "Fuoco alle galere". Even Bjorn from Mando Diao and the Yumi Yumi singer get mistaken for stage invaders and are removed. Bella Italy, Iggy. The end of normality. So much heat. Bella Italia. Steve McKay's sax in the urban charge of "Funhouse" and the harshness of "1970" get us back on the ride.

The recent "Skull Rings" and "Little Electric Chair" are met with less enthusiasm. As has become standard since the acclaimed reunion, songs from the third chapter of the Stooges saga, "Raw Power", are once again left off the setlist. Probably because it was a period of tension, a prelude to the split, or perhaps because the Asheton brothers, never having been able to stand its producer, David Bowie, prefer to close the book on it for good. As it happens, the best of the new tracks, "Dead Rockstar", is quite close to the Thin White Duke's vocal style. Though in the chorus it turns hard and pure, dispelling any controversy. A fine finale with the suffocating pairing of "Not Right" and "Little Doll". His trousers keep slipping further and further down. Bordering on the obscene.

And then the final farewell with the sax-driven reprise of the anthem that sweeps everything away. "Now I wanna be your dog". Screaming, screaming and more screaming, never tired. Unsettling high notes and warbles bring the show to a close. Ears will be ringing for quite a while. A flash lasting an hour and a half.

If Thom Yorke sings in "The Bends" that "we hope that something will happen, and I wish it was the 1960s", those who were there can say that for an hour and a half, the dream came true.

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