That morning I was driving to work happy. There indeed was a smile on my face, and some weird naïve internal happiness was coming from the deep down of my poor little soul. I felt like life was good, even when it really wasn’t, and I was just fucking happy like a child is happy. This wasn’t an average morning, and my mood on an ordinary morning while driving to work is rather pissed. Iggy Pop played in my car, “I am a passenger, and I ride, and I ride…” blasted from my speakers as I’ve was driving into the morning madness of work and school traffic and all those poor schmucks who were out there just like me, early in the morning trying to make it happen for them. I didn’t care for them, I barely cared for myself. But I was trying to make it.
I was a poor fucking immigrant who somehow ended up working for a company that I despised for everything they did, everything they stood for, and I hated all those fuckers I had to face every day in the office. The reason I was happy that morning was that Iggy Pop was in town, and I was going to see his concert later that day in downtown Philly. The one and only, the mean and cool, the Godfather of Punk, Iggy fucking Pop, was on tour with his new band, new music “Post Pop Depression,” and I would never miss the chance to see that show. It was a great fucking day for me at once, and I still recall that great feeling four years later.
I’ve listened to Iggy Pop’s music all day long, at the gym in the morning, and at work in the office while working. Even listening to his music made me feel different, made me feel like I don’t give a fuck, made me feel like all the lost souls feel than they find themselves desperate and misunderstood. It was a Friday, the fucking long-time coming Friday of April 15, 2016. I usually didn’t have too much work to do on Fridays, but that one was pretty fucking occupied. I didn’t mind. I had plans for the night, I had a concert to go to and needed the time to pass by as fast as possible.
My boss called me up to his office around ten o’clock.
“Hey, John, how are you?”
“Hey Phil, I am good, thanks. How are you?”
“I am good, thank you. Hey listen, I wanted to ask you to work on this report today. You showed me some numbers yesterday, and I just need to dig deeper and get me some more details on the data we have. I need a deep dive here. Can you do it for me?”
“Sure, why not? I’ll work on this today. I think I have most of the data, I’ll append a few more things to it, and I should be able to get it.”
“Ok, thanks, that would be great. Work on this today, and we can talk about it on Monday.”
“Ok, sounds good, Phil. Anything else?”
“No, that was it. Can you call Karen here, please?”
“Sure, I will do it. I’ll see ya later then.” Said I was leaving the office and calling Karen to stop by the boss’s office per his request. He was doing this every time. He would call each of the four of us on the team and talk about what we are working on, give us some more work to do and then, especially on Friday’s he would quietly leave the office around lunchtime and never return. He was the boss; he could afford it. We were fucking peasants, we needed to get all the work done and to show up for that job every day.
The boss left before lunch that day, and I felt an immediate relief knowing that. Also, Iggy Pop was playing tonight, and I was getting all pumped up and excited. I did not bring any lunch, I thought, fuck it, I’ll go to the sports bar near the mall and get some lunch and beer. Boss was gone, I didn’t have anything to worry about. I also bought a pack of cigarettes for me, just for tonight. I quit smoking two months prior, but I would resume briefly for this great cause. I felt like I was missing my deadly bad habit so much that I couldn’t wait to smoke the first cigarette. At twelve o’clock, I logged out and went downstairs and to the parking lot, to my brand-new Honda Civic, I’ve leased myself on my corporate paycheck. I went to that ‘Wings’ place near the mall, and it was pretty crowded. I got a table by the bar and ordered myself a fucking excellent, greasy burger and a glass of beer on tap. I’ve missed all those bad things since I started my health kick a few months back, and today was a good day to break all the rules. I felt that a little punk deep inside of me was pulling some strings.
I finished my lunch and felt all kinds of happy and fully paid my check and went outside. Now it was the time to smoke a long-time coming cigarette before returning to the office for the remaining half-day of bullshit. I opened my car, got a pack out, and pilled the cellophane off. I smelled the cigarette, and it brought all kinds of great memories along with the smell of organically grown tobacco, which I felt like it would be a healthier way of smoking. My hands were shaking, I felt like I am about to do something I shouldn’t be doing, but I was still going to do. I put a cigarette in my mouth and lit, dragged, and puffed the first cloud of smoke out without inhaling. The second drag went into my lungs all the way. Iggy played in my headphones, and the nicotine was getting into my system smoothly, the punk inside of me was slowly waking up.
Back in the office, nothing special happened. I was trying to get busy with shit just to pass the time. I knew I shouldn’t finish anything today; I knew nothing was urgent anymore, and I knew that tonight is going to be a great fucking night.
“Do you have any plans for the weekend, John?” my coworker asked me out of the blue. She was bored as well and wanted to shoot the shit for a little while. I didn’t mind.
“Yeh, actually I am going to a concert tonight. Iggy Pop is coming to town.” I said enthusiastically.
“Oh, yeh? He’s still around?”
“Yeh, it seems like he’s still around. He’s just released a new album, pretty cool actually.”
“Oh, I didn’t know. I used to listen to Iggy Pop back when I was young. I used to have one of his albums on vinyl.”
“Cool,” said I, realizing that this conversation has no future.
“Ok, have fun at the show.”
“Thanks, will do. You have a great weekend yourself.”
“Thank you.”
At 5:00 pm sharp, I’ve logged the fuck out of the system and started to wrap my shit up. Hiding everything into my drawer.
“Have a great weekend all, said smiling and mentally hitting the road the fuck out of New Jersey.
“Have a great weekend too, John.”
“I’m sure I will. Thanks!” Were my last words and I got out of the building, fast walking towards my new car.
I had to stop by a Wawa to pick up some snacks and soda, and I had to stop by a liquor store to pick up some booze. I thought about whiskey for tonight. I’ve picked up a bottle of “Red Label” and drove off toward the highway exit towards Philadelphia. Life was good, I felt good, Iggy was playing loud through my car’s speakers and the evening sun was shining into my face.
The traffic wasn’t too bad, and I was in Philly reasonably quickly. The City was getting crowded with people moving around, coming home from their jobs, going out shopping or for dinner, or just going out to hang. The Academy of Music theater where the concert was scheduled was in the heart of Philly, and that heart was busy pumping tons of people and cars in and out all day long.
I’ve stuck at the light at the Market street by the City Hall, and the white limo SUV drove past me and also stopped to my left. I’ve turned my head and saw a silhouette through the tinted window, a very familiar shape, the head with long flat hair. It was Iggy driving right beside me in that limo. There was no doubt. I stared at the limo for a minute as I tried to see more through the tinted windows, but all I could see was the evening sun shining through the black silhouette, and then we parted ways. The limo passed me and went around the block towards the venue. I had to go all around again and try to find a parking garage in this insane City on a Friday afternoon. In the next five minutes or so, I was driving by the Academy of Music Theatre, and I saw two tour buses parked right next to the building with Florida license plates on. These were Iggy’s busses.
I was lucky to see a PARKING sign to my left-right across the street from the venue. I’ve flicked the left turn signal and made the turn. There were a few other cars ahead of me in the line. It was still early, about one hour before the show, so I knew I had some time to get fucked up in the car. This was my concert tradition. I always came to the show with my own booze and snacks, and that was ritual, my pre-show party. That was my kind of Rock ‘n’ Roll lifestyle.
Cars ahead of me were moving slowly, and that always drove me crazy. I thought, fuck them. Let me pour myself a drink while I am in this annoying Parking Garage traffic. I’ve got my Red Label bottle, opened it up, and poured some into a disposable red Solo cup. I opened a can of Cola and mixed it up. The lovely bobbles came up, and the beautiful smell of whiskey and coke was in the car, hitting my nasal passages with all its aroma, reminding me of long-forgotten drinking days. I’ve sipped some. It was too strong but felt good. Life felt good for a moment, and the traffic didn’t seem so bad anymore.
I’ve parked at the most convenient spot. I was always trying to find a place the least seen by the people and cars driving by. I’ve got a bottle of booze, and I was drinking in the car in Center City. That was out of the fucking line in any city. I’ve opened the sunroof and pre-opened my front windows so the fresh air could come in. I’ve poured myself another drink or remixed the previous one, opened a bag of chips, and ate some. I was happy and excited for the show. I was glad that this event gave me an excuse to go out of line temporarily, after a long time since my sobriety. After the first cup was finished, I thought I needed to smoke a cigarette. I went out of the car. The cigarette felt much better than the one I’ve smoked before. All cigarettes felt much better after an alcoholic beverage.
There were a lot of cars with people dressed up nicely coming in one after another. They couldn’t possibly come for Iggy’s show. No fucking way. There must’ve been a wedding or something next door in one of the hotels. Those nicely dressed men and women in fancy cars just came one after another. I was getting drunker with every sip, and I felt better. I thought I could write a story about this event someday. All these nicely dressed people in all those fancy cars came to see the Iggy Pop show. They all were dressed up in their fancy suit uniforms and then took drugs and got wild and crazy. The show went wild, and all those ladies started to take their dresses off and show their tits and asses. I was fucking going off the rails with that little fantasy. I saw them all happy and smiling, just driving by, not paying any attention to me drinking in my car, looking at them, thinking about them this crazy shit. Writers always have plenty of crazy fucking thoughts and ideas in their heads. My head was going deep into that unknown world of fantasy and bullshit.
I’ve poured myself another drink, sipped to try the volume. It was just perfect. I was getting hammered alright. Iggy and the Stooges playing loud made me feel great. The punk inside me was up and ready to go crazy as I filled him up with booze and smokes.
At one point, I felt a bit sad. Why was I the only one so excited about this show so much? Why was I the only one in my car drinking with myself? Where were my friends? Where was anybody? People came and went throughout my life. I’ve always had plenty of friends. At some point, I thought that things will always be this way. There always will be someone to hang out with to share your pain and happiness and drinks with cigarettes. Now I felt lonely and kind of fucking stupid, but what could I possibly do now? There was no way of changing anything at the moment. I could drink more and smoke more and forget about everything and everybody. On the one hand, it was sad to be here just by myself, but on the other, I used this time to reflect on my own life and what happened to me, both good and bad.
I was in my late twenties, and according to human biology, I was supposed to be an adult by now. Back in my college days, I thought about this time that I will be a successful somebody, that I will achieve something at that age, and I would know for sure what to do with my life. In reality, though, everything was different. I wasn’t successful, I did not know what to do with my life, and I felt more confused and puzzled as I’ve matured, feeling myself cornered at every angle of life. My job required more skills then I had, my health was giving me a second to last chance, my long-time girlfriend wanted to get married and have kids, and I was never ready for that commitment and responsibility. I wasn’t getting where I wanted to get in my life. I’ve lost all sense of direction, and I didn’t have any goals set up. My mind was dealing with the day to day reality, refusing to take me at least one more step further into the future.
I wasn’t learning or aspiring to do anything.
I was thinking about becoming a writer a lot lately, but that could’ve been just another fantasy of mine that never come to fruition. I wasn’t trying to write much of anything. I wrote a few poems here and there and nothing else. I wanted to have a life where everything will only depend on me and not on anybody else. I thought that the writer’s life was so much like that. I remember my English class, where we studied the life and works of John Steinbeck. In that class, I felt a bit romantic about the whole writing affair. I thought that I would be cool to be a writer and live my life how I wanted to live and travel and do shit that ordinary people never do and then write about all that. Recently I’ve discovered Charles Bukowski, another writer who went from hell and back to become and be a writer for life. After reading his poems, I felt like this is indeed what I wanted to do in my life. But was that it? Or was this just another failure of mine? Will I ever find myself? Am I the only one lost in the weeds of life? Maybe that is why this rebel music was so appealing to me? Maybe that was why I was looking forward to this Iggy’s concert-like somebody is looking forward to the second coming?
I checked my watch; it was fifteen minutes before the show started. I finished my drink and ate some more chips. I was hungry, but the booze and chips fed me up. It was time to go. It was time for the show. I’ve been waiting for this moment for a very long time, and I’ve never been to Iggy’s concert before. My ticket was in my jeans pocket, I’ve got my pack of cigarettes, I.D., a few dollars for beer chasers and I was ready to go. I locked my car up and walked towards the garage exit. After sitting in a car and now walking, I felt that alcohol was really affecting me.
I was able to walk alright, but I felt like a different human being. I’ve crossed the street and saw a line of people forming before the entrance. I pulled a pack of cigarettes out of my pocket and lit one up, blowing the smoke forcefully up in the air. I felt invincible. It’s been a while since I drank and or went to a concert for that matter. The cigarette felt great, and I felt great. It was getting darker as the sun was down and the street lights were lighting up the Broad street with its warm and yellow lights. The cars were driving by with people picking at the crowd next to the Academy of Music, wondering what was going on in there tonight. I’ve smoked and looked around. The City lived its own life. It was pulsing with all those people, cars, restaurants, bars, people walking and driving around, talking, laughing, smoking, smiling. I was part of it, and it felt great. I’ve missed the City. It’s been a while since the last time I’ve been here, and since the last time, I’ve partied in the City.
I took my spot at the end of the line after I finished my cigarette. The line moved fast, and about 7 minutes, I was already inside. I decided to get a beer right before the show because I wasn’t sure if there would be an opportunity to get anything. Also, I didn’t want to miss any songs. I wanted to hear them all. I wasn’t sure if there would be any warm-up or anything, so getting there early, I wasn’t surprised why there were so few people. There was a warm-up indeed, a girl who played a violing pretty fucking cool. But the whole act looked boring to watch. I just sat there and drank my beer. I’ve got the cheapest seat I could get on the very top of the theater balcony but right in the middle. I could see everything, but everything looked too fucking small. Anyways, I wasn’t there to stare at shirt-less Iggy and his old man’s body moving, dancing, and jumping across the stage. I was there for the music. I was there to wind down my day, my week, and all my worries.
The warm-up act finished in about forty minutes, and the girl with a violin was gone just as she arrived. The stage crew started to prepare for Iggy. The crown was long-time ready for Iggy. More and more people came and took their seats and were all boozed and happy and ready to go wild. So was I. I went to grab another beer since I have finished my first, and I felt like I need another chaser right before the show.
The lights went out, then went back on as the curtains opened, and the band appeared on the stage playing the opening to the “Lust for Life.” They sounded tight, they sounded fucking great, there were no discrepancies, every note played loud and clear and sounded just like if not better than the record. This was my first Iggy Pop show. I didn’t have any expectations, but since the opening minutes of the show, I knew this is going to be a great fucking gig. Everyone in the band was wearing the same uniform – a suit with black shirts and red jackets. They had the stage moves, all moved synchronically in the rhythm with the beat waiving their guitars left to right. The crowd was getting excited. A couple of minutes into the show, Josh Homme announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, Iggy Pop!” Iggy showed up on the stage wearing a black tuxedo without the shirt, of course, jumping and jerking and moving sporadically across the stage, making his “Iggy moves” with his body and arms. The crowd went fucking wild. “Here comes Johnny Yen again with the liquor and drugs…” Iggy started to sing, and the Academy of Music turned into a wild fucking rock show with all their fancy balconies and chandeliers.
I was right, this show was fucking great, Iggy was fucking great, and the band was the best live band put together I’ve probably ever heard or seen. I forgot about the worries I had in real life almost immediately. I was happy as a person can be happy, as a child can be happy with the pure ease of mind and unpretended smile on my face. It felt that evening that all the problems didn’t matter, they were not that important, they should never dictate how I should feel and how I should live my life. All my problems just disappeared. It felt like “fuck all that.” It felt like freedom of the mind and soul, and I felt like a free man for once. I haven’t experienced those feelings for a very long time or maybe never. There was always some sort of establishment looking over my shoulder, the guidance, and rules and taught behaviors and supervisions throughout my entire life. I never knew what it was to be free and not giving a fuck about anything in life, just for a moment, just for one fucking evening. I did forget all my worries, job problems, career problems, love problems, money problems. I forgot that I was getting more drunk with every sip of my beer, and it just made me feel so much better.
I thought about Iggy’s life and how in the fuck is he still in such a great shape and has so much energy. All his insane energy has become the energy of the show, and everyone was getting fucking groovie. Iggy took off his jacket and threw it carelessly on the floor before the first song ended. The crowd went crazy. The girls in the first row were going mad. Iggy’s old body and skin forgot how ancient they were, and his body pretended they it is the body of the twenty-year-old. No alcohol and drugs have ruined Iggy so far, and nothing ever will. Some people just get better with age, some people only project life and energy and a strong spirit of an influential person that is just contagious. Iggy was that person. I felt a little sad when Iggy sang “China Girl,” which reminded me of David Bowie, his closest friend, and one of my favorite artists who died earlier that year. The best are always gone too soon. That song was written together by Iggy and Bowie back in their Berlin days. These were the artistic and creative resurrection days for both Iggy and Bowie, that’s why the material was written back then was always special to both artists and their fans.
“Oh, this was fun to see you. Fuck all …. problems, fuck! I need to say fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! … The crowd picked that up and started to chant along with Iggy. The Academy of Music has never seen or heard anything like that. I’m sure these fancy walls will never be the same again. “That’s great!” Said Iggy smiling and pointing the mic into the crowd as everyone was getting their “Fuck” in. “At this ahh… at this point in my life, I’m starting to ask questions.” The crowd laughed. Iggy was getting somewhere with this. “And one of the questions is this. For people who are brave, for people who are ready to fight, where is American Valhalla?” Iggy turned around and walked towards the back of the stage, dropped his jacket on the floor again as the band started to play “American Valhalla,” a track from the new record. Iggy turned around and started to sing.
I felt like I needed another beer, and I left after that song, I could get out quickly and get some. My shit was out luck, they stopped selling all booze something like forty minutes before the end of the show. Fucking Academy of Music. I was pissed. What I drank this far kept me going pretty well, and then it started to evaporate. I turned around and went back to my seat. I’ll stop by at some bar after the show. I really felt like I need more alcohol in my system. Iggy continued to play. He did a few stage diving that evening, then he walked into the crowd and sang with the people, he was that down to earth.
Right before the end of the show, Iggy had a little speech to make. As he was talking and the band lined up on the stage, I decided to take a picture with all of them. For whatever reason, I had a flashlight on, and when I took a picture, the flash went off in the semi-lit venue, and Iggy caught it as he looked up, and it seemed like my only camera went off.
“Hey, you fucker up there with your fucking phone and flashlight!” Holy shit did I felt embarrassed. Not sure that anybody knew who he was referring to, but I felt shameful as fuck. I needed to leave. I felt like I was burning, I did something so stupid that I wanted to disappear from where I was. Holy shit! Iggy finished to say what he wanted to say, and the band bowed to the audience. People cheered and clapped, and everyone was satisfied. This was a great show. A great fucking show! And I just wanted to fucking leave. After some minor traffic exiting the building, I was outside inhaling the fresh evening Philadelphia air along with my cigarette, thinking about how great this fucking concert was. It wasn’t too late, just about eleven and change, and I’ve decided I wanted to grab that fucking beer I wasn’t able to buy at the show.
I walked along the sidewalk down the Locust street towards the Sixteenth, where I found a bar. It was crowded as shit inside. I was able to find a place at the corner of the bar. I’ve got myself a Heineken and just sat there looking around. I thought it would be great if I meet somebody. There were a lot of young, good-looking girls around. They all have a company and somebody to talk to. I was in there alone, and I was not in the mood for talking with anybody. “An infamous novice writer sits alone in the crowded bar and doesn’t talk to anyone. He is too cool or too unfit for humanity. Also, he could be just an asshole.” Maybe I was just an asshole, but I felt weird relatively quick in that bar. I started to imagine other visitors at the bar are looking at me and thinking about how strange it is to sit there all alone on just a busy Friday night. Maybe this guy is a creeper? Maybe he’s a maniac. I’ve finished my beer, left a couple of bucks for a tip, and left. It was good to be part of social life for an evening, but it was time for me to go home, to return to my normal life.
I strolled towards the garage, smoking another cigarette, thinking about how great it is to just walk around the busy City at night and not giving a shit about anything. The air was fresh even though there were plenty of cars driving around. I felt like a brand-new human being. I felt like I will remember this day for a very long time. It was indeed a special day in my life. I opened my car and turned the engine on. Iggy played on the speakers, and I drove off home, a happy man for once.
P.S. A week later, on April 21 it was Iggy’s birthday. Happy Birthday, Iggy Pop! I dedicate this story to you in honor of your birthday. Four years after that show and I still remember everything like it was yesterday. I can still feel the tremendous fucking energy I’ve received that night. I hope there will be another Iggy Pop show in this life, and I will have a chance to see before it is all over. Thanks, Iggy.