He doesn’t take any prisoners, and his performance included a couple of spectacular dives from the stage, and climbing an amplifier stack as well. “Gimmie that girl” he commanded at one point, and she jumped willingly from the crowd to indulge in a spot of simulated sex on stage. There were lots of reciprocal dives onto the stage too, showing that with this kind of performance the artist/audience divide is broken down, the roles reversed and shared, until the audience become performers and the performer their audience. There’s the ever present ‘Will he or won’t he get his knob out?’ question, but of course we know he won’t really (could he stand the headlines in the Evening Herald?), but that’s what makes the show good humoured campy cabaret as well as dangerous psychotic rock.
The encores included ‘Louie Louie’, and ‘Wild Thing’ segueing into an a cappella rendition of ‘My Funny Valentine’.
If the great Glam Rock film was ever made, it would have Lou Reed as screenwriter, David Bowie as director, and star Iggy in the lead role. “That’s the best concert I’ve ever seen,” opined my companion as we left. My ears were still buzzing the next day. If you were foolish enough to miss one of these shows, you should get into self-mutilation, and ritually disembowel yourself because of the shame and regret you should feel.

First published in The Big Issues