motor city's burning

Fun House is one of the nastiest records ever made.  A mere three years removed from the Summer of Love, and coming out of Detroit via L.A., the “songs” ooze with sweaty sex, and they conjure up images of burned-out factories, race war, and creepy-crawly drug freaks who come to your house in the middle of the night and cut you open.  Ron Asheton is not an especially accomplished guitarist in technical terms, but he has exactly the right feel for this type of music, imbuing it with its dark vibe by simply cranking things up all the way so that they create primal sounds that leave the listener feeling keyed up and edgy.  But it’s not an unpleasant sensation.  It’s actually quite freeing, all the more so because Iggy is that freakishly toned idiot savant who somehow makes nihilistic self-destruction seem appealing. Fun House is not a record anyone’s gonna wanna play every day.  But when you’re in one of those moods where you feel like you need to break someone or something, play this one real loud and get ready for an experience beyond catharsis…