Apres

Deified during his lifetime by the press, which for four decades has capitulated to his obviousness, adored by a public that now only turns out in droves to see him, once again, roam and thrill stages that didn't ask for so much, godfather, almost in spite of himself, of alternative currents that he himself has decapitated, with a swipe of his teeth, with each rebirth, Iggy Pop is better than an artist in the breach. He is the breach.

Since "Préliminaires", we've known that Iggy can express himself in ways other than roaring on guitars raining splinters, other than howling gunpowder. All he needs is the urge. Driven solely by his artistic aspirations, and driven by a vital need to get to the heart of the matter, his course of action has led him to record, under French influence, artistically and from the heart, the dozen or so songs of this "Après", which rhymes with his present.

With his covers of "La vie en rose", "Everybody's Talking", "Syracuse", "Michelle" and "Et si tu n'existais pas", Iggy isn't trying to prove anything. He's simply pointing the other side of his personality towards the light, and leaving it to others to guess which is the darker side. A far cry from the wild, emotional rhythms he has chosen to express in another way. "Après" deserves to resonate, loud and clear, and in a different way.

With a voice as beautiful as it is deep, and one that stirs the guts, Iggy Pop appropriates these classics, tailoring them to his own dimensions and guaranteeing the thrill.