Don't know how to take Avenue B's opener "No Shit" -- as profound revelation or self-serious laffer. Over some Twin Peaks strings, the former rant-and-raver ponders his middle-age like some dude on his death bed. "It was in the winter of my 50th year when it hit me," Iggy croaks, as though reading from a dusty diary. "I was really alone, but there wasn't a hell of a lot of time left. Every laugh and touch that I could get became more important. Strangely, I became more bookish, and my home and study meant more to me as I considered the circumstances of my death. I wanted to find a balance between joy and dignity on my way out. Above all, I didn't want to take any more shit, not from anybody." Pretentious and ponderous -- say farewell to relevance, old friend.
Next up: "Nazi Girlfriend," whom Iggy wants to "fuck...on the floor among my books of ancient lore." She can't cook, she's elegant, she wears two crosses "tangled up," and she ain't dumb -- just a Nazi girl who stole his heart and his talent. And then: "Avenue B," rendered as lounge-pop paean to Pop's old stomping grounds in NYC -- lotsa organ and acoustic guitar ramblings set to a shuffle-skuffle beat. "Rappers standing on the corner," Ig begins and ends, because damned if I can make it 53 seconds into this dreary neighborhood. Afraid of getting mugged by formerly interesting musicians looking for spare change and stale ideas.
Later on: "Afraid to Get Close," a 59-second strings-and-things interlude in which Ig admits he's afraid to get close to people and afraid not to, followed by "She Called Me Daddy" ("I didn't touch her in bed"). Lord, there's nothing in this world worse than an aging punk trying to make amends, come to grips, confess in public; just because it's important to you doesn't mean anyone else gives a shit. Closest thing to a "rock" song: "Shakin' All Over." Fuck, it barely twitches.