Because I’m an insomniac vampire, I just listened to Iggy Pop’s The Idiot record four times straight through on the giant ’70s headphones while I wandered around the farmhouse (everyone asleep) and vaguely/noncommitedly “cleaned house”/drank Pabst/thought about Shelley/Byron’s death(s). The Idiot (Dostoyevsky-influenced) is one of two records Iggy recorded in 1977 with Bowie (the other is Lust for Life) and it’s the one of two everyone hates … besides the song “Nightclubbing” which everyone seems to love thanks to Trainspotting. (Did I tell you about the time I had lunch with Irvine Welsh in a Portland hotel?) BUT yeah, I think I finally “get it.” The electro James Brown slowburn vibes, Iggy’s Bowie ripoff yowl, the music that’s somewhere between the Velvet Goldmine soundtrack and My Bloody Valentine playin’ it “clean.” I get it. And I like it. And I think I’m going to play it again. 1:35am. 102 degrees. Cicada sound. Black-black night.