Iggy Pop has said Post Pop Depression is to be his final album. Whether that’s true or not remains to be seen, but it feels like an odd note to go out on. There isn’t an air of finality or grand statement about it – either of his French-themed albums, Préliminaires or Aprés, would have seemed a more fitting end. Instead there’s a sense of stepping slightly off to the side. It has been compared to his David Bowie collaborations of the late 70s, but in its dry, rock-that-isn’t hard sound, it more closely resembles the 1979 album New Values. At times the dryness draws attention to Pop’s shortcomings: his voice sounds almost like a caricature of itself now, and his lyrics aren’t always the sharpest: Vulture is a metaphor about corporate men (“His evil breath / Smells just like death / He takes no chances / He knows the dances”) that would make a 14-year-old proud. Collaborator Josh Homme, who couldn’t walk past an empty crisp packet without laying down a couple of tracks with it, offers backing tracks that shine only occasionally – the shimmering Gardenia, the insinuating American Valhalla, the funky Sunday. It’s never poor, but never quite scales the heights you want. It’s a shrug, and Iggy Pop should never incite shrugging.
