The Rolling Stone Interview: Iggy Pop

Were your parents concerned about your behavior as a kid, to the point of taking you to a doctor?
You're asking, "Were there early warning signs of Iggy Pop?" [Laughs] Not at home. But in the third grade, I had a very stern teacher, Mrs. Bordine. I don't remember what I did, but in front of the class, she tied me to my chair with red twine. She tied it around my trunk, arms and legs -- for a significant period. I must have been fidgety that day. But were my parents worried? No.

I always felt that in rock & roll, something's gotta happen. I liked that word -- happening. If it wasn't going to happen in front of me, I was going to make it happen. I actually tried not to repeat myself. They say it was Stiv Bators [later of the Dead Boys] who handed me the peanut butter [during the Stooges' famous, nationally televised set at a 1970 festival in Cincinnati]. "He's strange, we'll give him peanut butter." That wasn't in the repertoire. But people started bringing it to the shows. I was like, "No, I'm not gonna fucking play with your peanut butter." I got involved with stuff that had some corny overtones. But I was never a corny thinker.

You have an unusual background by Detroit working-class-rock standards.You grew up in a trailer park, but your father was a college-educated high school English teacher.
My parents had been shocked and impoverished by the Depression. It made them careful and frugal. At first, as a teacher, my father made no money. So he got the idea of living in a trailer park. The rent was a dollar a day for the plot. I slept over the dinette, on a shelf. We were definitely the only college-educated family in the camp.

Once I hit junior high in Ann Arbor, I began going to school with the son of the president of Ford Motor Company, with kids of wealth and distinction. But I had a wealth that beat them all. I had the tremendous investment my parents made in me. I got a lot of care. They helped me explore anything I was interested in. This culminated in their evacuation from the master bedroom in the trailer, because that was the only room big enough for my drum kit. They gave me their bedroom.

Are there aspects of your father in you -- as Jim or Iggy?
Yes. Nobody's going to tell me what the fuck to do. And I don't like bullshit. Also, I like quiet -- less people around as opposed to more. He was that way.

And your mom?
She was unusually generous and nice to everybody, a person who sought harmony and equality in situations. I have some of that. I don't function well when there's conflict. I'm very nonconfrontational. People use "confrontation" a lot to describe what I do professionally. But that's one thing. Life's another.

When did your parents first see you play with the Stooges?
We did the Michigan state fairgrounds with the MC5. They sat in the grandstand. I had a fairly wild gig -- things thrown back and forth between a couple of audience members and the band. I saw my parents later and asked them about the gig. My dad, who had played some minor-league baseball, said, "You remind me of young pitchers I used to coach -- lot of speed, no control." But my mom didn't want me to feel bad. She said, "When everybody stood up, your dad climbed up a pillar, so he could get a better view." He was at least interested.

So they were aware of what you got up to onstage.
Oh, yeah. I did a show in the town where my dad taught. I broke a bottle over the mike stand -- I thought it looked cool. One girl who was particularly demonstrative in the front got a couple of minor cuts from the glass. She was holding her arms up in the spotlight. Blood was dripping down; she was screaming. There was a little ruffle in the household over that, because it was written up in the paper: POP GOES THE BOTTLES -- BRING BACK ELVIS. But nothing worse came of it. It was somewhere in the petty-infraction zone.