Those of you who know me might recall that I’m not fond of crowds, which is why this is only the third Bumbershoot I’ve attended in my 11 years here. I’ve seen several references to attendance being down this year. You couldn’t prove it by me. We spent most of the day trying to A) find bands we wanted to see, and then B) vainly attempt to get in to see them. Couldn’t get in to see The Cops, Idiot Pilot, Kinski, or Ted Leo & The Pharmacists. We did catch part of Okkervil River’s set, so there’s that. We felt like we had to leave early, though, in order to get into Memorial Stadium for The Stooges. As it turns out we could easily have stayed for the remainder of OR’s set. Oh well. (They were pretty good, by the way. Kinda reminded me of the Old 97’s, in a less driving kind of way.)

Science Girl and I have both noticed a growing number of kids, usually boys, starting around age 12, I’d guess, wearing Ramones T-shirts. (We both think this is a good sign and we approve, provided they’re not just wearing the shirts because their friends told them they were cool.) Well, these guys (and gals, too) were out in abundance Monday. There were times during the day, as we were walking around the grounds, where every single person coming our way was something like one-third my age. Did I feel like a fucking dinosaur? Um, yes. Yes, I did.

Anyway, we finally made it into Memorial Stadium. It was a little weird, watching the crowd. Among the old burnouts like myself and the younger folks you might expect to see at a Mudhoney/Stooges show were what appeared to be very middle-class nuclear families, none of whom looked as if they might have any clue as to what sort of entertainment awaited them. You know, Dad looks like an accountant for JC Penny, Mom’s pushing stroller and li’l Buddy &/or Sis, who’s maybe all of six, runs ahead of the group by about five or six yards, looking back every now and again to see if they’re coming or not. Also, there were herds of thirteen-year-old girls clutching pink purses as they climbed up and down the incredibly steep steps of the stadium, looking for… whatever it is that herds of teen & pre-teen girls look for in such circumstances.

I don’t know, of course, but I’m guessing they weren’t there to hear “Touch Me, I’m Sick” or “I Wanna be Your Dog”.

We, on the other hand, were there to hear precisely those very songs. We were not disappointed. Well, OK, Mudhoney was a little lackluster, but I think that’s mostly due to playing on a football field. Not exactly the most intimate of environments, y’know. (More on which later.) The sound just became this huge mass of snarly guitars. I know, it’s supposed to sound like that, but this was a huge mass of snarly guitars in a bad, undifferentiated mess sort of way. That said, they got the job done, sticking to their faster, less sludgy (more Stooge-like, as a matter of fact) material and even previewing a new song or two. (New album in February 2006 or sometime next week, depending on who you want to believe.)

Mark Arm said something kinda funny. I’m quoting from memory, but it went something like this: “I once said that we’d blow anybody who could get us opening for The Stooges. (Pause) One Reel (the production company that books Bumbershoot) is a very large company, (pause), mostly male. Our jaws are very tired right now.”

OK, it wasn’t that funny. Given Mudhoney’s Stooge fixation, though, it’s something they just might have followed through on if they’d had to.

And how about those Stooges, eh? Well, as I mentioned previously, they rocked. From the opener, “Loose”, through to the second performance of “I Wanna Be Your Dog” (yep, they played it twice), they were on it all night. I last saw Iggy about 17-18 years ago, and I swear to you he’s not lost a step in the interim. He’s still doing the sinuous, spasmodic possession dance, and he’s actually in better voice now than he was then.

And the band? In between “Loose” and “1969”, Iggy announced to the crowd, “We are the goddamn motherfucking Stooges!”, and no one could deny it. Ron Asheton’s brain-melting guitar shredding was impeccable, brother Scott “Rock Action” Asheton drummed like a man half his age, and honorary Stooge bassist Mike Watt (filling in for the late Dave Alexander) did the Watt-sidemouse thing, playing just what was needed while drawing no attention to himself. A stellar band, my friends, behind one of the most dynamic frontmen in the business, equals some damn fine rock & roll.

They played all of The Stooges except “We Will Fall” (thank you very much for small mercies) and most of Funhouse, and “Dead Rock Stars”, the cut they all did together from Iggy’s last album. All of it worked, all of it sounded better (to my ears, anyway) than the records. Can the Rolling Stones say that? I doubt it very fucking much.

About three or four songs in, while doing “Real Cool Time”, Iggy invited the crowd to take the stage. And they did. I always cringe when things like this happen, fearing someone getting hurt or hurting (accidentally or otherwise) the musicians. This was one of those times when, once the security guards were convinced it was OK (Iggy to guard: “Let ‘em up, motherfucker. They’re not gonna hurt you. And I’ll kill you if you don’t let ‘em up”), the breaking-the barrier-between-stage-and-audience thing actually worked. There were about 35 or 40 kids up there, dancing and goofing and having, yes, a real cool time. They stayed up for “No Fun”, providing a few guest vocals. Then, Iggy suggested that they go “have a Coca-Cola, or a bottle of piss, or something”, and everybody either got back down or stood off stage right for the rest of the show. I was very impressed by how well Mr. Pop handled the situation. It was a way to involve the rest of us, even if we were 40 yards away from the stage. As he put it, “Sometimes these football stadiums are so cold.” I don’t think you guys shelling out $400 bucks for Stones tickets are gonna see Mick Jagger doing this anytime soon.

And that’s why The Stooges are still relevant 35 years later and the Stones are mere nostalgia merchants. One of the reasons, anyway. If you’re an “oddball”, a “freak”, whatever sort of social outcast you might perceive yourself to be, there’s room for you under the Stooge tent, where we all know what it’s like to feel like “Dirt” (and not care), we’ve all felt that “TV Eye” from time to time, but mostly we just wanna get “Loose”. We are all, in some small way, Stooges ourselves. Or, to borrow another great band’s idiom for a moment, gabba gabba we accept you, one of us.

As fantastic a band as the Stones once were, I don’t think they ever put out that sort of vibe. They certainly don’t now. So go ahead and charge those Stones tix to the expense account, sit with the other stockbrokers in the Preferred Cardholder seats. Try to remember why you’re there in the first place. You won’t see it there, but if you were in Memorial Stadium Monday night you got a full dose of it.

Well my my and uh boo hoo.

(This review appeared previously - as in last night - at The Big Green House.)