Following up a series of unremarkable but, ultimately, honest new wave records is a difficult task. Iggy Pop is stuck pushing for that break, even now, with his latest efforts unremarkable. But this is nothing new to Pop fans who are left clutching what they can of a miserable 1980s output. At least, five years later, listeners received the solid work of Blah-Blah-Blah. No need to get too far ahead, though, as the label certainly wasn’t expecting much from Pop at the start of the ‘80s. Party feels like a mismanagement of talent on both sides, with Pop expected to put up a commercially viable piece of work, while the label pressuring the Lust for Life hitmaker to do just that are simply asking for trouble. Pop is not an artist who has adapted well to the post-success lull, and it’s not entirely his fault, if Party is to be believed. You can hear Pop just isn’t that interested in Party.
An affection-free opener with Pleasure is heroic compared to follow-up song, Rock and Roll Party. Tiring to say the least, but the “usual bums” which feature in the non-specific rock and roll bar is the sort of sloppy measure that would’ve worked in the early days of punk. It doesn’t work for Pop in the turn of a new century, though, not with those sluggish and whining vocal offerings. A few vocal interjections appear, too, and none of that can overshadow the frankly brutal lyrics. Rock is rock, is it? Nice one, Pop. Pretty dreary stuff like that comes because Pop cannot keep up with the genre he effectively kindled throughout the early 1970s. Albums like Party suggest he is more a figurehead than a force for progression in the genre, and there’s very little on this album to suggest otherwise. Apart from a few nice instrumental moments on Sincerity, the song is devoid of what its title suggests.
But those low blows which usually elicit such joy to write, the contrast between a song projecting honesty rather than honesty, are not found here. Party sounds like a miserable time for all involved, listener included. Pop suggests he “will return” and follows that up with deconstructing his claim as a “lie” that wouldn’t come to be. It’s a scattershot of emotions, a rampaging piece which hears Pop fail to reclaim his seat at the punk rock and new wave table. Houston is Hot Tonight would struggle to elicit even a cry of joy from a crowd based in the titular city, those in the audience presumably embarrassed to be targeted as the “hot” city. Instrumentally defunct and lyrically vacant, it’s a rough time for Pop here, but part of it can be pinned on the label’s want of a chart-friendly sound.
He gives them just that with some clunky, rock and roll stock on Pumpin’ for Jill. Truly embarrassing lyrics, to the point where it must be intentionally unnerving, but a rough listen all the same. Flowery nothingness on the suddenly upbeat Happy Man is just comically direct. A nice guitar riff found within and the sentiment being far stronger than what precedes it is not enough to save Happy Man from the redundant pile of tracks Pop pulls out here. Ballads, party anthems, possible hits, all of them fall flat on Party, and it feels like the frustrations of being told what to do by a label that saw Pop as a commercial artist in need of moulding come to a head here. Sure, Party is a poor piece of work, but Pop can hardly be blamed for that. You’ve got to look a little closer at the works which came before and after this to know he’s a relatively poor writer around this solo period, but a staggering performer all the same. At least Sea of Love has that Phil Spector-like sound, a soft cutting of Memories, the Leonard Cohen song, comes to life for Pop. Too little, too late.
