saf sees iggy



uk grrl




Snake-hipped, eyelinered to the max, crotch-rendingly attractive. And that's just Saf.

As for Iggy, well, he played The Stooges' only London gig at the Scala (once legendary independent cinema, now corporate superclub). There's no way Saf is going to splash out on the book of Iggy photos by Mick Rock (being an underground film star and professional belly-dancer doesn't pay so well) , so she decided to take a look for free at some of the pics from the book on show at the Scala.




uk grrl

First port of call is the bogs. A girl can't see this kind of show without her lipstick on. Saf's still all thrilled from the recent Mojo which had THE Iggy pic on the front. You know, the one where he's slender and muscular and nekkid as the day he was born. The silver scratch'n'sniff panties that covered his boy parts didn't remain there for long once she'd whisked her copy out of the shop. Saf's anticipating crotch shots, glamour, sleaze, and titillation. And that's only King's Cross station: she can't even contemplate the delights in store at the Scala.





Actually, the exhibition sucks. There are only five or so pics on display. No nudity. And the Scala are holding some kind of job interview with a young man with an ironic fin hairstyle the whole time, right under Iggy's unwavering gaze. The young man is heard to describe himself using the terms 'reliable, proactive, and cutting-edge'. If Iggy were clinically dead, he'd be spinning.







uk grrrl
uk grrrl

Ahhh, Iggy, thinks Saf. It's not your fault. She strokes his thigh, consolingly.










Saf rummages in her bag for the Big Issue review of the book. 'A fantastic picture book for dirty girls who wonder why they don't make scuzzy ironing-board boys with eyeliner anymore', she reads aloud. 'Makes you want to find some dirt and lick it.' She looks at the scrubbed surfaces of the new-look corporate Scala. No dirt here. Maybe she'll have to buy the book after all.





Raw Power by Mick Rock is published by Creation Books.

uk grrl




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