Rhino High Fidelity Reissues: The Stooges’ Fun House

The Rhino High Fidelity reissue of Fun House feels like a reminder of why this album eventually knocked me sideways. I did not grow up with The Stooges. I came to them later, and maybe that helped. By the time Fun House finally clicked, I was ready for something that did not care about polish, approval, or good behavior.

Recorded in May 1970 at Elektra Sound Recorders in Los Angeles with producer Don Gallucci, Fun House was The Stooges’ second album and a commercial letdown for Elektra when it was first released. That part of the story always amuses me. An album this loud, this confrontational, and this alive was never meant to slide neatly into the marketplace. History corrected the mistake. What once slipped past mainstream listeners became a cult obsession and, eventually, a cornerstone of the punk revolution.

What hits me every time is how Fun House sounds less like a record and more like an event. It is ferocious and loose, powered by fast, savage hard rock, but constantly veering off course. Steve Mackay’s saxophone brings in a wild, almost jazz-like unpredictability, making the whole thing feel like it could fall apart at any second. You can hear Iggy Pop, Dave Alexander, Ron Asheton, Scott Asheton, and Mackay moving as one raw force, not polishing songs so much as unleashing them. The hand-held microphones and sheer volume keep everything immediate and physical, like the band is pacing right in front of you, daring you to flinch.

I love how openly Fun House pushes back against its time. In 1970, when rock was getting bloated and self-serious, this album chose speed, abrasion, and urgency instead. Songs like “Down on the Street” and “Loose” feel like pure momentum, while “L.A. Blues” sounds like the band tearing the room apart and recording whatever survived. It is chaotic, uncomfortable, and thrilling in a way that still feels dangerous.

Iggy Pop’s voice and presence are impossible to separate from the music. His vocals are confrontational and exposed, the sound of someone refusing to play nice. Knowing how his stage performances baited audiences and pushed his own body to the edge only deepens the impact. You can hear the blueprint for punk frontmen being sketched out in real time.

When I think about Fun House, I can’t separate the album from its songs because each one hits in a different, very physical way. “Down on the Street” still feels like the perfect opening punch, all heavy rhythm and forward motion, as if the band is kicking the door in and daring you to follow. “Loose” comes flying out right after with its three-chord fury and reckless energy, while “T.V. Eye” slows things just enough to let that thick, blues-soaked guitar riff grind into your bones. “Dirt” has always felt especially intense to me, slow, murky, and uncomfortable in the best way, like the band is dragging the blues through something darker and more dangerous. By the time “1970 (I Feel Alright)” hits with its tribal rhythm and manic momentum, it feels like a peak moment where everything the album is trying to do finally locks into place. The title track, “Fun House,” is its own kind of madness, a sax-heavy, chaotic jam that sounds like the band cutting loose and seeing how far they can push things before it all collapses.

What really drives home how deeply these songs burrowed into music history is how often they have been covered. “T.V. Eye” has been torn apart and rebuilt by bands like Sonic Youth and even a supergroup featuring Ron Asheton for Velvet Goldmine. “1970 (I Feel Alright)” found new life through The Damned, GBH, and Hanoi Rocks, while “Loose” was taken on by The Birthday Party, which feels like a perfect match of spirit. “Down on the Street” shows up again and again, often treated as one of the most recognizable statements the band ever made. Even “Dirt,” one of the album’s heaviest and most unsettling tracks, was reimagined by Depeche Mode. For me, that range of artists says everything. These songs are not just great Stooges tracks. They are open wounds that other musicians keep returning to, because there is still something raw and necessary living inside them.

Over the years, I started noticing how often Fun House comes up when musicians talk about what changed them. Joey Ramone, Nick Cave, Jack White, Henry Rollins, Kurt Cobain, and countless others felt its pull, and you can hear its DNA in bands from the Ramones and the Sex Pistols to Sonic Youth, Mudhoney, and beyond. That kind of influence does not come from chasing hits. It comes from refusing to compromise.

There are no obvious singles on Fun House, and that is part of why I love it. Every track has its own jagged identity, and once the album grabs you, it does not let go. The Rhino High Fidelity reissue only makes that connection stronger. It lets the noise breathe, the chaos hit harder, and the spirit of the record comes through intact. Fun House still reminds me that rock music, at its best, should feel a little unsafe, a little out of control, and completely alive.