The Stooges' fifth album Ready to Die avoids the pitfalls of 2007's disastrous reunion album The Weirdness, but 40 years removed from the kamikaze death-trip fantasies of Raw Power, it's the sound of Iggy admitting, “I’m too old for this shit.”

“We could’ve been the American Stones,” Stooges guitarist Ron Asheton told MOJO magazine back in 1996. “We fucked up, man.” But for all the tales of bloodletting violence and self-destructive substance abuse that defined their initial 1967-1973 run, the Stooges’ biggest fuck-up wouldn’t come until 2007, with the release of their disastrous reunion album The Weirdness. And, ironically, with that, the Stooges finally achieved their elusive American Stones status-- in that, as with the Stones, expressing one’s enthusiasm for the Stooges now requires a qualifying remark along the lines of, “Well, I like their older stuff.”

But where the allergic reaction to The Weirdness and the untimely 2009 passing of Ron Asheton would seemingly discourage surviving Stooges Iggy Pop and Ron’s drummer-brother Scott Asheton from extending their discography, this band has survived bad reviews and the loss of a founding member before. Conveniently enough, their post-reunion narrative can simply mimic that of their first phase: after the group fell apart following the commercial failure of 1970’s Funhouse, Iggy shrewdly reassembled the Stooges for 1973’s Raw Power, by recruiting James Williamson and demoting Ron Asheton to the bassist position. This is the iteration of the Stooges that has been touring steadily since 2010, with Mike Watt replacing Asheton on bass (as he did for the late Dave Alexander in 2007) and honorary fifth Stooge Steve Mackay on sax. And the band's name reassumes its 'Iggy &' prefix, signaling another change in direction: Where the evil alchemy of the band's first two albums proved impossible to recapture on The Weirdness, Raw Power's more playful, darkly humorous trash-canned rock 'n' rolla provides the Stooges v4.0 with a more easily pliable template to work from.

That's not to say Ready to Die matches the live-wire abandon of its 1973 antecedent-- not even close. And the tame, contained nature of even its most petulant tracks is all the more disappointing given that this band can still absolutely slay onstage. All those years working in Silicon Valley haven't diminished Williamson's fiery fretwork (see: the “Gimme Danger”-styled grind of “Burn”), but Iggy's delivery is too wry to exude rage, the songs rarely rise above a mid-tempo chug, and Mackay's jovial sax blurts are way more roadhouse than Funhouse. But, unlike The Weirdness, the palpable lack of menace feels intentional, and more true to a band that, in the wake of Asheton’s death and their own advancing ages, has good reason to question its own mortality. Over the shake-appealing shimmy of “Gun” (essentially, a prettied-up “Your Pretty Face Is Going to Hell”), Iggy sings, “If I had a fucking gun/ I could shoot at everyone,” a seemingly throwaway, suddenly topical line that recycles one of the more odious lyrics from The Weirdness (“my idea of fun/ is killing everyone”). But where the latter reeked of forced misanthropy, there’s a cheeky nonchalance to his voice here that acknowledges the absurdity of such idle threats coming from a reasonably content 66 year old. Forty years removed from the kamikaze death-trip fantasies of Raw Power, Ready to Die is the sound of Iggy admitting, “I’m too old for this shit.” And he’s come armed with not one, but three acoustic ballads to prove it.

Of course, we’re used to hearing Iggy mellow out at this point-- his last two solo efforts were a record of jazzy chansons and a low-key covers album featuring songs by the Beatles, Serge Gainsbourg, and Cole Porter. But it’s telling that he’s now exposing that sensitive side in the Stooges, as if he’s trying to defuse the band’s formidable mythos from within. The Stooges made Iggy a punk-rock legend, however, that status has exacted a considerable physical toll, one that, to this day, requires him to be the shirtless, stage-diving psycho onstage even as his recent work suggests his interests now lie elsewhere. It’s hard to hear this album as anything but his attempt to punch out, torn as it is between his desire to bow out with dignity and his duty to play the dirty old man for the fans. But where Iggy once made an effort to obscure his pervy provocations in coded language-- “T.V. Eye” had nothing to do with watching television-- Ready to Die yields unfortunate evidence of how he just can’t be arsed anymore, resulting in the lazy-lothario lechery of “DD's” (“I’m on my knees for those double-Ds”) and “Sex and Money” (“nipples come, and nipples go”).

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In light of these numbskull regressions, Ready to Die’s most raucous song, “Job” seems less like a blue-collar working-man complaint (chorus: “I got a job/ but it don’t pay shit/ I got a job/ and I’m sick of it”) than a comment on the slog of being a Stooge. (After all, for all their influence and infamy, the band’s commercial prospects in 2013 are no better than they were in 1969.) So it comes as a great relief when Iggy starts waving the white flag on “Beat That Guy”, a surprisingly radiant, Petty-esque elegy that sounds less like an Iggy Pop song than a James Osterberg one, as he tries to lay his wild-child persona to rest by ruefully admitting, “I’m running out of space/ I’ve run out of time.” The knockout blow is delivered by “The Departed”, a hushed acoustic lullaby that effectively serves as a requiem for both Asheton and the Stooges as an entity: Williamson bookends the track with understated quotes of “I Wanna Be Your Dog,” while, in between, Iggy repackages old lyrics into fortune-cookie bursts of reflective, Yoda-like wisdom. (“Serious talk’s no fun … this nightlife is just a death trip.”) The song shares its name with Martin Scorsese’s recent Oscar winner, but it’s more reminiscent of that final shot in Goodfellas where Ray Liotta’s reformed gangster retrieves the morning paper from his doorstep: it's the sound of a notorious bad-ass leaving his unsavoury past behind, resigned to living the rest of his life as a schnook.

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