I’ve already established that Mick Jagger is one cheeky bastard. Here’s a case in point. The Rolling Stones’ relationship with Decca Records had become downright toxic. It was mostly Decca’s fault, though Mick and Keith’s youthful screw-authority attitude didn’t help. In 1970 they were nearing the end of their contract, but they needed to submit one more single. The Stones dutifully recorded it, but as a final act of passive aggressive defiance, they titled the song “Cocksucker Blues,” knowing with certainty that it would be rejected by the label. Reject it they did, though they did finally release it in 1983 as “Schoolboy Blues.”

I’m just gonna roll right past the equating of “schoolboy” with “cocksucker.” Life’s too short.

The tendency to give a middle finger to anybody who tries to tell you what to do has never made complete sense to me. Some sense, mind you, but the logic breaks down. Determining whether my middle finger is an appropriate gesture involves analyzing what they’re telling me to do. Let’s say they’re commanding me to eat chocolate. “You’re gonna eat these Lindt truffles, young man, and you’re gonna LIKE it!” No argument here. But say that to someone like Mick Jagger, or Johnny Rotten, or Abbie Hoffman, and they might respond with a “fight the power!” or a “no forcible truffles!” or a “hell no, we won’t go!” Meanwhile, I’m going, “It’s chocolate; I was gonna eat it anyway.”

mmmmmm…..

Granted, I don’t like someone taking a rude or dismissive tone with me, regardless of what their requesting. Courtesy and politeness never hurt, ever. It’s at least metaphorically true that you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. While I’m always found that phrase to be pretty stupid – what fly likes vinegar? I mean, come on! – it’s generally true.

Mick knows all about honey. He has a gift for sweetening his words and charming people into illogical acts. He’s probably had enough sex to tide over 10 men for their whole lives, despite the fact that he’s monstrously ugly. Keith, on the other hand, never quite got the concept of charming the masses. He always had more mystique that Mick; he was the enigma behind Mick’s obviousness. When Keith took the lead, it was normally to put forth some truth that had evaded Mick, and it was always interesting, if not always good.

“Happy” is a Keith song, mostly recorded without Mick even in the room. Mick intrudes on the proceedings for a few lines in the chorus, but this is really Keith’s song, and probably his best. While the music is rockabilly style, excited and intense, Keith’s words are laced with melancholy and longing. He wails “I need a love to keep me happy,” suggesting his happiness is a fleeting thing at best. One thing Keith has always been is self-aware and wise. It’s wisdom born out of a long and uninterrupted string of colossal mistakes, but wisdom nonetheless.

“Turd On the Run,” icky title notwithstanding, is another excited blues rock song. It’s seething with nervous energy, like it really is on the run. In the tradition of Hendrix’s “Hey Joe,” it’s about a man who punishes his woman for her wayward ways. “Ventilator Blues” follows, slowing things down considerably. Like the transition earlier in the album from “Rip This Joint” to “Shake Your Hips,” this one has the exact same change from arms-in-the-air wildness to stalking-jungle-cat menace.

The double album caps off with one last rock tune, the stomping “Soul Survivor.” This song spells out that even though they’re clearly self-destructive and rushing headlong into danger, the Stones are going to live on. They’re like cockroaches, stubbornly surviving the rise and fall of the ages. Near their 70s now, they’ve toured mercilessly and remained one of the most popular concert acts for the last 10 years, despite only releasing one new album with 2005’s A Bigger Bang. That’s both a testament to the state of modern music and the incredible staying power that the Stones have.

It’s kinda not fair, really. They’ve exhibited such bad behavior basically ever since they first became famous. Why has karma not caught up to them yet? Will it ever? My one consolation is that their faces all look like old leather shoes on the verge of being chucked in the garbage.

Next: Angela Davis and the political bandwagon.

Advertisements