The Rolling Stones: My Love/Hate Relationship - Mostly Hate
A diatribe of admiration and latent nausea
Before I get into this, a few disclaimers:
Number One: I like the Rolling Stones - nay, I even Love the Rolling Stones.
Number Two: Because I am such an admirer, I feel it is my obligation to write this.
Number Three: Many readers of this may disagree with none, some or all of this. That is not my problem.
Okay, shall we proceed?
I write this with the limited background knowledge I have about the band through years of reading and observation, most notably Creem magazine in the seventies, Nick Kent's marvelous accounting of a drug bender with Mr. Richards, intensive listening sessions to both studio and live recordings, and generally the inescapable amount of promotion and aggressive marketing which the Rolling Stones as a business entity have subjected me to in the past forty one years.
I feel it necessary to divide this autopsy into several parts, which will probably not make sense until later.
Part One: Derivative Fucks
One of the reasons I love to listen to music is so that I can hear new and different things through other peoples' perspective. A song like 'Julia' from the Beatles' White Album is many things at once: melodic, melancholy, beatific and sincere. Is there one single song that the Stones have ever concocted with the same amount of sincerity and heart? 'Angie' comes to mind, but then it turns out that it may well be a song about a three-way Mick had with Mr. and Mrs. Bowie at some point. Not quite the same thing. My point here is that I cannot find a true fragment of originality within the Stones' catalog. Either the song is a twelve bar in a given key (Keith seems to like 'A', go figure...) or else a straight-up ripoff of a contemporary band. The so-called 'Glimmer Twins' have done little else than lift riffs and progressions from other artists blessed with talent unintentionally oozing from their pores, which is apparently from where Mick and Keith lick their inspiration. Big tongue.
Now hold on, Bryan. What about 'Satisfaction'? Nobody just makes shit like that up... Sure. 'Satisfaction' is one kick-ass riff and from what I've read Keith 'dreamt' it one night. That surely is a genius on par with Mozart. From every interview I've ever read Keith talks about how 'colored' folk like Howling' Wolf, Lightnin' Hopkins, Bo Diddley et al were a huge influence upon him and his record collection. It was difficult to acquire these American blues records and when they would arrive he was all over them. That's fantastic. Let's take a quick look at the first Rolling Stones record, ironically titled 'England's Newest Hitmakers':
Not Fade Away (Holly, Petty)
Route 66 (Troup)
I Just Want to Make Love to You (Dixon)
Honest I Do (Abner, Calvert, Hurron, Reed)
Now I've Got a Witness (Phelge, Spector)
Little by Little (Phelge, Spector)
I'm a King Bee (Moore)
Carol (Berry)
Tell Me (Jagger, Richards)
Can I Get a Witness (Dozier, Holland, Holland)
You Can Make It If You Try (Jarret)
Walking the Dog (Thomas)
Hmm...I see Mick and Keith wrote one song. Guess what? It's the worst of the of 'hits' by the 'Hitmakers'. What the fuck is this? How did they even get this released? How many cocks must be sucked before the Rolling Stones get a record contract? I'm sure that was the phrase being kicked around at EMI/London until this was released. Obviously, this bodes well for the future.
It is not just that the Stones derive inspiration from true rhythm and blues roots, which I can actually accept and respect, it is the fact that they try to maintain ownership of said influence and have the audacity to call it their own. I'm not exactly sure how large their testicles are at this point, but they certainly do get larger in many ways as time goes on. When Keith wistfully reminisces about Blind Lemon Jefferson I can't help but get an eye twitch going because I know that there is no way in hell that proper recognition was ever given at the time they began exploiting poor old Blind Lemon Jefferson.
Let's take this a step further. The Beach Boys put out 'Pet Sounds' in a reply to 'Revolver'. What do the Stones do? They release a 'greatest hits' which is lacking in 'hits' and then 'Aftermath', which consists of three 'hits' and a bunch of filler. Harsh yes, but it's a crappy record. Then...in the spirit of competition 'Between the Buttons' comes out. Well, I don't know about you, but I can't help but agree with AMG's assessment:
"The Rolling Stones' 1967 recordings are a matter of some controversy; many critics felt that they were compromising their raw, rootsy power with trendy emulations of the Beatles, Kinks, Dylan, and psychedelic music."
This is entirely consistent with my postulate: The Rolling Stones have always been Number Two. Granted that there is an inherent talent in recognizing quality and emulating it, but it shoots your fucking originality factor all to hell.
Score so far: Stones are unoriginal and copy Trends as they can in a manner in which they might capitalize upon them. Suck Factor: 9 (of 10)
Part Two: Envious Murderers
I'm not going to dwell too much upon this, but I find it really odd that Brian fell into his swimming pool. I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in this apprehension, weirder things have happened before. My only real point here is that Mick and Keith had a certain amount of envy towards Brian Jones' copious musical talent and charisma. Frankly, had Keith not turned Brian on to acid, it might well have been the Brian Jones Rolling Stones Show. As these things go, one drug leads to another and before you know it, recording sessions become embarrassing episodes where tape isn't even rolling. I noticed in Goddard's 'Sympathy for the Devil' that Brian was rarely on film, and when he was, it was in a baffled guitar cubicle and not evident in the mix. Essentially, the most musically talented Stone was not being recorded, regardless of the fact that his consciousness may have been altered. I would love to be able to hear what he was playing - it was probably brilliant, but the Mieth would not have any of it.
This is what gives me the notion that they decided to ice him. The contempt and hatred shown towards the supposed 'Real Rolling Stone' was practically palpable. Maybe Brian fucked the wrong girl (apparently he was remarkably endowed, yet another tidbit of envy for shrimpdicked Mick), perhaps Brian was seriously unbalanced and impaired by drugs, maybe even (gasp) he had more talent in his earlobe than the entire being of Keith Richard. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybes are like tits, everyone has two.
Here's my theory:
Mieth come by one night to enjoy a pleasant evening of sherry and psychotropic drugs. Mick suggests a swim, and while Brian is doddering around like Winnie the Pooh (this IS the A.A. Milne estate, after all), Mieth give him a friendly shove into the pool and hightail it like the Kray brothers.
Yes, I am reading a lot into this. Yes, I am making some serious accusations. Yes, I don't see this as being anywhere outside the realm of possibility.
Do you?
Part Three: Contempt
Man, the Stones HATE their audience. HATE HATE HATE. I only wish the Sex Pistols were able to channel the amount of contempt that the Rolling Stones have for their audience. It is evident in the way they work the media. It is obvious at live shows. They could actually, and this is the correct way to use this term, not care any less. Watch a live show sometime. There is practically zero interaction with the audience, and when there is, Mick gets feisty and stupid. I appreciate that they are putting on a show, but this is a rock show, not theater. More about Mick being stupid later.
The simple observation here is that the Rolling Stones go beyond being Rock Stars to the point where they achieve regal pomposity. Take a look at vintage segments on 'Ready Stead Go', 'Old Grey Whistle Test', etc. They have such hatred of the masses one feels uncomfortable even watching. It's one thing if a rock star has a Johnny Thunders' sneer, but Mick is looking at the audience as if they are insects needing to be crushed. It's really disconcerting to watch an idol that wants to kill you and eat your children. And then burn down your house. Salting the ground upon which you built your house might not be out question in Mick's agenda of destruction.
If Mick could be a superhero, he of course would be 'SuperMick' and he would rain destruction upon all those that like and oppose him. He would be the unstoppable force that only Gamera could defeat.
Sorry, got off on a bad tangent there, but the fact remains, the Stones consider their audience to consist entirely of money. And that's about it.
Part Four: Drugs vs. Intelligence
When the Stones started taking drugs, I'm pretty sure it was before Bob Dylan gave the Beatles a joint. Charlie was much older and had played in jazz bands. Boy, do I love to generalize and make stereotypical assessments. Sorry, just the way I roll, especially when it comes to the dope-smoking, coke-snorting, heroin-shooting speed freak alcoholic baby blood bathers we've all come to know and love as the Rolling Stones. In any case, there was a reason that the Beatles were 'good' and the Stones were 'bad'. Frankly, I wouldn't let my daughter come within ten feet of George Harrison, even given an emergency. But that's beside the point.
It's pretty unlikely that the Stones have ever taken a drug they didn't like. I know there are a few I won't take again, but then I don't have the advantage of the wealth of experience that Meith have. If one were to open a toxicology clinic, there might be a breakdown in conjunctive effects circa 1970. If 'Cocksucker Blues' is even remotely indicative through its limited drug use on film, there was a fucking brick of drugs the size of Kansas being enjoyed by everyone on board.
The side effect of this is that everyone's conversation consists of 'Well, you know, man' or 'Wow! That's really...' (insert) which results in an incredibly boring film. It's my personal opinion that one takes drugs for either of these reasons: (disclaimer: Acid)
To make other people more interesting.
To make myself more interesting to others.
There is no in between. The Stones fail in both respects. They're not interested in the people that they are around, their audience (see above), or themselves. They look like worn out shoes waiting for someone to wear them.
Part Five: I didn't think Sleaze could get a Bad Name
Now here is where it actually gets interesting. I like watching chicks get it on as much as the next guy. Hell, I even like seeing a hot chick get it and get it good. No so for Meith. No, not sleazy enough. Even watching an overweight, unshowered, facially hirsute roadie bang a blind chick in the ass in front of them doesn't raise an eyebrow. Is it just me, or is that a little fucked up?
Let's take a giant step back and make some definitions.
Stone: Concreted earthy or mineral matter; rock.
Rolling: To move forward along a surface by revolving on an axis or by repeatedly turning over.
or: To travel around; wander
Sleaze: Noun - tastelessness by virtue of being cheap and vulgar
Works for me.
Unfortunately, (or fortunately, wink wink), I happen to like sleaze. Especially when it comes to cinema and music. But I have to admit I have been physically uncomfortable with some of the things I've seen exhibited by the entourage the Rolling Stones seem to accumulate. You would think that a rolling stone gathers no moss, but yet there are repeated appearances of the most fetid and fungal variety of parasites the human condition might produce. I'm making judgment calls here. There are certain things I will do, and then are certain things I won't. My point is that the Stones make no judgments when it might perhaps be in their best interest to do so. If a roadie shows up at Mick's door with a dead groupie draped over his shoulder, what do you suppose Mick's first course of action might be? My guess: Make it look like an accident and get the fuck to Detroit as quickly as possible. It's really quite simple: If you live a careless drug-fueled lifestyle on the road with no accountability it might be easier to dump a body here and there rather than attract further publicity or attention the rock-n-roll lifestlye. I'm just supposin' here!
If you take a close and careful look at 'Cocksucker Blues', the Sleaze oozes. And it's not nice Sleaze Ooze, it's the kind that Axl Rose finds between his cheeks every night. Think about that.
Part Six: Rock and Roll Fart
Wow, if Mick could kill anyone with the sheer force of his feeble frontal lobe it might most probably be the four members of The Who. It sure appears that after they appeared on 'Rock & Roll Circus' and blew the fucking doors off the joint Mick had second thoughts about wowing everyone his fake back tattoo.
Here is the clear and simple fact: Mick does not know how to rock without appearing pretentious and narcissistic. "Hey Mick, camera's on!" "What? Where?" (commence preening). Mick is such a whore for the camera he actually thought the album cover to 'She's the Man' was a GOOD idea because he looked 'pretty' in it. Is there a major malfunction here? Fuck yeah, there is.
Pick a Stones video - any one, I dare you. How well does Mick come across? My assessment that he has never come across as less than a leering, preening, pompous beggar for attention; the type of guy you want to slug full on in the chops because he's behaving like a complete prick. Surprised? Probably not, since that really has always been part of the RS shtick. But consider this: If Mick is like that all the time, is it any wonder that they have not made a good record in 30 years?
I thought not.
Part Seven: After all, it's just Fooking Business
Does anyone besides me find it odd that a business major is the face of the Stones? Let's look at Pink Floyd: Art Majors. Beatles? Art School, unemployment and music conservatory. Who? Well, let's just leave that alone.
I posit that from day one, the Rolling Stones were a business venture, a corporate entity, a conglomerate. There was never an intention to be artistic, there was no reason to since everyone else was already breaking those boundaries down. It's easy to a follower. To be original...well, that's something completely different. Let's just see how we might capitalize on other's success by emulating them.
It's business school all over again: Observe, capitalize, leverage.
Mick really really likes him some moneys. LOLMick.
Aw shit, there's lots more we can talk about here - like Bill Wyman's sexuality, Charlie's peculiar distance, and the positively WEIRD complacency of Ron Wood. We already know Mick Taylor's story, and that falls right in place with Meith's talent envy. Thankfully they didn't throw him in a pool. An errant limo here and there...one never knows. Perhaps that might have been better than his present fate where he's a cranky old man trying to find his next shilling for groceries.
Addendum: A Shortlist of the Reasons the Rolling Stones Suck:
Always followers, never leaders.
Attract sleaze, not class.
Killed Brian Jones.
Sloppy as hell, always.
Willing to sacrifice art for money.
Diligence does not equal talent - see above.*
Rightfully mystified by their own success.
Willfully fucked The Who.
Chuck Berry is not a role model. Really.
Mick is so painfully self-conscious that it is uncomfortable to even watch.
Ultimate Beatles wanna-bes.
Misogynistic to a fault.
Wish they were better than they are.
Sloppy*
Painfully stupid sometimes...a lot of the time.
No genuine roots whatsoever.
Too capitalistic.
Unappreciative.
Stupid?
Jerkoff drugged up assholes that have no idea why*why*why people might like them.
Mick might as well work at Dairy Queen.
Keith's overrated.
Make Poison look good.
Poor fashion sense.
Again, stupid.
Apparently don't really like existing music at all.
Vests.
Bone necklaces.
Willingness to discard anything and everything once they are done with it.
Worse costumes than Abba.
Don't really like their fans at all. Contempt.
Surrounded by scumbags - from roadies to legal representation.
Really really suck live. Mostly.
Wish Keith was better, because he actually does have a good rock and roll heart.
Mick.
Blew off Mick Taylor for no good reason whatsoever.
Never give Charlie his due.
Probably killed groupies and never got caught.
Misguided.
No perfect record.
Cocksucker Blues.
That's it.
