Tag Archives: Brian Jones

The Rolling Stones – Their Satanic Majesties Request – Classic Music Review


In my essay on Chuck Berry’s The Great Twenty-Eight, I recounted the story of my dad’s offer to let me have five albums from his voluminous LP collection as a get-the-fuck-out-of-the-house-kid going-away present. As narrated, I spent nearly a full day culling through his collection, which numbered in the thousands.

I spent a long time doing something my flower-child parents called “tripping” to the cover of Their Satanic Majesties Request. I tilted it sideways and back-and-forth to see their faces (except Jagger’s) change direction and likely shortened my corneal lifespan trying to find the images of The Beatles. When I finally shook myself out of the trance, I started to put the album on the pile of possible keepers . . . then suddenly and violently snapped my arm away.

“This album sucks!” I exclaimed, and flung it into the reject pile.

In preparation for this review, I re-engaged with this psychedelic relic, and I’m proud to say that it not only continues to suck, but is easily the worst thing The Stones ever did.

Looking at this disaster in the context of their history and their true talents, you might ask, “What the fuck were they thinking?” Well, they weren’t. While use of psychedelics failed to knock The Beatles off their game during Sgt. Pepper, those same substances turned The Stones into completely different people, cut off from their fundamental foundation of rhythm and blues. The playfulness of Between the Buttons gives way to meaningless druggie meandering (see “tripping,” referenced above). The outcome of this orgy of undisciplined experimentation is something that the band members themselves described as “rubbish” (Jagger), “chaos” (Jones) and “a load of crap” (Richards).

You can’t help but suspect body snatchers as soon as you hear the first verse of the opener, “Sing This All Together.” Sounding very much like it was recorded at a picnic where the iced tea was laced with Golden Sunshine, the song is so stupendously weak that it takes your breath away . . . and then they reprise the sucker later in the album for a gag-inducing eight-and-a-half minutes!

The next track, “Citadel,” at least has the virtue of opening like a Stones number, with a nice little chord riff on a good old-fashioned electric guitar. Suddenly the song is mercilessly ambushed by glockenspiel, mellotron and saxophone, crushing the last faint heartbeat of the groove with deadly finality. Lyrics? Muddleheaded mush:

Flags are flying, dollar bills
Round the heights of concrete hills
You can see the pinnacles
Candy and Taffy, hope we both are well
Please come see me in the citadel

We tiptoe with great caution to arrive “In Another Land,” Bill Wyman’s contribution to the mess. One of the more coherent songs on the album, it has a certain anthropological charm as a piece of fairytale psychedelia along the lines of Pink Floyd’s “See Emily Play.” It ends with Wyman snoring, no doubt in anticipation of “2000 Man,” which begins life as a rather nice acoustic number then suddenly undergoes a series of tectonic shifts that could only have come from the minds of the terminally spaced. That turkey is followed by the reprise of the aforementioned exercise in spaced out silliness, “Sing This All Together (See What Happens).” The parenthetical addition to the title is literal, as The Stones pretty much left the studio doors open to let people in on the “happening,” allowing them to trip out on the funny instruments or cough or laugh or pass around joints.

Through the invisible rivers of time, I can feel the anger of those who had retained their sanity during the 60’s and bought this album based on The Stones’ track record. “I paid $3.99 for this shit?” I hear them groan through the ether of the time continuum.

Lucky for them, a far more successful adventure of musical experimentation comes next, salvaging 39 cents of their investment. “She’s a Rainbow” may be one of the more un-Stones like songs in their oeuvre, but it’s a lovely mélange of piano, strings and lush harmonies with a strong theme supporting the more experimental, offbeat and off-key passages. It’s also one of the few tracks on Their Satanic Majesties Request that is performed with some degree of energy and commitment.

Sadly, any rekindled hope that you hadn’t pissed away your money on this turkey is snuffed out rather quickly with “The Lantern,” a silly song with no idea what it’s supposed to be. “Gomper,” on the other hand, knows what it’s supposed to be and fails miserably as a sort of Eastern-influenced piece designed to charm those who were fond of Nehru jackets.

“2000 Light Years from Home” begins sort of like the music to a hippie horror flick, then lumbers on to describe the visual wonders of space travel. Why? Who the hell knows? Perhaps this song was “far fucking out” for a generation living in the time just before men walked on the moon, but for a generation who’s been there, done that—and oh, by the way, The Enterprise went to far more interesting places—it’s as boring as Astronomy 101. At this juncture I am so ready to blow up that fucking mellotron that I can hardly muster up the courage to listen to the next track, “On with the Show.” The only good thing about this pathetic attempt at English Music Hall is that it’s the last track on the album.

Whew! Didn’t think I was going to make it!

If you’ve read my reviews, you know that I generally support artists who explore new ground beyond the tried and true. That said, great art never emerges from mindless experimentation justified by a naive and childish impulse to break the boundaries. All great art is a combination of creative spark and discipline, of magic and structure. While you can go seriously overboard with structure and remove any signs of life from an artistic effort, it’s just as disastrous to believe that you can create meaning without form.

As physicist Freeman Dyson once wrote, “Without discipline there can be no greatness.” The Stones cast discipline to the wind in Their Satanic Majesties Request and the results were disastrous.

Lucky for us, they would get their heads screwed back on pretty quickly.


The Rolling Stones – Between the Buttons (U. K. Version) – Classic Music Review


In many ways, Between the Buttons is my favorite Stones album . . . but it isn’t really a Stones album, is it?

Up to this point in their history, The Stones had established their reputation on R&B-based rock. Aftermath featured a few diversions, but for the most part, the all-original works on Aftermath continued that tradition, with more discipline and sophistication. The diversions on that record added a little spice and range to their offerings, but at heart, they were still The Stones, always ready to kick ass at a moment’s notice.

In that sense, Between the Buttons is a departure. Only “Miss Amanda Jones,” “All Sold Out,” and “Please Go Home” are in any way reminiscent of the classic Stones sound. Between the Buttons is an eclectic mix of pop, country, folk and various sonic experiments with basic rock undertones. The reason I find the album so enjoyable is because it sounds like The Stones are having fun playing around with new toys and different forms of expression. While they would take that impulse way, way too far on Their Satanic Majesties Request, Between the Buttons is a witty, sophisticated and playful production that just makes me feel good inside.

In keeping with the norm, The U. K. version is missing the single from that period, in this case “Let’s Spend the Night Together” and “Ruby Tuesday.” I am half-grateful for that, because I think “Let’s Spend the Night Together” is one of the worst singles they ever released. Lamely disguising the basic riff of “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” behind the sound of a music hall piano, this song about a proposed sexual encounter uses such boring, bourgeois language that it manages to make legendary stud Mick Jagger sound sterile and wimpy. This song is about making love, whereas the underlying energy of The Stones had always been about fucking. There’s a big difference there, people! On the flip side, I love “Ruby Tuesday,” a beautifully arranged and moving piece whose presence would have given the U. K. version a touch more richness.

Instead, the album we’re reviewing opens up with “Yesterday’s Papers,” yet another song in The Stones’ catalog subject to feminist-bashing for the comparison of a woman to the old paper you throw out with the trash (they didn’t have recycling in those dark times). “Ho-hum,” I yawn to my feminist sisters. Jagger can be faulted for continuing to vent his frustration with Chrissie Shrimpton in public, but the lyrics are far less incendiary than “Under My Thumb.” The more important aspect of the song is the music, driven by the hyper-bass picking of Bill Wyman and magically enhanced by Brian Jones on vibraphone and harpsichord with Keith, Brian and Bill doing the high-register background vocals. The layering of all these diverse tracks is masterfully executed, surrounding the listener in an enchanting swirl of cascading sound. “Yesterday’s Papers” is perfectly situated as the opener to a record where play and exploration take center stage.

Within that theme of exploration, “My Obsession” has to rank as one of the most unusual songs The Stones ever put to disk. Opening with a drum pattern that makes you think you’ll be hearing “Get Off of My Cloud” in a second, the bass and piano take over to create a mix that sounds like you’ve descended a dark set of stairs off a back alley to enter the late night experimental music hotspot in hell. The arrival of what appears to be standard verse and vocals gives you enough of a sense of familiarity to sit down and order a drink instead of getting the fuck out of this weird place. But just like the Haunted House in Disneyland, the music makes several sharp turns and The Stones stun you with a series of harmonic combinations that slip in and out of scale, filled with notes that occasionally elude the dull lines of the staff in Western musical notation. Indian music was at the height of its influence, but The Stones placed it in the context of R&B-based rock filtered through a fun house mirror. I’ve heard this song hundreds of times and I still can’t say if I like it or not, but it is a fascinating three minutes of sound.

But there’s no doubt in my mind about “Back Street Girl,” one of the most beautiful songs The Stones ever recorded. Against a backdrop of accordion, organ, harpsichord, glockenspiel and rustic guitar, Jagger takes the role of upper class boor chastising his lower-class lover. Yes, dear feminists, he’s playing a role. Ever hear of that? And he plays the role marvelously, applying one of his most sensitive and nuanced vocals to the challenge. A perfect waltz in ¾ time, I always have the urge to float over the dance floor when I hear this number. Criminally left off the American version and saved for inclusion in the choppy U. S. compilation Flowers, “Back Street Girl” is one of the most under-appreciated Rolling Stones songs of all time.

The fabulous “Connection” follows, in a style best-described as country with a kick. The “connection” in the song has multiple meanings: catching a flight, human contact, “connecting-the-dots.” More popularly, it deals with the cloud of suspicion that The Stones were under regarding their use and transport of illegal drugs:

My bags they get a very close inspection.
I wonder why it is that they suspect ‘em
They’re dying to add me to their collection
And I don’t know if they’ll let me go

A clever verse, but to relate this song entirely to The Stones’ substance troubles is overkill. Ramblin’ Jack Elliott recorded his rollicking country version only a year after Between the Buttons, pairing it in a combination track with Dylan’s “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright,” emphasizing the human connection subtext. The song still works today not because people are thinking about trials that took place over forty years ago but because Jagger and Richards have once again expressed something deeply at the core of modern existence: the frustration of disconnection. There have been some great covers of this song, but I still prefer The Stones’ version, with Jagger and Richards harmonizing so well, the outstanding rhythm guitar bursts and lead guitar fills, Charlie’s varied and insistent drumming and the overall hand-clapping feel of the piece.

A sudden shift to church organ introduces the lush, dark melody of “She Smiles Sweetly,” which moves forward in 12/8 time courtesy of Bill Wyman’s insistent bass pattern. Here a troubled Mick Jagger is comforted by a woman of extreme wisdom, a dynamic conveniently ignored by the bra-burners. This lovely and also underrated tune is followed by another trip to the fantasy factory, “Cool, Calm, Collected.” A combination of beer-house and Indian raga, this witty little tune about a woman bathing in perceived perfection ends in riotous acceleration of piano, kazoo, harmonica and electric dulcimer.

After that burst of exuberance, “All Sold Out” sounds positively archaic. It sounds like The Stones didn’t know what to do with this baseline R&B number, so they buried it in too many layers and overdubs. They do a bit better with the “Not Fade Away” sidekick “Please Go Home,” but added so many bizarre vocal echo delays that you lose touch with the rhythm that should be driving this song. I think The Stones would have been better off leaving classic R&B-Rock songs for another day when they were in a less adventurous mood. This is also true for the next song, “Who’s Been Sleeping Here?” which also suffers from overkill and would have been much better had they recorded it with the simplicity of the later “No Expectations” from Beggars Banquet.

The balance and taste return with “Complicated,” a solid mover with great background vocals and fabulous work by Charlie Watts on the toms. The song also features some surprising chord changes that flow naturally with this story about a less-intelligent male in awe of his reasonably intelligent girlfriend. There isn’t any messing about with “Miss Amanda Jones,” a classic rock number dominated by gloriously rough guitar interplay and a fast dance beat. The thing that strikes me about this song is the sheer enthusiasm The Stones bring to this number; even with all the experimentation, they still had fun being themselves.

The unusual “Something Happened to Me Yesterday” appropriately closes this very unique album. With Brian Jones serving as the brass band and slipping in a few whistles here and there, this is the most fun fucking song The Stones ever did. Whether it’s about an LSD experience (likely) or a secret fetish (perhaps) doesn’t really matter. The shared lead vocals of Mick Jagger and Keith Richards are a rare treat and the spoken word passages during and at the end of the song are not only a perfect fit, but enhance the listener’s curiosity. The nature of the song gives Jagger a chance to use mock accents that are a hoot, and the boozy feel of the middle instrumental passage wins over any tight-ass grumblers in the audience. Recorded with relative clarity and simplicity, “Something Happened to Me Yesterday” would definitely make my list of “Best Ten Songs to Close an Album,” because it’s such a perfect fit for the mood, feel and tone of this most playful record from The Rolling Stones.

Ah, that they would have retained some sense of clarity and simplicity during their next trip to the recording studio!

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