 
The Cult of Charlie
It’s old hat. A cop-out. Boring, even. Complaining about the Rolling Stones has become as much of a cliché as some of their music, even the new Pope has jumped into the act by labeling their music as “evil”…man’s got to do what a man’s got to do, I guess. While it’s true the band warrants some of the criticism they are, after all, just doing their job. That said, a new milestone has been passed: the Rolling Stones have now outlasted the necessity for negative criticism. For good or ill, they are beyond it. But let’s dig in to it anyway, just for the sake of argument. Most would point to 1989’s Steel Wheels as the beginning of the uninteresting period for the Stones; others would trace it further to 1986’s Dirty Work. Maybe even 1981’s Tattoo You or Emotional Rescue from 1980…either way, for the past twenty years, the general consensus has been: if it’s new, it’s garbage. As an example I will bring forth the story of a former co-worker. Before landing this esteemed job as correspondent for Manifesto, I was once was a dishwasher at a bistro on 14th street in Seattle. One of the head chefs was a former cokehead who, despite his lack of addictions, was still trapped in his peak era: the mid-70’s. Everything from his vocabulary to his haircut ‘n moustache reeked of that grim time, but he loved it. To top it off his all time favorite band was the Rolling Stones and his all time favorite record was –of course!-- their 1978 gem, Some Girls. For the Chef, it was the only thing they ever did. Sometimes he’d hide in the kitchen from the wait staff and wax philosophical about that time. He wouldn’t really look at me, but through me rattling off opinions about how good the shows were that year, how great everything was. The Sixties weren’t any good because he was too young to party and the Eighties were crap because, in his opinion, A.I.D.S. put a stop to everything and somehow the music went down the shitter as well. He was so manic about it and you could tell he really missed his cocaine but was working hard to leave it behind. I tried to reason with him by suggesting other high points in the band’s career, even buried his ass in statistics and unnecessary factoids but he was too stubborn to listen.
But not all of their new material immediately lacks merit. Therefore it is my distinct pleasure to report that Problem #1, (the public’s fear of new material), isn’t an issue at all with the release of A Bigger Bang. This is a record that requires repeated spins, most of the songs don’t really grab you until you’ve spent some quality time with it and only then will you notice small references to previous songs popping up. In fact, the very first thing you hear is Ron Wood coaxing the tempo from his guitar before coming up with the best Faces riff he never wrote. Soon enough Mick Jagger’s voice is all up in your face and the rest of the band kicks up behind him and we’re off. As a band known for strong opening songs, “Rough Justice” is so good that a fear creeps in: has the CD already peaked with the first song? Not to worry, this hyper little song sets the tone for the rest of the record (the band’s longest since the thirty-three year old Exile On Main Street) and the celebratory feel to A Bigger Bang is no fluke, it’s a victory parade. After the opener things fall into place easy. “Let Me Down Slow” and slashing Keith Richards riff of “It Won’t Take Long” are both catchy enough to stick in yer craw for days. “Rain Fell Down” takes its time, swaggering to the end and making the point. The swampy “Back Of My Hand”, the jostling spontaneity of “She Saw Me Coming”, all of it evenly paced and sequenced. Why is this all so non-boring? As usual progress is brought to a halt via two unwise ballads, “Streets Of Fire” and “Biggest Mistake”. The former would be a total disaster if it weren’t for the catchy chorus, while the ladder is, indeed, the biggest mistake. After a certain point in their career, (maybe after the fifteenth year) any rock band should avoid ballads at all costs and the Rolling Stones are no exception. Why bother slowing things down and making yourself a bigger target when all the people wanna hear is rock music? Jagger and Richards have each become too big of personalities to be taken seriously when singing about their broken heart, so ferget it. Richards’ only ballad on A Bigger Bang, “This Place Is Empty”, ends up being surprisingly competent. Not too long, not full of that lame-o quasi-reggae crap he’s been know to indulge in and it contains a great backing vocal by Jagger. But would it fit better on a solo record? The second half of A Bigger Bang is made up of eyebrow raising, up-tempo rockers. “Oh No Not You Again” (their best title in years; Watts even wanted it to be the title of the current tour) has a joyous bounce as the singer deals with his woman issues and drops the F-Bomb repeatedly (and yet no Parental Warning sticker to be found anywhere) complete with a stomping finish as Watts uncharacteristically beats out a 4/4 time. The great hulking “Laugh I Nearly Died” is reminiscent of “Heaven” from Tattoo You with its falsetto vocal parts. Its a cappella ending leads perfectly into the groove of “Sweet Neo-Con”. Who would’ve though of Jagger as a competent bassist? Me neither, mate, but there it is anyway. He makes a low, tugging sound that rumbles way beneath Watts’ snare. Despite all the press the song has been getting, this isn’t the first time the Stones have flirted with politics. Just as the first Gulf War kicked in, their 1990 live CD, Flashpoint, came with a bonus studio track called “Livewire”, a stab at the other President Bush. In recent interviews Jagger has been backing off from the implications of “Neo-Con” (no doubt to save face with the NASCAR and NFL crowds that he’s cozied up with recently), but the lyrics are fairly direct and the songs itself is simple enough; it’s their best political jab since “Street Fighting Man”. A hit single? Possibly.
Only then does he turn around with a garishly surreal appraisal: “You look like you’re totally spaced / Your breath’s got a horrible taste / You look like a leper / Dressed as Sergeant Pepper / Are you gonna throw up in my face?” Although the entire band is jacked up, it’s Wood who is chomping at the bit, running circles around Jagger’s words until finally letting fly two dizzying solos. It’s a song of this caliber that can transform a stadium into a club. Strange how a band can work both aspects of their on-stage existence and rope thousands of people together with a single song. Put this song in a theater setting the walls will disappear, count on it. “Look What The Cat Dragged In” is not only the best track on the CD, but may be their best song in over twenty years on what may be the band’s best album in as much time. I’m serious. From there it’s onto the chunk-chunk-chunka of “Driving Too Fast” and into the finale of Richards’ “Infamy”. He has a way of keeping things almost too simple but in the best cases, (like 1972’s “Happy” or 1988 “Take It So Hard”) it always works. “It’s you who wrote the song baby / but it’s me that’s gotta sing / You got it in for me / All you do is wipe the floor with me.” This last half of the CD, starting and ending with Richard’s voice, is an amazing run of congruent material. The greatness is plain as day and anyone not seeing this isn’t even trying.
The real hero of this record, though, is Charlie Watts. That someone can withstand being in a band with both Jagger and Richards is more than most people could handle. A Herculean amount of patience must be required in order to deal with the embarrassing task of watching these two run off at the mouth. Then to be diagnosed with throat cancer and beat it is stunning. His work on A Bigger Bang is flawless. There are plenty of choice guitar entanglements and great vocal arrangements, but the main thread is the drumming. On previous records he has blended into the background, but here he’s mixed right up front, on top of everything and everyone. Be it with stick or brushes, hi-hat or his beloved china boy cymbal, he’s always there with an immaculately tuned kit. It’s hard to mention Watts’ name without bringing up one of the greatest behind-the-scene stories in the rock world. For a while it was merely folklore and multiple variations of the story circulated for years. In his 2001 Stones bio, Old Gods Almost Dead, Steven Davis was able to get Richards to confirm the story and thereby passing it from hearsay into legend. It goes something like this: Amsterdam, October 1984. The band has gathered at a posh hotel for a week to discuss the possibilities of a new album and tour. Jagger is more focused on doing a solo record at this time and has taken a rather condescending view of another Stones tour. One night he is roaring drunk in Richards’ room and Watts is upstairs fast asleep when his phone rings. “Izzat my drummer then?” Jagger barks into the phone. “Where’s my fucking drummer? Get your arse down here right away!” Watts patiently gets up from his bed, shaves, puts on a fresh white shirt and one of his tailored suits and a pair of shoes. He takes the elevator down to Keith’s floor and walks into the room where the party is still in high gear, walks up to Jagger and knocks him into a plate of smoked salmon with a left hook. Watts leans over the stunned figure and says with in a stern tone: “Don’t ever call me ‘your drummer’ again. You’re my fucking singer.” With that the mild mannered drummer walks out the door, takes the elevator back up to his room and goes back to sleep. End of story. Watts has never mentioned the incident and claims it never happened to the few journalists brave enough to bring it up. The fact that the band was in their darkest period and skidding toward certain curtains may answer for the drummer snapping (said Richards: “That was Charlie’s way of saying ‘it’s over’”). Still, that story is top-notch rock gossip and just as good as the one about Stevie Nicks’ hiring a special roadie to blow cocaine up…never mind. Anyway, my favorite part is that Watts shaved before going downstairs. Sure, that part could be fabricated, but still, think about it…classy. Watts has been treasured both within the group and without from day one and brings, along with Wood, a much needed air of respectability to the Stones camp. Ever since the band graduated to larger arenas there has always been a part in their show when Jagger introduces each member. This reporter witnessed a gratifying half-minute ovation when the drummer’s name was called during a show some years ago. People just went nuts, and those of us in the nosebleed seats could see from the giant screen behind him that the drummer had broken into that distinguished closed mouthed grin to acknowledge the reception. He must certainly realize all this. The importance of Watts’ demeanor in a world of decadent musical excess and self-importance should not be taken for granted. He keeps his mouth shut and does his job with a subtle excellence all the while dressed in cream-colored suits. Two hours of drumming in a suit? Sure as shit! Although he rarely gives interviews, the few he grants finds him polite, soft-spoken with a shape tongue, self deprecating and completely unimpressed with the Stones legacy. It was a blow when Bill Wyman left the band in 1990 (perhaps mostly to Watts himself). The two made up one of the most distinctive sounding and looking rhythms sections in their field with their minimalist approach and expressionless faces. Former Mile Davis bassist Darryl Jones has since filled the gap and the group has carried on almost too easily. I’m afraid they won’t be so lucky if Watts were to leave, which seemed like a possibility earlier this year (Problem #2: Health Care). There isn’t a soul or session musician that has the same flair to fill the void that would be left. Once Charlie Watts is no longer in the band, the distinctive backbeat will be gone and part of the distinctive Rolling Stones sound will be lost. But they wouldn’t try to replace him…would they? Problem #3 Those grandiose stadium shows have become a hindrance to the enjoyment of hearing “Satisfaction” for the billionth time. Just what is it that’s keeping them from booking a week at a theater in every town they wish to play? It can’t be logistics since they pull off a few of these gigs on every tour. Their effort to find a compromise between large and small venues (Problem #3: Does size matter?) may’ve worked better than they originally thought. It was during their 1997/98 Bridges To Babylon Tour that the band inaugurated the small stage concept. In the middle of the stadium floor was a boxing ring sized stage big enough for six members (Watts, Wood, Richards, Jagger, Jones and keyboardist Chuck Leavell) a few amps, a drum kit and two monitors. Near the end of the show they would walk on a slightly raised catwalk through the crowd and bash out four or five songs that would discourage even the most cynical observer. On that tiny stage, with all the hoopla and grand ideas stripped away, you’d have one hell of a band. Even in the giant confines of a domed stadium (where this reporter witnessed the stunt) everyone was brought together and the music that would normally be almost too big to really grasp and enjoy was instantly raw and energized. This worked so well they repeated it on the following No Security Tour and it was just as good. So why not downsize? Drop the horn section (but keep longtime auxiliary member Bobby Keys) ditch the backup singers (but keep Lisa Fischer) and do a theater tour. It’s a known fact that bands work better on a smaller stage and no one would even notice if they were to have a bad night due to the sheer audacity that they played a small venue. Plus I’m sure corporate funds would handle the lofty security requirements. The band’s recent coupling with NASCAR and the NFL has made this reporter absolutely homicidal. But if this tour were in smaller setting, I’d gladly look the other way. We could adopt the “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy and the band would be carried out of town on the shoulders of the citizens every time. Trust me. Yes oh yes, The Rolling Stones have returned with a confident new batch
of song and, as I write this, are marching across our battered land
as returning conquerors. Complaining about the Rolling Stones has become
as useful as arguing with a skyscraper, so why bother? If you don’t
like ‘em, turn the channel. As for the rest of us, let’s
revel in this particular high point while we can since they don’t
come easy or often these days. Consider yourself lucky to bear witness.
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The Problem With Problem #1
Yes,
it’s that kind of narrow-mindedness that has dogged the Stones
for quite some time. But what do you expect for a group that’s
been around four decades? It takes a certain type of personality, an
alpha fan, to really get inside some of the band’s less popular
records and roll around in the dirt with ‘em until you find that
the songs are in fact pretty good. These lows can be quite interesting.
The same can be said for any long time artist: Lou Reed, solo Beatles,
Dylan, etc. Thanks to hindsight, such critically panned Stones records
like the hangover swagger of Black And Blue or the
disco chic of Emotional Rescue have aged quite well.
It’s only a matter of time before their 90’s output (Voodoo
Lounge (1994) and Bridges To Babylon (1997)
may start to sound just as good. 
“Look
What The Cat Dragged In” is the sequel to their genius 1983 single
“Undercover Of The Night”: a word collision of foreign wars
and relationship troubles complete with Richards and Wood’s dog-fighting
guitar work. While it’s obvious Jagger wasn’t knighted for
his lyrical abilities, this song finds the old man tossing off William
Burroughs styled cut-up fragments: “Looking at the Sunday papers
up with all the latest / It was so quiet checking what was going on
/ In Syria and Lebanon / A bad fright / Ain’t gonna criticize
you / And I hate to ostracize you / You had a bad night / Where you
been / Lost weekend.”