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The Rolling Stones
“Let It Bleed” (1969)
Gimme Shelter/Love In
Vain/Country Honk/Live With Me/Let It Bleed//Midnight Rambler/You Got The
Silver/Monkey Man/You Can’t Always Get What You Want
'Rape!
Murder! It’s just a shot away! But love, it’s just a kiss away!’
And so, The Rolling Stones took the ‘salt of the
earth’ and decided instead to have their cake and eat it. Yay, cake! Well, this
is a celebration of sorts I suppose: the end of an era as we review our very
last Rolling Stones LP before we hang our satanic reviewing hat up for good
(don’t worry readers, there’s still enough articles to publish until the middle
of next year, you aren’t getting rid of us that easily!) And how tasty it looks
too as we get the ‘pudding’ that comes after the high-water mark that was
‘Beggar’s Banquet’ from 1968 – look how delicious that front cover looks, with
a then-unknown Delia Smith getting the commission straight out of catering
school to make a juicy top-layer of cherries, grapes and cream and five cute
little Rolling Stones figurines on top, working to orders by her ‘boss’ Robert
Brownjohn (best known for the title sequences of various James Bond movies).
But somehow, lurking underneath that creamy goodness are a few things less
appetising and much less good to eat: a film canister, a clock, a pizza and
even a rubber tyre. While that little lot does sound remarkably like my own
culinary skills (what a shame this album cover didn’t have a pie-crust too!) it
also reflects the contents better than perhaps any other Stones cover. On the
surface this is a continuation of the gradual sweetening and stream-lining that
has gone on in the Rollers’ sound ever since the left psychedelia behind for
something earthier, with this a second successful accessible distillation of their
sound. And on the other it’s a much darker record even than ‘Beggars’ full of
riots, murder, class, denial, drugs and an extraordinary seven minutes
celebrating a rapist that really wouldn’t be allowed nowadays.
In other words ‘Let It Bleed’ may well be the most
Rolling Stones album ev-uh, the record that most reflects their sound in all
their satanic glory. Aside from parts of ‘Banquet’ and sections of much-delayed
sequel ‘Sticky Fingers’ it’s kind of the only Stones album that sounds the way
people think of when they picture The Rolling Stones: swampy, earthy and rocky,
rather than bluesy like the band’s early days or the curious mixture of raunchy
funk and slow ballads that makes up most of their last recordings. In a sense
every record except this one is an ‘experimentation’ – an opportunity to see
how far the Stones can roll away from their natural sound, going either playful
or darker or more contemporary. But this album is the Stones’ zenith for better
or worse: the one record that sounds completely like them from first note to
last. That’s the reason why many fans consider this their best album. It’s also
why we’ve saved it till last because there isn’t honestly that much to talk
about (though as usual we’re going to give it a very good go!) as it’s just The
Stones being The Stones, not The Stones being The Who, The Kinks, The Beatles,
The Bee Gees or (God help us) The Black-Eyed Peas. For here, at the end of the
1960s, with the decade dying out and the hippie dream almost over, The Stones
can go back to being themselves and this is maybe the last album where people
truly take note of what they say as a ‘contemporary’ band, rather than an
‘aging band struggling to stay contemporary’ (although you could make the same
claim for ‘Sticky Fingers’ I guess).
There are a few reasons why no other album turns out
to be quite like this one. First up is the fact that this is the band’s last
album for Decca – and therefore the last album of newly record material that
suffers the indignities of Decca’s signature sound: lots of echo, muddy sound
and murky merging of instruments. It’s a sound this band have made their own
down the years and which only they could really have thrived on, making
everything sound dark, blurry and claustrophobic, even the occasional happy
stuff. There’s a moment on ‘Live With Me’ that’s the epitome of this sound for
the last time where the bass, guitar and drums all keep playing the same deep
note and all the instruments ‘bleed’ together, with only a twinkling piano for
colour: in anyone else’s hands this simple sly song would have been a comedy
number but here even the comedy sounds like a tragedy in Decca’s studios. The
Stones will set up their own label ‘Rolling Stones Records’ in 1970 (where the
famous tongue logo comes from) but their problems were less with Decca (who
don’t even reject their planned album cover this year, for the first time in
many a long album) but more with manager Allen Klein. Not content with
splitting up The Beatles far more than Yoko ever did, Klein had dug his claws
deep into the Stones’ contract and demanded money with menaces from everything
they recorded for Decca before their contract runs out in 1970 (which is why
there wasn’t an LP that year as the Stones got crosser at his greed). By
starting afresh, though, The Stones first attempt a new clear engineering sound
(on 1971’s ‘Sticky Fingers’) before trying to go back to the ‘old’ sound and
coming up with something even murkier (on 1972’s ‘Exile On Main Street’). This,
though, is the last twirl of their signature swampy sound and for only the
second album they’ve learnt how to write the sort of swampy sounds that suit
it.
There’s another more cerebral reason we never get an
album quite like this again: look at the release date, December 5th
1969. In The Stones’ plans their big ‘celebration’ of this album came the next
day during a free festival they’d organised at Altamont Speedway which was the
single biggest gathering of youngsters in one place since Woodstock in August.
This time though the festival was going to be very much organised to promote
one band and everything was catered to plug The Stones’ latest chart-topper.
Which was, as it turns out, a tragic move, especially the decision to bring in
motorbikers The Hell’s Angels as the ‘security staff’ – apparently after a
tip-off from the Grateful Dead that the bikers in San Francisco were cheerful
and cheap, bought for the price of booze. However this really wasn’t Woodstock
but Altamont where the bikers were nastier and the booze made them nastier
still and they picked on members of the crowd, apparently for pleasure.
Everybody says it was The Stones’ satanic vibe that killed the mood, but
actually it had been bad from the start. The crowd were surely and restless,
numerable technical delays causing them to be less patient than the Woodstock
elite and the weather in December was always going to be more of a problem than
Woodstock’s blessed out Summer (rainshowers aside). The day was a difficult
one: Byrds spin-off band The Flying Burrito Brothers didn’t go down that well
with the crowd. Crosby Stills Nash and Young turned in a poor set by their
standards, suffering lots of sound issues. The Jefferson Airplane performed a
rousing set that kept being interrupted by kerfuffles in the audience and at
one stage lead singer Marty Balin – the hero of the hour – got bashed on the
head by a Hell’s Angel with a pool cue for trying to intervene during an attack
between a biker and a teenage girl (Paul Kantner’s dryly sarcastic response:
‘To the guy who just bashed our lead singer on the head…Gee, thank you so much
for that!’) The Grateful Dead, due to play next, took one look at the carnage
and refused to leave their helicopter, making the crowd ever more restless and
surly. And then The Stones played, dressed to kill and singing some of their
darkest songs so that what happened next seemed inevitable (as captured in
‘Gimme Shelter’, the tour film planned as a way of celebrating the event –
which ended up as a weird sort of tribute instead). A Hell’s Angel took a
dislike of a black kid named Meredith Hunter dating a white girl and resented
his trendy clothes. He barked out some orders. The kid got out a knife to warn
them off his girlfriend. He was stabbed multiple times and died before he even
made it to hospital. Legend has it the Stones were playing ‘Sympathy For The
Devil’ at the time and that on this night the devil ‘won’; actually they were
playing the less satanic but more misogynistic ‘Under My Thumb’ at the time but
the story was too neat to not go down in music folklore. Here, twenty-five days
before the calendar end of the 1960s, the 1960s spirit died in the most
spectacular way as unlike Woodstock millions of youngsters got together and
proved that they couldn’t look after themselves (well, not with pool cue wielding
bikers anyway). Even though their didn’t weild the knife themselves, The Stones
naturally got all the blame that day and their reputation never truly recovered
even if as the highest profile band still going from the 1960s their sales
remain strong for another decade and more. Even so, it’s the end of an era and
the ‘real’ Stones’ died that day every bit as much as The Beatles did at the
same time (with the ‘announcement’ coming in April 1970, though Beatle fans all
knew by this point three months on from ‘Abbey Road’). The Stones would never
be allowed to be quite so ‘dark’ as they are on this album again – and may well
have been afraid to go there themselves, if the haunted looks on their faces in
the ‘Gimme Shelter’ film are anything to go by. In the future only ‘Brown
Sugar’ will be truly as, well, ‘rude’ as people assume the Stones always were
(it is a song about the rape of a black slave on a Southern plantation after
all) and that song was probably written before this album was released anyway.
There’s one other big reason, though The Stones may not
have thought much of it at the time. ‘Let It Bleed’ is the ‘crossover’ album
between the Brian Jones era and the Mick Taylor one. Officially Mick plays
guitar on two songs and Brian only plays the maracas on ‘Midnight Rambler’ as
his last ever contribution to The Stones’ handiwork, but even so it’s another
end of an era as the founder Stone plays his last notes before his tragic death
on July 3rd 1969. By then Brian had known that he was no longer a
Stone – the group he’d formed, lived and breathed through thick and thin for
nearly a decade – after his drug addiction and inter-band rows (such as Keith
Richards ‘saving’ his girlfriend Anita from domestic abuse by wooing her
himself) caused him to slow down and take less interest in the band’s
activities. Officially he’d left before these album sessions began (‘Midnight
Rambler’ is an older song re-jigged when the band got desperate for material –
another Stones template to come!) and was there-but-not-there at all the 1968
sessions anyway, tending to sit in the studio read or stare while the music got
made around him and only occasionally leaping to his senses to make a
contribution (the thrilling out-of-synch mellotron solo in the middle of 1967
single ‘We Love You’ is his last fully functioning moment as a Stone – and what
a way to bow out that is!) Brian’s loss is a tragedy, still unexplained –
though the people around Brian him half expected news about a drug overdose one
day, nobody expected the former champion swimmer to drown in his own swimming
pool in mysterious circumstances (did the builder hired to work on his house
kill him after endless goading or out of jealousy for his rich lifestyle or was
it a tragic accident? We’ll never know. I’m pretty sure though that had Brian
stayed indoors all that day he’d have lived to have a fascinating career making
world music decades before it was fashionable and maybe even getting his act
back together enough to make more rock and roll, with or without the Stones).
Of all the tragedies that fall in the Stones’ story, his loss is surely the
worst and without Brian the Stones turn into just another rock band (albeit a
good one) rather than pioneers of the art, always going somewhere new. The band
learn of his death while deep in the middle of sessions for this album though,
which must have really added to ‘Let It Bleed’s dark and eerie feeling; the band actually got the news while
recording it’s outtake, a cover of Stevie Wonder’s ‘I Don’t Know Why I Love You
Babe’ (later released on Decca rarities compilation ‘Metamorphosis’) where Mick
Jagger has never sounded so emotional, so haunted, so desperate. ‘It goes on!’
he’s said to have fumed through gritted teeth to everyone in the studio that
day ‘It doesn’t end here, it goes on!’ And yet in many ways it does end here:
never again will The Stones’ be quite so daring on the high-wire after losing
one of their own from such a great fall.
Alright then, so that cake on the front cover is
looking less like a celebration and more like a commiseration with every
passing paragraph. The fact remains that ‘Let It Bleed’ is a more interesting
album to talk about than it is to listen to. Though many fans call it the best
thing The Stones ever did I’m never been that sure I quite agree: ‘Beggar’s
Banquet’ has the better songs by far, ‘Sticky Fingers’ has the better
production and ‘Exile On Main Street’ has the better, badder attitude. Taken
individually there are only two songs that make my heart soar as a Stones fan –
and unusually for this band these are the most famous tracks that bookend the
album and sound better on compilations anyway. ‘Gimme Shelter’ is so like the
aura post-Altamont that it’s scary to think it was recorded months before and
released a mere day before the event that turned the hippie dream on its head
because it’s all here: the screaming desperate guitars, the muscly rhythm
section that physically beats up a lost and lonely sounding Mick Jagger and
lyrics that scream about how the world is only one bad move away from
self-destruction and nihilism (and remember this is decades before Donald Trump
got into office!) ‘You Can’t Always Get What You Want’ is also a very clever
update on ‘Satisfaction’, an older, wiser, more broken band turning up with a
new philosophy for the ages that we have to make do with what we get, no matter
how bad it is and maybe that’s enough. The Beatles left us in the 1960s with
the similarly titled ‘Let It Be’ (I’d love to know if The Stones’ heard an
advance copy as the song had been around since January 1969 but the album it
was named for isn’t out until four months after this one!), a tale of how we
can make things better by believing in fate and letting things alone to work
themselves out, that a higher power is watching over us (many people assume
it’s a Catholic song but actually ‘Mother Mary’ is a dream Paul McCartney had
about his real mum). The Rolling Stones leave us with a double entendre-filled
song that leads to a much more depressive and caustic tale of how we all need
someone we can abuse and treat badly. As much as I remain a hippie at heart,
idealistic to a fault and believing that the madness of the last half-century
is a ‘test’, you sense that The Stones’ caught the mood of the future world
they couldn’t yet see more accurately. *sigh*
The rest of the album though is unremarkable – at
least, compared to the highs of ‘Beggar’s Banquet’. ‘Love In Vain’ strains hard
to be another beautiful ballad like ‘No Expectations’ gone or ‘I’ve Got The
Blues’ to come but just sounds like a pale impression of both. ‘Country Honk’
is the original inferior version of lesser Stones single ‘Honky Tonk Women’.
‘Live With Me’ is delicious fun but ridiculously simple, the sort of thing a
band could get away with in 1964 but not in 1969. The title track is
forgettable, a sly acerbic tune masquerading as a forgettably pretty song which
doesn’t work anywhere near as well as the first batch of songs that try this
trick back on ‘Between The Buttons’. ‘Midnight Rambler’, rated as an all-time
classic by many fans, always make me slightly nauseas with its celebration of
lust and rape of a hapless victim – admittedly several other Stones songs skirt
near this danger area too, but this one is particularly graphic and at least in
the others you can convince yourself that the girls involved have given some
sort of ‘permission’ for things to happen to them. Only the under-age sex of
‘Stray Cat Blues’ makes me blush more as a Stones fan and that one’s supposed
to – you get the feeling the Stones genuinely think this song about a whipping
rapist sounds like fun. ‘You Got The Silver’ is the closest the album comes to
a third classic – but even this sleepy weary Keith Richards ballad (the first
song he sings all the way through) never quite rises out of its drug stupor for
long enough to become the sweet pretty romantic ballad it yearns to be. And
‘Monkey Man’ is the single stupidest song in the Stones’ canon, one where Mick
Jagger does his gorilla impressions for four minutes and pretends he can get
away with this because he’s singing about ‘drugs’. While Jagger has such
swagger he can get away with all sorts of stupid ideas down the years
(particularly on his solo albums), this one make him sound like he’s gone
temporaily mad, orang-u-tangoed perhaps.
All that makes for an oddball album. There’s much to
love about this record of course: that cover artwork is absolutely fantastic
and so very Stones, taking what in other hands would be a very sweet idea and
adding literal ‘layers’ of dark humour as they throw all sorts of unsavoury
inedible material into the contents. It beats looking at a model pretending to
be Mick Jagger in his underwear on ‘Sticky Fingers’ or the boring beige of
‘Beggar’s Banquet’s ‘invitation’ card anyway. The Stones play together superbly
across this album. ‘Monkey Man’ aside Mick has never sounded better than he
does on this album, living the darkness of ‘Gimme Shelter’ alongside singer
Merry Clayton giving surely the best guest performance on any Stones album,
sounding deliriously sarcastic on ‘You Can’t Always Get What You Want’,
strutting with feeling on ‘Midnight Gambler’ and owning ‘Live With Me’,
laughing at himself about all his ‘real’ bad habits he hides behind for this
faux respectable song. Even his vocal on
‘Monkey Man’ isn’t as stupid as it would have been for anyone else – at least
he commits to this song and lives it. Keith too is on great form as the chief
guitarist finding new ways to make Chuck Berry riffs sounds contemporary and
pours out his soul on the sad suffering of ‘You Got The Silver’. New boy Mick
Taylor doesn’t get much of a chance to shine but is already the Stones’ secret
star, instantly getting the ‘ancient art of weaving’ so central to the Stones’
sound to come even though it’s a million years away from the dashes of exotic
colour we’re used to hearing from Brian Jones. However this is in many ways the
best Stones album for the rhythm section of Bill and Charlie who only sound
better than here on live album ‘Get Yer Ya-Ya’s Out!’; there’s a crackle and
fire between them as Bill sounds smug and upper class and Charlie sounds like
an energetic brat, both chasing each other to hell across the album songs (in
real life, of course, their characters are more the other way around!) ‘Gimme
Shelter’ is their ultimate performance during their quarter century together in
the same band, knocking lumps out of each other and sucking out all the ‘fun’
in a way that no other rhythm section could. The songs that work on this album
also work very very well indeed and have become Stones standards, played more
nights than not for the next forty years or so, for a reason.
However ‘Let It Bleed’ only sounds like an album to
lean on as a milestone in Stones history: scratch under the surface and you
have actually quite a messy inconsistent album by a band who should be on top
of the world but for so many reasons feel crushed, under the weight of
expectation, a world where The Beatles’ departure makes them the new de facto
most important band in rock, just as inspiration is beginning to wane. Complete
collapse is, across this album, only a few days away – and unwittingly ‘Let It
Bleed’ ends up painting a far better portrait of a world in disarray than they
perhaps expected. The least classics of the ‘classic’ era Stones albums, this
one piggybacked on the fame and focus of the bookending tracks and if you
scrutinise it fully is probably their weakest album since ‘Out Of Their heads’
as long ago as 1965. But then, the bands were out of their heads a lot during
the making of it and in retrospect the shock is not that the Stones faltered
but that they will be able to regain so much of their old swagger after the
events behind-the-scenes whilst making this album despite a new line-up, a new
record label with a whole new studio sound and a whole new decade that suddenly
won’t seem as made for the Rolling Stones as the 1960s had been. Sometimes a
record is entitled to be slightly less than parr – with a catalogue as bright
as the Stones’ we can afford to let this one ‘bleed’.
‘Gimme Shelter’ – oddly mis-spelt as ‘Gimmie
Shelter’ on original copies (The Stones were bad boys in all sorts of ways but
they always knew how to spell!) – is the album’s masterpiece, a stunningly
gritty song of doom, gloom and disaster. Usually when The Stones do depressing
they do so with a cheeky smile, the lyrics of ‘Sympathy For The Devil’ or the
it-won’t-happen-here laughter of ‘Street Fighting Man’. But this is the one
Stones song where there is no redeeming feature at all; this world is a dark
and scary place where anything can happen and usually does. This song might
just feature the best Keith Richards guitar riff after ‘Satisfaction’, those
chords slashing futilely and powerlessly against the heaviest bass-drum interplay
in Stones lore. There is no turning against this side as the listener gets
swept along, even when a second Keith part (unusually playing lead) comes in
and echoes the first. And that’s just the music: in terms of lyrics this song
is despair and desperation personified: a storm is coming, war, rape and murder
are ‘just a shot away’, mankind needs shelter from the dark forces that govern
us. It feels like a Viking-style of dark forces is imminent and in a troubled
1969 hit by Vietnam protests and marches and Nixon acting like Trump’s older
brother this song perfectly encapsulates the turbulence and restlessness of the
times. The generation gap is no longer a gap – it’s a war – and as the 1960s
comes to an end, with protests still ongoing, this is a last desperate struggle
against the darkness. In an update of ‘Sympathy For The Devil’ Beelzebub
doesn’t need our sympathy anymore because he’s ‘won’ and there’s no way back
from this. Even a last verse attempt to put a hippie twist on things (where
love is ‘just a kiss away’) is fooling no one: this is a world where the
darkness has won. In the middle of all this noise and confusion stands Mick,
usually the loudest thing in the room so brash and confident but here scared
and awkward, powerless to do anything to stop the madness he sees over the
horizon. He’s joined by the quite brilliant Merry Clayton (not ‘Mary’ as she’s
accidentally credited on first pressings) who scream-sings her way through the
song as a scared, scalded cat, using her blues stylings to good use as she
sounds like a scalded cat pleading to be put out of her misery. On any other
song her singing might be over-the-top but here it ups the stakes even more as
Mick tries to downplay things to sound like he’s trying to hold onto his sanity
and it’s a shame both that the Stones never use her again and that she never
had another ‘lead role’ with another band to match it (Merry is, though, an
accomplished backing singer and one of the best in the business; a film was
made about her life in 2013 named ‘Ten Feet From Stardom’). It’s a really hard
part to get right and none of the numerous female backing singers who’ve
attempted it in concert with the Stones have ever quite got it right, sounding
either awkward or histrionic. This pair, though, are living the song as is
everyone else in the room. This dark and evil song really starts this album off
with a bang and it’s an incredibly prescient take on the dark days to come,
recorded before both the death of Brian and Altamont, the storm clouds
skittering round the band’s horizon that came to pass.
Alas ‘Love In Vain’ undoes much of that song’s hard
work, being an overly pretty song by blues king Robert Johnson that’s in the
country-rock vein of many of the band’s recent worst songs. Keith was clearly
inspired by his growing friendship with ex-Byrd Gram Parsons in this period and
adds many a country-rock twinge to this old blues song, but oddly it’s his
triple-tracked acoustic, balalaika and steel guitar parts that all sound a bit
‘off’, as does Charlie’s too-simple drum track’; it’s Mick who lives this song
and almost makes it work. The melody is clearly at one with the old blues songs the band started out
playing (it’s an even slower variation of ‘Little Red Rooster’) and may have
started life as a tribute of sorts to Brian. However the arrangement really
doesn’t suit it: the country-rock twinges put this song too far from the
authenticity of blues into the oddly exaggerated-ness of country music and even
Keith pretending to hoot like a train on his slide guitar doesn’t add enough
levity to make this song work as well as the tongue-in-cheek original. What
ended up on the album is just a pale forgettable re-tread of ‘No Expectations’
where the narrator’s lover ends up leaving instead as he follows her to the station,
where ‘suitcase in her hand’, she begs him to come home. Maybe the band had
Brian in mind here, choosing a song he would surely have known and pleading
with their mentor to ‘come home’ where he belonged out of his drug stupor,
although as Mick and Keith were the ones who effectively threw him out this
seems unlikely. They clearly knew where it came from too, so it seems odd that
yet another mistake on the record’s original packaging credited this to ‘public
domain’ – Robert Johnson’s estate sued the band for a pretty hefty sum the
following year. The result though isn’t worth even a small share of the money
and is a rare period Stones song that really drags, feeling like a lot longer
than its 4:22 running time.
Everyone looked puzzled when the album came out with
‘Country Honk’ on it. This country version of the current Stones single out
five months before (‘Honky Tonk Women’) was so obviously inferior many wondered
if the band were making a joke. Actually the truth is a bit weirder than that:
this is how the song sounded first and it was only after listening back to this
cute but not very memorable song and realised that they could give more whallop
that Keith and Mick made this song their next single. Worried about including
their single on their album, against unwritten 1960s code, but wanting to
promote both the band figured that they would release both versions
simultaneously in July – only for rows with Allen Klein to rear their ugly head
and delay this album till December when the single had long disappeared from
the charts. There’s a charming version of Mick and Keith singing this in
rehearsal for their Latin American tour of 2016 (as seen in the ‘Ole Ole’
documentary film), two voices and one guitar having a lot of fun and this so-so
song sounds fabulous: pretty witty and gritty all at once. This version though
sounds like a demo that nobody cared much for and overdubbed over the top is a
most off-putting fiddle part from the usually excellent Byron Berline (an
honorary member of Stephen Stills’ Manassas). Nobody seems to care for this
version of the song which is slower and brings out all the clichés about honky
tonk bars and good time country girls and far from wondering ‘how to ever get
you off my mind’ is about as forgettable as the 1960s Stones ever became.
‘Live With Me’ might not be very smart, but it is
very funny. There’s a terrific opening bass riff from Bill enjoying a
particularly strong album before the first recording featuring Mick Taylor
sparking off a classy Keith Richards acoustic riff and Charlie playing with the
frenzied simplified anger of a punk rocker sometime before 1980. It makes for a
great groove, especially when Keith’s pal (born the exact same day) Bobby Keyes
makes his first of many Stones guest appearances on one of the few AAA
saxophone solos I actually enjoy, twisting and turning and strutting in the
song’s sultry breeze. However the lyrics find Mick on a rare off day. He’s
playing the part of someone who to the general public in 1969 probably sounded
quite threatening but by Stones standards is hilariously tame. This chap eats
his tea as early as three o’clock (it’s usually between six and eight for most
people, though ‘tea’ is a controversial word in British circles, as for upper
class people it means ‘afternoon tea’ with cakes and for working class people
it means ‘dinner’; yep we get confused by this too), eats meat that ‘must be
hung up for a week’ to get hard and shoots water rats. The implication is that
all of these strange customs, as accepted by the middle and upper classes of
the day, are every bit as weird if not more so as wine, women and song. However
Mick seems to have second thoughts about writing this song and first gets
genuinely naughty for 1969 standards (‘Don’t you think there’s a place for us
in between the sheets?’ – remember this is only two years after the band were
torn a strip for suggesting they would like to ‘spend the night together’) and
then gets weird with a ‘Jigsaw Puzzle’ style collage of images that try to
paint a wicked picture of upper class society but don’t work quite as well: the
butler’s having sex with the ‘whore’ of a cook and the chauffeur ‘flips’ when
the maid ‘strips’. Listen out too for a damning verse portraying the off-spring
of such debauchery, where children with ‘earphone heads’ (presumably big at the
bottom and small on top) are locked in the nursery away from the eyes of the
world. Mick’s performance is slightly ‘off’ too: this song would be funny if
delivered with his usual big wide grin but he sounds as if he’s singing this
one as if it’s all completely serious and he means every word of it, even the
stupid ones. It’s a rare song by the glimmer twins where the words and music
don’t go together but this one is it, even if one of the best band performances
on the record nearly rescues it.
I’ve never quite understood title track ‘Let It
Bleed’ either, which starts with an angry bass gulp and then turns into a
straightforward singalong with many Beatle-ish overtones. The song starts as a
warm, affectionate ballad about offering comfort and support, before turning
into a typically cheeky Stones song full of innuendo (as the narrator uses his
lover’s breasts to lean on, is told ‘there’ll always be a space in my parking
lot’ and the narrator sings about in return their lover being able not to lean
but to ‘cream’ on them) and then on again into a wickedly dark final verse
about dying in a hospital, bleeding over a ‘junkie nurse’. It’s surely a spoof
of The Beatles and their general niceness as so many fans have assumed down the
years – but I’m less sure that’s it’s a spoof of ‘Let It Be’ given the dates
and the title mibght just be a coincidence. Instead it sounds like a parody of
‘final Beatle statement’ ‘Abbey Road’ and its big extended songs with a crystal
clear production (this is about the closest The Stones ever manage over at
murky Decca), where the band end by offering their fans the uplifting hope that
‘in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make’; this sounds like
a Stones version: the world is mad and we’re all going to end up injured
bleeding sex-starved drug addicts anyway so at least band and fans can embrace
each other! The oddly lifeless tune, which again sounds suspiciously like
‘Honky Tonk Women’, though knocks the song down a mark or two and this is by
far the scrappiest band performance on the album, not light enough on its’ feet
to be funny or played with enough care to move us. Maybe the band should have
stuck with one idea of what this odd triple-song was meant to become and, err,
‘let it be’ after all.
‘Midnight Rambler’ is either the Stones being the
Stones or the biggest example of the band pushing things too far. This song is
clearly exciting: the band find a great groove, one beaten perhaps in epic
terms only by ‘Can You Hear Me Knocking?’ on the next album, and after a slow
start it really picks up speed with some classy Jagger harmonica, a very swampy
gruff Keith guitar part and Charlie sounding like a train. Mick and Keith wrote
it together during a rare holiday in Italy after reading about the exploits of
the Boston Strangler Albert De Salvo who raped and murdered thirteen women in
Boston between 1962 and 1964 before eventually confessing to his crimes. In
typical spirit, The Stones try and turn this outlaw into a hero – but unlike
their smart and educated Devil wondering why God gets all the breaks or the
rebel dreaming of mass protest against an oppressive government, this is
somehow hard to take. De Salvo wasn’t a strutting lothario who loved pleasuring
women, he was a murderer who delighted in making his victims suffer and usually
strangled them with their own nylon stockings, a symbol of his fear of their
sexiness perhaps (though many of his victims were in their sixties and
seventies). Hearing Mick getting into character and whipping his girl,
prostrate on the floor, with his belt probably was a turn-on for some, but the
lasciviousness and mischievous in Mick’s vocal sounds misplaced, as the band
are messing with ‘real’ forces not abstract ones and they van’t get away with
this one with a smile and a wink. The song ends on the painful lines ‘I’m going
to stick my knife right down your throat baby – and it hurts!’ That’s the
biggest problem with this song for me – it’s all so physical and so descriptive
that it really does sound like it hurts and must have upset the victims of the
real Boston Strangler badly (the band were quite open about where they got the
idea, although they admit they don’t know why they wrote such a dark song
during a holiday both Mick and Keith say was one of their best). There is,
however, a cracking ‘blues opera’ as Keith called it going on here, with
multiple stunning melodic sections stretched out to nearly seven minutes on
record and the band – still used to recording compact material – do well at
stretching out Grateful Dead style. The slow part in the middle where Mick
teases his victim and tells her it’s ‘not just one of those…!’ before his whip
cracks into her is impressively seductive and unsettling and the way the band
kick in from the slow section back to the old groove, but twice as fast, is
very much what a Stones song about rape would be doing, re-creating the sexual
act in a frenzy of lust and passion. However it is a song that worked far
better in concert with two guitarists bouncing off each other than it does in
the studio with one overdubbed and the ‘Get Yer Ya Yas’ version from the
following year knocks spots off this one. It’s also, perhaps, a song that might
have been better kept for private use between consenting Stones couples than
unleashed on the world. In retrospect it seems odd that Brian Jones’ last
contribution comes here, on a maraca part we can’t even hear, as it’s the least
Jones-like song on the album as far away from his original template for the
early 1960s band as this album’s songs come. But then again it makes sense that
the Stones would be so worried about this track that they’d hold on to it for
the best part of a year before dusting it out and finishing it.
Keith’s pretty ‘You Got The Silver’ is a big
breakthrough for him as a writer as he learns to stop hiding behind characters
(Mick’s included) and write from the heart. It had been a complicated and
confusing time for Keith: he was worried for Brian, but not so worried he could
stop himself taking his girl away from him, ‘rescuing’ Anita Pallenberg who
really didn’t deserve the temper tantrums and physical violence she got from
Brian, but who really didn’t deserve losing his one last link to sanity to his
best friend in such a callous way either. Typically Keith tries to write her a
love song to express how he feels, but typically he can’t quite bring himself
to be that direct, so what we get instead is a ‘you’ll do’ song that alternates
between being the most romantic song in the Stones’ canon and something that’s
deeply dismissive. Keith sings that his new girlfriend has his heart and soul,
but also that she helps him find the gold and diamonds lurking inside his own
personal ‘mine’, as if he loves her because she makes him feel great rather
than because she is. He also adds that she’ll ‘buy some time’ in a line that’s
quite cruel and wonders whether her laughter and smile really move him before
declaring that he enjoys it whatever it is ‘so I don’t care!’ This song isn’t
as openly cruel as Mick’s kiss-off songs to poor Jean Shrimpton (who deserved
so much better) but isn’t far behind, ending on a histrionic ending where Keith
loses his cool and shrieks at us as if he’s having a panic-attack and isn’t in
love at all. The tune, though, really is warm and authentic and oozes romance, everything
the words don’t. Worried about how he sounded on his first fully lead vocal on
a Stones record, Keith at first handed this song to Mick who sounds a hundred
times better on the version out on bootleg, starting warm and then getting
increasingly jokey as the song progresses; Keith alas doesn’t have that
experience or touch just yet. We don’t know why he took the song back again –
perhaps he just couldn’t handle giving over a song about his love to his best
friend at a time when his best friend had just agreed up to play her
‘boyfriend’ in the movie ‘Performance’, shot at the end of 1969, unable to hear
Mick singing sweet nothings to his girl (actually Anita is one of the few women
around the Stones scene that Mick didn’t at least try to woo!) The result is a
song that sounds amazing, but isn’t quite the genuine romantic beast it wants
you to think it is – and might perhaps have been better if it had come from the
heart without so many misogynistic Stones twists inside it.
‘Monkey Man’ also sounds great: there’s a dark
throbbing opening that sounds like this song is going to be a deep epic, with
another fantastic Keith riff and some brilliantly inspired drumming from
Charlie. But dear God those lyrics: ‘I’m a fleabit peanut monkey and all my
friends are junkies!…I’m a cold Italian pizza and I could use a lemon squeezer!’Had
Mick and Keith just had such a huge role that Jagger was resorting to sabotage
one of Richards’ funkiest guitar riffs? Or did Mick just pick up on the comical
inner gorilla in this muscly song rather than what he perhaps should have been
fixating on, this song’s paranoid (even for this album!) melody which is all
darted quick looks and a rising sense of panic? This could, in some parallel
land be on a par with ‘Gimme Shelter’ but instead what could have been a major
song of drama and angst has become the comedy relief. There is, thankfully, a
pretty great instrumental break in the song when Keith’s slide, cut short by
his stinging guitar riff, just somehow keeps on going and reaches up to the
heavens as if trying to throw off the shackles of the scary world…but then Mick
has to ruin it all by screaming ‘I’m a monkey!’ like he’s just puffed several
thousand cigarettes that day and has been devolved back to primate stage. The
result is a song that sounds good until you start paying attention and realise
that, yes, this song really is that embarrassing, one that starts off as ‘2001:
A Space Oddysey’ and ‘Planet Of The Apes’ and ends up a cartoon. Shoulda been a
B-side.
By contrast is ‘You Can’t Always Get What You Want?’
even by the same band? Thoughtful, complex and open to multiple
interpretations, this song genuinely sounds grand and epic. It even starts with
the sound of the London Bach Choir, who were reported before the album sessions
to be taking part with gusto, enthusiastic about embracing such a ‘mainstream’
band – however they pretty much wrote off their links after hearing the album
and deciding that they didn’t want to be associated with so much ‘evil’ (what
did they think was going to happen after ‘Sympathy For The Devil’ alone?!) However
this is a rare case of a Stones song you can imagine another band doing (though
oddly few people ever have covered this song over the years, perhaps because of
its length?) If ‘Satisfaction’ was the band’s anthem for disaffected youths
then this is their similar anthem for disaffected twenty-somethings living in a
world that doesn’t work the way they thought it did when they were children.
The narrator starts the song watching a girl he loves from afar, so unlike the
usual go-out-and-grab-‘em Stones philosophy. Knowing that she’s about to leave
for a ‘footloose man’ whose going to treat her badly (is this Keith writing
about Brian and Anita?), the narrator travels with her one last to a
demonstration where they chant about the oppression of society. This time,
though, they know that there is no easy fix – all they’re trying to do is make
themselves heard so that another faction of society gets shafted for a change
instead of ‘theirs’ because there isn’t enough to go around. After that they
take in the sight of ‘Mother’s Little Helper’, queuing up for the
anti-depressants they need to get them through the day (complete with jokey
reference to ‘Mr Jimmy’ who looked ‘pretty ill’ – it’s meant to be producer
Jimmy Miller who was indeed struggling with drug addiction after a year of
being around the Stones but will be around until 1973).
By the end of the song, though, the narrator
realises that what he’s dreamed for all his life – his perfect girl – is no
such thing and has only been pretending, breaking his heart with her chameleon skills
and her ‘blood stained hands’. No wonder, then, that after every verse the
narrator keeps coming back to the same place: that you can’t always get what
you want or by the sound of it ever get what you want, but that sometimes you
get what you need – that the problem lies not with what you have but with the
falseness of what you desire. It’s the old ‘be careful of what you wish for’ philosophy
but written in such a way that it sounds big and profound, applicable of all
things in life. By 1969 The Stones have learnt the hard way that dreams of
stardom and success come at a price: with a dead guitar player, a manager whose
guts they hate and a society trying to lock them away on trumped up charged out
of fear you can see why this song might sound so heartfelt. By 1970 being in
the Rolling Stones comes with a ginormous price tag and as such I’ve always
wondered if this was either a ‘farewell’ song to Brian (you can hear a
particularly glorious and tongue-in-cheek version of this song performed at the
Rolling Stones Circus in December 1968 with Brian playing along and added
passionate Jagger screams as he howls this song at the stoned dancing audience
like a man possessed) or a ‘warning’ song to Mick Taylor (who arrived too late
to do much to this recording but is thought to be on it thanks to the marvel of
overdubs – if so, it’s a warning he’ll take to heart, quitting the band in 1974
for the sake of his health after joining the Stones as a tee-total vegetarian
and ending it a drug and booze swilling addict). The bill that comes with
living for too long in a crazy world without any ‘shelter’, this is a glorious
downbeat finale to the album and the 1960s from a band who have several good
reasons to be afraid of the future. It is, though, also just a fine song that
says much and brings much comfort in a way that few Stones songs ever do, with
a stunning tune and a gorgeous performance where even the posh choir ‘fit’,
demonstrating that the title phrase applies to us all, rich or poor and that we’re
all pawns in a game of fate’s choosing we don’t quite understand. Mr Jimmy’s
arrangement on this song is also note-perfect, a mourning trumpet lick the
perfect counterpart to the noisy thrash of the solo where even the choir cut
loose. The Stones have learnt how to do long songs now, building with every
line and verse and have never sounded more evolved or wise.
It’s just a shame that the band had to spend so much
of this album when they had so much talent at their fingertips acting like
monkeys – literally. The fantastic first and last tracks have really coloured
this album for many fans and reviewers, to the point where this record full of
monkey noises, poor blues covers and rapists ended up being voted Rolling Stone
Magazine’s 32nd greatest album of all time (admittedly they do have
a thing about the Stones from the title on down, but seriously? In contrast even
other fan favourites‘Beggar’s Banquet’ got to #58 and ‘Sticky Fingers’ only got
to #63, while ‘Exile On Main Street’ didn’t make the top 500 list at all.
Surely some mistake?! This was, though, The Rolling Stones’ year in many ways,
when they were forever in the news thanks to the death of Brian and Altamont,
while the end of The Beatles made this album matter more than most to fill the
void, not just at the time of release but into a 1970s where the fab four didn’t
exist. This album was going to be popular whatever it did as long as it dipped
its toes in the black and dangerous waters society seemed to be swimming in
across 1969 and the first and last tracks are every bit as epic and
career-defining as fans hoped; it’s the filler in the middle that makes this a
less exciting Stones sandwich than other offerings. More bloody mess than
bleeding heart, this is an album that does what fans wanted it to do, but not
much more – unless hearing Mick Jagger as a monkey is your thing of course.
Better is to come.
A Now Complete List Of Rolling Stones
and Related Articles To Read At Alan’s Album Archives:
'Rolling Stones' (1964) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2011/05/news-views-and-music-issue-100-rolling.html
'Rolling Stones' (1964) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2011/05/news-views-and-music-issue-100-rolling.html
'No 2' (1965) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2015/08/the-rolling-stones-no-2-1965.html
'Out Of Our Heads' (1965)
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/06/the-rolling-stones-out-of-our-heads-1965.html
‘Aftermath’ (1966) http://www.alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/the-rolling-stones-aftermath-1966.html
'Between The Buttons' (1967) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-9-rolling-stones-between-buttons.html
'Their Satanic Majesties Request' (1967) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-16-rolling-stones-their-satanic.html
'Beggar's Banquet' (1968) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-26-rolling-stones-beggars.html
‘Aftermath’ (1966) http://www.alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/the-rolling-stones-aftermath-1966.html
'Between The Buttons' (1967) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-9-rolling-stones-between-buttons.html
'Their Satanic Majesties Request' (1967) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-16-rolling-stones-their-satanic.html
'Beggar's Banquet' (1968) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-26-rolling-stones-beggars.html
‘Let It Bleed’ (1969)
https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/08/the-rolling-stones-let-it-bleed-1969.html
'Sticky Fingers' (1971) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2012/07/rolling-stones-sticky-fingers-1971.html
'Exile On Main Street'(1972) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2010/05/news-views-and-music-issue-61-rolling.html
'Goat's Head Soup' (1973) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-58-rolling-stones-goats-head.html
'Sticky Fingers' (1971) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2012/07/rolling-stones-sticky-fingers-1971.html
'Exile On Main Street'(1972) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2010/05/news-views-and-music-issue-61-rolling.html
'Goat's Head Soup' (1973) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-58-rolling-stones-goats-head.html
'It's Only Rock 'n' Roll' (1974)
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2014/02/the-rolling-stones-its-only-rock-and.html
'Black and Blue' (1976)
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2015/11/the-rolling-stones-black-and-blue-1976.html
'Some Girls' (1978) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2009/05/news-views-and-music-issue-30-rolling.html
'Some Girls' (1978) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2009/05/news-views-and-music-issue-30-rolling.html
'Emotional Rescue' (1980)
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/11/the-rolling-stones-emotional-rescue-1980.html
‘Tattoo You’ (1981) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2012/11/the-rolling-stones-tattoo-you-1981.html
'Undercover'
(1983) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/rolling-stones-undercover-1983-album.html
'Dirty
Work' (1986)
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2016/08/the-rolling-stones-dirty-work-1986.html
'Steel Wheels' (1989)http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2011/09/news-views-and-music-issue-113-rolling.html
'Steel Wheels' (1989)http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2011/09/news-views-and-music-issue-113-rolling.html
‘Voodoo
Lounge’ (1994) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/05/rolling-stones-voodoo-lounge-1994.html
'Bridges
To Babylon' (1998)
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2015/02/the-rolling-stones-bridges-to-babylon.html
'A
Bigger Bang' (2005)
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2016/01/the-rolling-stones-bigger-bang-2005.html
Ronnie
Wood and Bill Wyman's Rhythm Kings Solo
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2016/12/a-short-aaa-guide-to-ronnie-wood-and.html
Rolling Stones: Unreleased Recordings http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/06/another-journey-through-past-darkly.html
Surviving TV Clips and Music Videos
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2016/12/the-rolling-stones-surviving-tv-clips.html
Non-Album Recordings Part One 1962-1969
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2017/01/rolling-stones-non-album-songs-part-one.html
Non-Album Recordings Part Two 1970-2014
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2017/01/the-rolling-stones-non-album-songs-part.html
Live/Solo/Compilations Part One 1963-1974
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2017/01/the-rolling-stones-livesolocompilationa.html
Live/Solo/Compilations Part Two 1975-1988
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2017/01/the-rolling-stones-livesolocompilation.html
Live/Solo/Compilations Part Three 1989-2015 http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2017/01/the-rolling-stones-livesolocompilation_30.html
Rolling Stones Essay: Standing In The Shadows https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2018/05/rolling-stones-essay-standing-in-shadows.html
Landmark Concerts and Key Cover Versions https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2018/07/the-rolling-stones-landmark-concerts.html