Monday 2 July 2018

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The Who Essay: Who Are You? And Who Am I? Identity In The Songs Of Pete Townshend

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I really having a ‘eureka!’ moment early on in creating Alan’s Album Archives when I suddenly realised what The Who ‘were’. Musicologists tend to put them as a rougher, rawer version of bad boys ‘The Rolling Stones’ and figures they must be permanently ‘angry’ what with all that windmilling guitar and exploding drumkits. There was a time, too, when people realised just how big and bold and beautiful and complex Pete Townshend’s music was and figured he must be another Brian Wilson or Lennon-McCartney, maybe both in the same body. Surely, then, The Who were a secretly uplifting band – after all, didn’t the audience always feel better after Tommy came to the [120] ‘See Me, Feel Me’ bit? Ray Davies added to the hysteria by claiming that he’d seen the High Numbers up close when they shared a bill with The Kinks and that by the end of the tour the fledgling Who sounded more like them than the Davies brothers did! In their heads, of course, The Who were ‘pretending’ to be hip young mods – The Small Faces if you will, but in slightly less sharp suits.
Perhaps none of that is true though. For I don’t think The Who ever quite knew who they were and everything Pete Townshend wrote is to some extent an attempt to discovery identity. I really should have seen it – I mean it’s in the band’s bloody name for a start, a perfectly chosen band name full of confusion and uncertainty. ‘They’re The Who?’ Said the parents, not realising the joke, ‘They sound awful’. ‘That’s right’ said The Kids. Not to the awful bit obviously. ‘They’re The Who – and they understand what it means to be a confused kid trying to make his way in a world that doesn’t want him there’. You see even though The Who themselves wrote a song about being referred to the [44] ‘Substitute Stones’ they didn’t have any of Mick Jagger’s certainty and poise. They didn’t have the self-belief of The Beatles. They didn’t have the quirky characters of The Kinkis, busy doing their own thing in a world that was going the other way. And they certainly didn’t have the magnetic charisma of The Small Faces. Instead they were a lost little boy and his mates trying to work out who they were and how they fit in, appealing to a generation of music listeners who were also lost and trying to work out how they fit in.
I love The Who because they work in an entirely different way to any other band out there. A search for identity is after all a major part of music and a major part of this website – but not done like this. Usually when bands are lost and confused they sound small and humble, unwilling to make their voices heard (The Moody Blues sound like this to some extent, Simon and Garfunkel too). Other bands that are lost and searching don’t have Roger Daltrey as their frontman. Roger, you see, doesn’t sound lost or vulnerable at all. He sounds as if he knows exactly what he wants – and if you have what he wants then he won’t mind stepping on your toes to get it. Though the elder adult mature Roger is a true gentleman of rock and roll, the face of the teenage cancer charity trust that does so much to help young people and eager to help out friends, fans and strangers alike, that wasn’t the way when he was first in The Who. Roger was the school bully everyone was afraid of, growing up in the ‘wrong’ end of London, skiving school every chance he got, getting teenage girlfriends pregnant at will and addicted to cigarettes and alcohol early on. Everyone was afraid of him – especially his younger classmate Pete Townshend (other classmate John Entwistle never showed any emotion one way or another). In any other band Roger would be the dominating presence – confident, cool and fully in charge.
However Roger wasn’t the writer for The Who – barring two or three actually quite promising songs. Pete Townshend was. The moment when The Who truly became The Who wasn’t when the band started as a James Brown covers band or even as a quirky writer of pop singles, it was when they started having ginormous hits with Pete’s songs. Till then he had been an uneasy presence in the group, unsure as to why he was really there. Townshend was nervy and vulnerable in the early days, fully aware that his gangly height and his beak nose made him an unlikely role model for impressionable kids. However without knowing it Pete held the keys to the band’s fortunes: back in 1965 there were a million kids out there who could cover the latest American R and B songs. However few if any wrote their own songs, even in the wake of The Beatles. For Pete the songs came easily. For a time he tried to write for The Who through the eyes of Roger and pretend to be confident and it didn’t always work (though second single [6] ‘Anyway Anyhow Anywhere’, written with Roger’s help, was a rare exception). However Pete soon hit upon a style that really did work for him: he was angry, frustrated, misunderstood, confused, frightened, vulnerable, scared by a world that was bigger than he was and unsure how he would ever survive it. The songs pour out of him expressing the unexpressable that he felt from his audience and himself: [4] ‘I Can’t Explain’, for instance, is the perfect debut single (The Who are the only 1960s band still performing their first single a half century on rather than outgrowing it and pretending it doesn’t exist) the perfect three minute pop song about not being able to write a three minute pop song because there’s too much to say and no easy way to say it. Without knowing it Pete tapped into the parts of a generation who hadn’t found a niche with the confident Beatles and sexy Stones and quirky Kinks because they didn’t know who they were and they couldn’t explain it either. That’s why, I think, Who fans have a particular bond with ‘their’ band that even other obsessed fanbases (such as The Beatles or Pink Floyd fanatics) can’t approach. This is a band who ‘get’ how it feels to be weak and vulnerable.
However the genius of The Who is that Pete Townshend is not their lead singer, Roger Daltrey is. Suddenly the bullied weird nerdy kid in the playground whose forever losing his front teeth can use the voice of the school bully to sing with. A year or so in, when things calm down and The Who is clearly Townshend’s band, Pete really makes the most of this gift, which is what every quivering wreck every wanted: to stand up for what they want to say with the voice of someone who knows how to say it and the results sound HUGE! There’s something about Roger’s confident sexy swagger singing those lines about vulnerability and neediness that adds an extra layer to Who recordings that you don’t get from Pete’s demo recordings alone (however great and under-rated they are) and which Roger has no hpe of finding on his solo albums (however enjoyable parts of them may be). A roaring voice screaming ‘I’m scared and vulnerable!’ is so much more effective than Mick Jagger purring ‘I’m fully in command’ or Simon and Garfunkel whispering ‘I feel sick with nerves’ (and I say that as a huge fan of both. Sometimes, a few albums in, these pair of opposites even get to sing together and its no coincidence that many people’s favourite Who songs ([122] ‘Baba O’Riley [123] ‘Bargain’ [130] ‘Won’t Get Fooled Again’, large sections of Tommy, at a push [188] ‘Music Must Change’) feature Pete singing the kernel of the ‘real’ song quietly in the middle of Roger’s shout. ‘Don’t cry, don’t raise your eyes, it’s only teenage wasteland’. ‘I look at myself in the mirror, I know I’m worth nothing without you’. ‘Is this song so different, am I doing it all again?...’, a sudden switch to Tommy crying out ‘See Me, Feel Me’, even a simple ‘Do ya?!?’ hidden in the middle of ‘Fooled Again’ – they’re what the song is ‘really’ about behind the brave front Roger is putting on to the world as it throws everything at the narrator.
Pete, though, is not fooled again – he’s only acting, using Roger as a human shield against the mayhem and might of a world who can’t resist throwing everything it can at him and his kind. Backed up by John Entwistle’s bass (the loudest in rock when it’s recorded right) and Keith Moon’s drums (the loudest in rock even if he’s playing across the room in another studio!) and The Who suddenly sound HUGE and completely unstoppable. However they never ever lose touch with the vulnerability in the lyrics. So many Who songs can be boiled down to roughly the same thing. ‘Why are you hurting me? Why is everything so hard? You just wait until I’m strong enough to fight you back!’ It’s the sound every bullied kid has ever longed for – the sound of a bully speaking up for them. Seeing Pete grow in confidence to the point where he becomes one of the world’s greatest frontman, big on sarcasm and high on banter with the crowd, in no way negates the fact that he remains the band’s scared and vulnerable voice. He is after all in front of ‘his’ people.
So much for the sound, then, but what about the songs? Well, many seem to deal with identity directly. Fifth single [55] ‘Substitute’ is a key Who song, written for a world who assume – in the wake of [22] ‘My Generation’ – that The Who have all the answers. In their shoes every other band would be celebrating being accepted and accept it as a confidence boost, but Pete had a life-long phobia of yes-men who thought everything he did was perfect and he cuts away all our perceptions of him on this very clever single. It’s not so much a song about who the band are (compare to any period Beatles song except ‘Help!’ and every single Stones song) as what they’re not. The character sounds as if he knows what he’s doing – people tell him he ‘looks good’ with his girlfriend and that he’s tall, with the walk of someone who is ‘simple’ and direct, that he walks in posh leather shoes so must be ‘rich’, even that he’s ‘white’ (and therefore given what people would now term ‘white privilige’). But it’s all a myth: he feels hopelessly lost next to this pretty girl, he walks around in heels so he only gives the impression of being tall, he was born not with a silver but a ‘plastic spoon in my mouth’ and he knows he’s so complicated. He even throws in that ‘my dad was black’ (itself a line substituted with ‘I walk forward but my feet walk back’ on personal appearances on radio and TV stations afraid of mentioning race or colour on air). On ‘Substitute’ appearances can be deceptive and Pete doesn’t feel any more confident with a #2 UK hit single behind him than he did before.
Other Who songs follow: [46] ‘I’m A Boy’ is another deeply confused narrator, but this time confused over his gender. In the original idea for the song (which, naturally for Pete, was intended to be an entire concept album that sadly got whittled down to a mere three minute single) we are living in a future where children aren’t born through pro-creation but ordered, so that a family can have exactly what they want. A family think that four girls would be nice but when the order arrives they end up with three girls and a grumpy boy named Bill. The family don’t want to send back their order so poor Bill is stuck being treated as a girl for all eternity, yearning to break free of his dresses and scrape his knees and play in the mud, singing ‘I’m a boy!’ over and over to a world that doesn’t want to hear it because they’ve pigeon-holed him. Society – maybe even God – doesn’t make mistakes about gender so he must be mistaken; I’ve always been surprised that this song wasn’t picked up on by the ‘trans’ movement (one half of it at least) because it’s the perfect song about being a boy born in a girl’s body and your confusion at being treated differently to how you perceive yourself. Bill is a lone voice in the wilderness trying to re-claim his identity, even though identity is such a personal thing no one has a right to tell you who you are except yourself.
One key album track of the period is [59] ‘I Can’t Reach You’, a rare track entirely sung by Pete from ‘Who Sell Out’. In this song the narrator isn’t struggling to be himself but struggling to project that to other people. This is one of the 1960s’ most messed up love songs of them all – the couple both love each other and want to be with each other. But they can’t connect at all – they’re apart in time and space, seperated by a million miles and a million years (and a million pounds). They long to be together, they yearn to be together, but society says they can’t be (because they belong to different cultures, different classes – and if the lyrics are literal they are never alive when the other is anyway). The ‘real’ them goes together so well when Pete catches a ‘glimpse of your unguarded untouched heart’ and sees the real person he loves so much. But he’s too ‘late’ – society has made his loved one feel she has to act as a different person altogether, guarded and controlled in the face of a cruel world. He isn’t prepared to act and she isn’t prepared to drop her act, so they can never ever be. It’s a heartbreaking song, filled with such loss and heartbreak and devestation, so unlike the other unusually confident songs on ‘Who Sell Out’ with the memorable image of the couple running towards each other with outstretched arms (and missing).
You can hear this search for identity in 1970 standalone single [118] ‘The Seeker’ too. Pete is desperate to find out who he is, but rather than search within himself he latches on to other people, hoping that they will tell him who he is. However all Bob Dylan and The Beatles can tell him is who they are and that doesn’t really help him much. Pete realises with a sigh that actually the only way he’s going to know who he really is and what he’s searching for is when he dies. Only of course he’s impatient to know the answer now. There’s a development of sorts, though. All Pete knows on this song is who he is at different moments, when different emotions run through his heart – ‘I’m happy when life’s good and when it’s bad I cry’. He only knows who he is in any one moment though, not who he is for any stretch of time.
This puzzle over identity is there in the whole of ‘Tommy’ too, a work which is more autobiographical than perhaps most fans realised. It took Pete a long time to come out and say it, but he was forever warped by his parent’s decision to briefly split up and palm Pete out to one of his aunts. The last person who should be taking care of a lonely culnerable child, she was more interested in the stream of steady boyfriends who came through the door and poor Pete had to call ‘uncle’ (like Uncle Ernie). Building up a wall around himself, Pete found that his mind blocked out what happened next but figured that involved something sexual he was too young to understand. An already shy child lost his ability to speak about what happened, he closed his eyes to seeing the world around him and he closed to his ears to what people told him – like many abuse victims he was encouraged to play up to a fantasy world so that nobody got into trouble, too small to speak up for himself and unlikely to ever be believed if he did. Thankfully his ‘story’ will right itself – Pete’s family will get back together, he ends up back home and even has a beloved and much younger (by fifteen years) brother Simon (who still plays in The Who to this day, or at least whenever the last reunion gig happened to be). What, though, if that hadn’t happened? He’d have ended up like poor Tommy, who in the concept album sees his mother having sex with her new boyfriend when his father, long thought lost in the war, walks in on them and shoots the new man (other variations of this story have the lover killing the husband, which is more plausible if people think the father is dead already). Tommy witnesses this but is told to keep quiet, losing his ability to navigate between the ‘real’ world and the fantasy he’s been given in the process. He turns inward, isolating himself because nobody around him understands him and he can’t trust anyone, his only companion being his mirror image – the only person who re-acts in a way he understands. Throughout the record we hear Tommy’s name repeated over and over like a talisman too – the only link he has to his own identity separate form other people. Other people know exactly who they are, even when that person is awful and can easily switch personalities depending on what people need to hear (Uncle Ernie and Cousin Kevin). Poor Tommy, though, doesn’t know how to be anyone but himself and doesn’t know who that is anymore, unable to ‘act’ and live a lie. Everyone around Tommy tries to cure him with sex, drugs and rock and roll but none of it works, only love as Tommy’s mother becomes so infuriated with her son’s suffering that she loses control and smashes the mirror, at last caring more for him than for herself. This changes Tommy and it all rather goes to his head, but by Tommy’s final act everyone whose desperate to hear what he says for himself figures its all a great con and he really isn’t ‘the new Messiah’ (but a very naughty boy). They all move on to the next big thing, but Tommy never can – because this isn’t some new fad but his real true self.
Another important Townshend track sadly got relegated to mnere B-side status even though from the title alone it’s the most Who-ish song ever! [131] ‘I Don’t Even Know Myself’ is Pete’s statement to the outside world who think they can pigeon-hole him. How can they know who he is when even he is confused by himself? An update og ‘Substitute’, Pete admits his words can’t give him away because he just makes them up, his dress can’t give him away because it’s just what he wears and his walk can’t tell us where he’s going because he himself is lost. Pete is trapped in a ‘dream’, fighting to hold on to his real self and afraid that he’s lost it. ‘I see Tommy is the way I’m staying’ he sighs too, hemmed in and pigeon-holed by his most famous work even though ‘Tommy’ is itself a whopping great search for identity. There’s even one of the single greatest Who-ish lines in this entire book: ‘Don’t shiver as you pass me by – because I’m the one whose frightened’. Pete’s identity here is that he doesn’t know who he is, even years on from his first success.
‘Lifehouse’ is sketchier, given that we never did get a fully finished version of that story, but it is too about identity. Pete’s original unweidly idea was that The Who would play in front of a select audience every night and would gradually get to know everyone in the crowd. Eventually their personalities would be ‘fed’ into his synthesiser and would be turned into new songs (in the end the only two people to ever be ‘fed’ into the machine were Mehere Baba and synth inventor Terry Riley – see [122] ‘Baba O’Riley’ if you hadn’t guessed already). Set against this was a future totalitarian society that said people couldn’t intermingle and had to be separated into their homes, without any communication to the outside world. Inevitably some people escape this regime and eke out an existence in the outer worlds; better yet they broadcast an illegal radio station and have something known as ‘the grid’ where they can communicate their real and personal thoughts – every fan coming to this work since the 1990s immediately recognises this as an early version of the internet and indeed Pete used the internet a lot when he returned to this work around then, turning it into a radio play and a pricey box set full of odds and ends from the work. If ‘Tommy’ is about discovering yourself, then ‘Lifehouse’ is about discovering who you are in relation to other people – there’s a love story, of course, but the real heart of this story is central character Mary’s discovery that she is a ‘different person’ depending on who she is with – at work, with friends, with her new rebellious boyfriend. This leads to a further discovery that society is wicked and awful and should be destroyed ([130] ‘Won’t Get Fooled Again’) but the really identifiable identity song is [123] ‘Bargain’. I’d gladly lose me to find you!’ snarls Roger on Pete’s behalf. ‘I look in the mirror’ rejoins Pete, ‘I know I’m worth nothing without you, in life one and one don’t make two one and one make one…I’m loking for you!’
Next epic ‘Quadrophenia’  takes elements of both. Jimmy the Mod seems at first to have his shit together. He has a gang, he has a girlfriend, he has a scooter, he’s a hit down at the local club scene, he has access to a stash of drugs, he even has a job which he doesn’t much care for but helps pay for the stuff he does need. In short, he’s a mod, one who could have been any of the kids in The Who’s audience in the mid-1960s (even if, technically, any true mod would be more likely to be watching The Small Faces than The Who). However he’s not like the other mods who are eager to move onto the next big thing (folk-rock or psychedelia, take your pick) and who were only wearing sharp suits and listening to mod records because it was in fashion. Everyone else is in it for ‘fun’ but for Jimmy mod is a lifestyle, an identity he can’t take off like a coat. He loses his girlfriend to a kid whose much cooler than he is. He loses his scooter in a freak accident. His mother discovers his drug stash and kicks him out. He loses his job. He doesn’t know who he is anymore and he’s hurting, confused, vulnerable for the first time in his life. He decides to return to the scene of the last time he was happy (the mods versus rockers riots of Brighton) when he had a gang around him, but alas he sees the ‘ace Face’ (the kid every mod looked up to) reduced to working as a bell-hop for a living, under the thumb of ther grown-ups. What’s worse is the Ace Face (who sounds oddly like Keith Moon) doesn’t see this as a comedown – he was always going to have to knbuckle down and get a job as that’s how the real world works, but it was fun being a mod while it lasted. Jimmy is devastated: he doesn’t want to give up the only identity he’s ever had and flees to the sea in a boat drugged up to the eyeballs and working out what to do next. This album, much more than the others, is Pete’s message to ‘us’ the fans and everyone in a similar boat about having to forge their own identity beyond their anorak music obsession. Jimmy has an ambiguous ending and may either drown or be re-born in the sea, realising that he has to be loved for who he is and find people he can love for who they are in turn. Finale [161] ‘Love Reign O’er Me’ isn’t just about finding love but about finding identity too, while songs like [153] ‘Is It In My Head?’ are about Jimmy’s low self-esteem and [150] ‘I’m One’ about how he feels lost alone but feels like he has an identity as part of a ‘gang’, with his fellow mods. The piece is also named, of course, for Jimmy’s split personality – other people can become schizophrenic when they are confused who they are, their characters split into two, but Jimmy is bleeding quadraphonic, four separate people living in the same body and unable to work out who he really is. ‘Can you see [146] the real me?’ is the painful opening cry of the entire work, but we only find out at the end when Jimmy is frightened, vulnerable and alone.
This leads into an interesting sub-culture of Townshend songs, the link between band and fans. There’s a whole great pile of them as Pete reaches out to the Who’s audience and tries to give his struggling fans the identity they lack. They are ‘Who fans’, nothing more nothing less, and have identity simply by being part of something bigger than themselves. [135] ‘Join Together’, at one stage a key part of ‘Lifehouse’ is an under-rated Who single and a key moment in their discography. Other songs by other AAA bands urge their fans to ‘come together’ with them, but only The Who make it sounds like a matter of life and death. It doesn’t matter who you are either – everybody is welcome, no matter how hopeless, hapless or how much of a misfit you are. We can follow or lead the way, we don’t have to pay money to belong, we are part of something bigger than ourselves. Pete also, you see, gets something out of this ‘bargain’, for by giving him a mandate to speak on behalf of ourselves we provide him with an identity, a chance to show who he is at last. That’s why, too, the finale to Tommy is so moving: Pete gains his identity along with Tommy, not because of any sudden thing he says or realises but because he gets it from ‘us’. ‘Listening to you I hear the music, following you I climb the mountain, from you I get the story’. That’s especially true of Quadrophenia, of course, which is the story of so very many Who fans. However as early as the band’s third and most famous single [22] ‘My Generation’ they were listening to ‘us’ and reflecting our hopes and dreams and fears. The Who weren’t singing ‘hope I die before I get old’ for themselves but for everyone who had only just discovered their identity through music – and had to then give it up to join the ‘adult world’.
Music, too, is the one salvation for The Who that continues to give Pete an identity. There are many glorious Who songs that are about nothing more than the glory of songs to lift you up and put you back together again when you’re feeling miserable, that songs can express the inexpressible that you can never say. A song like [144] ‘Long Live Rock!’ says this simply and joyously, a tongue-in-cheek piece about the gulf between the reality and premise of the world of performing that nevertheless still makes it sound like the best job in the world communicating with people. [162] ‘We Close Tonight’, a Townshend song cut from Quadrophenia at the eleventh hour, fills in the only real bit of character for Jimmy we ever get – he’s a jazz fan, an anorak who defines himself through the records he owns. A more complex song like [190] ‘Guitar and Pen’ is probably close to the truth though – Pete thinks he has something to say, gets it wrongt, flings his guitar and pen away in digust and vows never to write again – but something makes him pick them both up and start writing again, his desperate hunger to express what’s in his soul. [188] ‘Music Must Change’ too is his heartfelt plea that music has become too up itself and caught up with character by 1978 (ironically it was probably written in early 1976 a few months before punk came along to do just that, but it is one of the most prog-rock and un-punk like pieces The Who ever made). Perhaps the truest take on music though is [149] ‘The Punk and the Godfather’. Audiences know when the performer in front of them is a ‘fake’ and is no longer speaking directly to the ordinary people from the heart as one of them. And that’s inevitable when a performer is hailed and celebrated and adored and his head becomes so big that he no longer feels ordinary at all. It’s the great dilemma all successful bands haver to face – when do you stop writing for the people you represent and are now only writing for yourself/ And who is the ‘real’ you anyway?
By 1975, though, even Pete Townshend has to join the adult world. ‘Who By Numbers’ is a scared, paranoid album where nothing works anymore. Pete’s band is disintegrating, his marriage is cracking under the strain, he’s no longer being true to himself but living a life of lies, using ‘brandy’ as a front to be the person everyone wants him to be. On this astonishing and under-rated album he goes back to writing for the self, stripping away every possible crutch to show us what his identity really is. And the result doesn’t make for pleasant listening: Pete is a mess, suicidal, aware that he ‘got old’ and broke his promise of ten years before by reaching the tipe old age of thirty with so much of the world still suffering, dreaming of a time when he can be true to his principles and ‘lose control’, sarcastically denouncing all of his so-called friends for never loving him for who he is and pitying the tramps who look through his dustbins not for souveniers but for food, starved of even the basic necessities to live. Suddenly all his pontificating and deep-thinking seem for nought and he has no more idea of who he is then he did when he started. Yet again he’s envious: everyone is in ‘love’ except him and he hates himself and who he really is. ‘Who By Numbers’ is an extraordinary album coming after so much hard work by pete building himself up to be something but at least its ‘real’ again, without the artifice or characters of the recent Who albums.
From then on until the end in 1982 Pete is in an uneasy situation. He needs to be true to himself but is aware that he doesn’t like who he is anymore; equally The Who are a bloated middle-aged band still singing about teenage identity crisis and drustration. By their mid thirties most people (supposedly) know who they are with careers and families (not sure I do) – The Who aren’t singing to their target audience anymore. So more and more Pete writes for himself; [192] ‘Who Are You?’ is one last great outpouring as Pete tries to work out who he is and who is audience are. He recounts the real-life tale of meeting The Sex Pistols in a club and pleading with them to be real this time, to stay true to their principles and finish off bands like The Who which he now sees as artificial and false. When they say that they are Who fans he’s disgusted and goes off to get drunk, ashamed when his celebrity status means a policeman recognises him slumped in a Soho doorway and sends him home. But even if the policeman knows who he is, Pete doesn’t anymore – the fact that Roger is barking this song with the cool confident control of a man who knows exactly who he is doesn’t undercut the uncertainty at the heart of this troubled song at all.
Even John Entwistle gets into the act, taking up more album room as Pete’s confidence stutters and stalls, writing his own rock opera about identity condensed into a three minute pop song in [186] ‘905’, a song so Townshendesque John even gets his friend to sing half of it. Like ‘I’m A Boy’ identity has been reduced to mail order, but this song goes further by having humans bred with special characteristics in test-tubes. Usually in Who songs a name is something that ‘belongs’ to you and you wear like a talisman until you find a personality to go with it, but here John even takes that away. His character doesn’t have a name but a number and reflects that, born fully aware into a world he isn’t ready for, ‘something deep inside is missing’. He isn’t ready to be the person he is programmed to be.
By and large Pete keeps his personal songs for himself and his solo records from now on, Roger struggling to sing such nakedly openly vulnerable songs as ‘I Am An Animal’ with his usual force. There’s one great exception though and its saved till last. [217] ‘Cry If You Want’ puzzles many fans as the last track on the last Who studio album (‘It’s Hard’) – shouldn’t the end go out with a bang not a whimper and why is it all so miserable? But for me this is Pete’s great coming of age song as he realises that he’ll have to live the rest of his life without the band (he doesn’t know about John Entwistle’s desperate need for money and the endless reunions just yet). He turns on himself like never before, pointing out all the things ‘wrong’ with him – his imability to get close to anyone except his teddy bear, his pretence at being a ‘famous star’ when he doesn’t feel special at all, his endless affairs that were putting strain on his marriage to his teenage sweetheart, the ‘innocence, fresh ideas and insolence’ that have given way to artifice, the fact that he became the rich distant rockstar he once hated, his general paranoia, the fact that for all his life achievements he still feels like a miserable nobody. However for the first time in his life, after seventeen years of using Roger as his human shield to fight the rest of the world with, Pete turns his best friend on himself. Roger is let loose on his bandmate, tearing him to shreds, pointing out his mistakes and vulnerabilities and everything he got wrong and for the first time Pete is brave enough to listen. After seventeen years of acting tough and hiding behind the sheer noiuse of The Who he can now affiord to be who he really is – a scared and lost little boy. A moving middle eight literally lets the tears flow, Pete allowing himself to truly feel for the first time in years, even his bully giving him permission to cry – something he’s never been granted before in a world that demands he act ‘tough’. The Who surely had many other great albums in them after this (and unlike most fans I’m rather fond of the last trio of albums, even if they arebn’t as multi-dimensional as the run that came before them) but the band just has to end here, the moment that Pete has been building up to the band’s whole career wrong.
Does Pete have an identity now? You would hope so. The Post-Who Pete Townshend may not be anywhere near as creative as he used to be (his solo albums get further and further apart until stopping for good in 1993). His autobiography (titled, of course ‘Who I Am’ although I still say ‘Who Am I?’ would have been a better title) However Pete now seems so much happier in his own skin than he ever was before. He does a ridiculous amount for good causes, be they for his beloved guru Meher Baba, disabled children or world peace, he continues to stick up for those who don’t have a voice, is a humble and gracious man with fans (when he’s in the right mood) and he found true love with his second wife Rachel – the fact that he started seeming much more comfortable from almost the minute he met her in the early 1990s speaks volumes to me. Pete knows who he is now – a good kind spiritual emotional man (the two aren’t as opposite as some people think), desperate to connect with people and make the world better for them. You sense that, in the last twenty years, he no longer finds that he can’t explain the unexplainable (and indeed no longer feels the need to write to discover how the world works as much as he did). Pete, you could argue, has found more peace at the end of his life than John or Keith ever did. Funnily enough one of the few musicians who also found an inner peace that makes his younger self seem unrecognisable these days is…Roger Daltrey, who (particularly after Tommy made him a star in 1969) found the success and contentment he had been searching for all those years, self-identifying as ‘Peaceful Perc’ after a youth spent lashing out at people for not having what they had. The Who, against the odds, seems to have a happy ending – for half the band at least.
A complete collection of Who reviews:

'The Who Sing My Generation' (1965)

'Sell Out' (1967)

‘Tommy’ (1969)

'Live At Leeds' (1970)

'Lifehouse' (As It Might Have Been) (1971)

'Who's Next' ('Lifehouse' As It Became) (1971)

'Quadrophenia' (1973)

'The Who By Numbers' (1975)

'Who Are You' (1978)

'Face Dances' (1979)

'Empty Glass' (Townshend solo 1980)

'It's Hard' (1982)

Surviving Who TV Clips 1965-2015

Non-Album Recordings Part One 1964-1967

Non-Album Recordings Part Two 1968-2014

Pete Townshend “Scoop” 1-3

The Best Unreleased Who Recordings

Live/Solo/Rarities/Competition Albums Part One 1965-1972

Live/Solo/Rarities/Competition Albums Part Two 1972-1975

Live/Solo/Rarities/Compilation Albums Part Three 1976-1982

Live/Solo/Rarities/Compilation Albums Part Four 1983-1990

Live/Solo/Rarities/Compilation Albums Part Five 1991-2000

Essay: Who Are You And Who Am I?:

The Rolling Stones: Landmark Concerts and Key Cover Versions

You can now buy 'Yesterday's Papers - The Alan's Album Archives Guide To The Rolling Stones' in e-book form by clicking here!

I don't know about you, dear reader, but so far this book/website has seemed awfully studio-bound: yes there are the odd live albums dotted round in the discographies but a touring life was usually as important if not more so to our AAA artists. Even we can't go through every gig they ever played however, so what we've decided to do instead is bring you five particularly important gigs with a run-down of what was played, where and when and why we consider these gigs so important. Think of these as a sort of 'highlights' covering from first to last, to whet your appetite and to avoid ignoring a band's live work completely! The Stones may well have played more gigs than any other AAA band. A complete number seems hard to compile (especially now that Bill Wyman isn’t in the band and taking lengthy notes all the time) but it seems to be well in the thousands (3000?) There have been some lengthy gaps between tours sometimes and a long spell between early 1967 and mid 1969 when the need to cover up Brian Jones’ failing health meant the Stones didn’t go out on tour at all. But these are minor spells in a career that has now lasted nearly fifty-six years and has seen the band go from playing one of the smallest clubs in Britain to breaking a record for attendance that had stood for five years (since old rival Paul McCartney, in fact).

1)  Where: Marquee Club, London When: July 12th 1962 Why: First Gig Setlist: ‘Kansas City’ ‘Confessin’ The Blues’ ‘Bright Lights Big City’ [38] Down The Road Apiece ‘Dust My Broom’ ‘Baby What’s Wrong?’ ‘Bad Boy’ ‘I Ain’t Got You’ ‘Honey Hush’ ‘Ride ‘Em On Down’ ‘Back In The USA’ ‘Kind Of Lonesome’ ‘Big Boss Man’ ‘Blues Before Sunrise’ ‘Don’t Stay Out All Night’ ‘Tell Me That You Love Me’ ‘Happy Home’

Back in March 1962 two rival bands met up at London’s Ealing Jazz Club owned by blues legend Alexis Korner and made friends. In one corner playing R and B were ‘The Blue Boys’, starring Mick and Keef with guitarist Dick Taylor (later of The Pretty Things). Other in the other corner wailing the blues were ‘Blues Incorporated’ starring Brian Jones and Ian Stewart. Jones had been looking for new members and found a ready made half group all ready for him – in turn the ‘Blue Boys’ were impressed by the extra authenticity Brian was already using in his music. The new band rehearsed in private for four months at the memorably titled ‘Bricklayer’s Arms Pub’ in London. This period was punctuated by bust-ups over whether Chuck Berry and Bo Diddley counted as ‘blues’ and with the loss of several members: guitarist Geoff Bradford, lead singer Brian Knight and drummer Tony Chapman. The band really needed a break, but nobody would give them one – even their old pal Alexis Korner had no spots available at his Marquee Club and would only shake his head when Brian asked him for work. And then, on July 12th 1962 the band got lucky: Alexis’ band ‘Blues Incorporated’ were asked to play a radio gig on the day they would normally be headlining at their club and the broadcasts were live in those days. All the band shiggled up one on the bill and it left an opening for the Stones at the bottom of the bill. Needing a name in a hurry so Jazz Weekly could include it on the regular adverts for the venue, Brian is said to have got ‘The Rollin’ Stones’ from his own record collection, noticing the Muddy Waters track of the same name. They were, though, still only half a band made up of a singer, two guitarists and a pianist; old pal Dick Taylor agreed to fill in on bass to help them out and a series of auditions resulted in Mick Avory, future Kinks drummer. Inevitably nobody thought to take pictures or record the sound of what was only yet another new blues band on the bottom of the bill and nobody bothered to review the band’s first gig, but against all odds Stu kept his diary for that year with some scribbled notes as to what the band played on their first appearance – this might have changed between rehearsal room and stage but it makes for interesting reading. Still caught halfway between R and B and blues, it features Bo Diddley and Chuck Berry alongside several Elmore James songs and even a Billy Fury tune (‘Honey What’s Wrong?’) I would have loved to have heard some of this material: I bet Jimmy Reed’s cackling song of rebellion ‘Big Boss Man’ sounded great in the Stones’ hands for instance with Brian Jones harmonica! The Stones barely played any of these songs on their later records interestingly: [38] ‘Down The Road Apiece’ is the only exception to this as re-cut for their second album in 1965. Even the other two Chuck Berry songs played that night are different! (‘Back In The USA’ and ‘Confessin’ The Blues’, perhaps a sop to Brian as its Chuck’s bluesiest song!) The band didn’t exactly take the world by storm and Alexis Korner never did give the band a full-time job as they hoped, but somebody must have liked it as sixteen days later they were back at the bigger Ealing Jazz Club down the road apiece where the band had first met up.

2)  Where: Crawdaddy Club, Richmond When: April 14th 1963 Why: Beatles Meet Stones Setlist: ‘Ain’t That Lovin’ You Baby?’ ‘Bright Lights Big City’ ‘Close Together’ ‘Soon Forgotten’ ‘Shame Shame Shame’ ‘Talkin’ ‘Bout You’ ‘Memphis Tennessee’ ‘I Just Want To Make Love To You’ ‘I Want You To Know I’m Bad’ ‘Like Jesse James’ ‘Little Egypt’ ‘I’m Alright’ ‘Pretty Thing’ ‘Crawdaddy’

By now the Stones’ line-up has stabilised, with Bill joining the band in December 1962 (due to the size of his amplifier!) and Charlie in January 1963 (due to old friendships with the band). So have the songs, which are a more mainstream-friendly take on a still pretty bluesy collection of material and interestingly already completely different selection of songs by much the same writers (with Jimmy Reed now clearly their favourite). Technically we don’t know what the Stones played this night either, but we do know what they were playing ten days later at the same club, by the way, so it seems a reliable guess: the band have now added crowd-pleaser ‘I Just Wanna Make Love To You’ and Bo Diddley’s tribute song to the much bigger venue they are now playing also named ‘Crawdaddy’. What the Stones haven’t had yet is a chance at the big time, but that arrives tonight when four very tired Beatles want to make the most of a rare night out in London’s capital (they were in town to appear on TV show ‘Thank Your Lucky Stars’). Not yet big enough to be mobbed in the street but wary of drawing attention to themselves even so they decide to check out what London’s club scene is like and how it compares to Liverpool’s. The Stones haven’t got a clue who they were (aside from Brian, who is said to have asked Lennon exactly what instrument he was playing on ‘Love Me Do’), but The Beatles made an impression all the same thanks to the long suede coats they were wearing as bought in Hamburg. The band were instantly impressed: the Stones sounded just the way they had about six months earlier and the two bands discovered by chance that their managers were friends (Giorgio Gomelsky was working for the Stones at the time). They also shared much of the same material. The Beatles were always being asked back in 1963 what music they listened to and so they championed the Stones by telling the world ‘guys there’s this really great group…’ Dick Rowe, who once turned down The Beatles for Decca Records on January 1st 1962 also happened to choose now to get in touch and tell the fab four that he regretted it and hoped there were no hard feelings. ‘Is there any other act I should be looking out for, so they don’t pass through my fingers either?’ he’s meant to have asked. ‘The Rolling Stones are pretty good’ said Paul, ‘I think I’ve got their number somewhere…’ The Stones’ big break had come at last.

3)  Where: Apostolous Nikolaidais Stadium, Greece When: April 17th 1967 Why: Last Gig With Brian Jones Setlist: [59] The Last Time [69] Lady Jane [82] 19th Nervous Breakdown [111] Ruby Tuesday [110] Let’s Spend The Night Together [72] Goin’ Home [61] (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction

Much is made of the free gig the Stones played in Hyde Park in 1969 which as well as ushering in Brian’s replacement Mick Taylor ended up as a tribute to the fallen Stone. However rather than tell you about something you already know I’ve always wondered…what was the last gig the Stones played with their ‘original’ line-up? The answer is a low-key gig in Greece at the end of a tiring European tour.  The Stones didn’t know at the time it would be the end, but they probably had a feeling: Brian had been getting slower and more strung out and rivals The Beatles had abandoned touring in August 1966 out of frustration at not being able to play their more sophisticated songs on stage above the screaming. The Stones had reluctantly turned down the chance to play at the Monterey Pop Festival in June that year for fear they’d be blown off the stage and would damage their reputation (but they also felt loyal to Brian and didn’t want to kick him out the band). Circumstances rather took over the decision for them anyway when Mick and Keef ended up being arrested for drug possession at a party in the middle of the year and Brian too ended up in trouble for a separate incident. The Greece show is a good summary of their live set at the time, as heard on 1966’s ‘Got LIVE! If You Want It’ and has notably taken Brian’s role in the band down to a minimum (some nights his guitar wasn’t even plugged in, though he still played a lovely dulcimer part on ‘Lady Jane’). The Stones are also padding out their now substantially longer set with a mammoth improvisation based around ‘Goin’ Home’ as previously featured on ‘Aftermath’ the year before. Though a recording of this show doesn’t exist, one for Paris four days earlier does and features a rough and struggling band trying to play very heavy versions of some of their lighter songs to get through the noise. It seems apt somehow that this chapter in Stones history ends with the pained scream of ‘I Can’t Get No Satisfaction’! The Move and The Easybeats were the Stones’ support act on this tour.

4)  Where: Altamont Speedway, Carolina When: December 6th 1969 Why: Most Controversial Gig Setlist: [124] Jumpin’ Jack Flash [15] Carol [114] Sympathy For The Devil ‘The Sun Is Shining’[121]  Stray Cat Blues [129] Love In Vain [70] Under My Thumb [142] Brown Sugar [133] Midnight Rambler [133] Live With Me [128] Gimme Shelter [141] Little Queenie [61] (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction [130a] Honky Tonk Women [119] Street Fighting Man

The Altamont gig has been called so many things: just four months from Woodstock it was greeted as the ‘anti Woodstock’, the ‘end of the 1960s’ and the ‘death of the hippie dream’. Some have wondered if the Stones, who loved surrounding themselves with black magic symbols, even arranged it to be that way. But at the time it was planned it was just another free gig for fans at a festival with The Stones eager to jump on the bandwagon big that year (this was a pr stunt to make up for complaints about high ticket prices that was hurting the band’s reputation), as suggested by Airplaners Jorma and Spencer (with The Stones the biggest band then still touring in rock and roll). The Stones may have taken over but thought they had planned everything the right way: they hired popular San Franciscan acts Jefferson Airplane, the Grateful Dead, CSNY and Byrds spin-off band The Flying Burrito Brothers. They had the perfect venue booked: San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park. They even had an agreement from biker club The Hell’s Angels in the hope that they would provide ‘friendlier’ security than the police would have been. And then it all went wrong: the authorities baulked at the idea of a free concert after Woodstock and refused to provide the venue , leading the band to move to a much uglier concrete stadium named ‘Altamont Speedway’ several miles away in California. And it made sense to get a different set of local Hell’s Angels – only nobody told the Stones that the Californian bikers were a much tougher and more brutal set than the hippiefied San Franciscan bikers. The result was a dark day when nothing went right: 300,000 people crammed into a much smaller area than originally planned. The stage had been built to be on a hill; the new venue was so low on the ground that nobody could see it and it was too late in the day to be changed. The Hell’s Angels were surly, seeing their brief as keeping fans back from the stage by any means possible – which they did with some alacrity. The Burritos played a nervy set interrupted by audience noise. CSNY break away from theirs several times to plead with the audience to quieten down and sit down so everyone can see. The Airplane’s Marty Balin is the hero of the hour, physically intervening when the Hell’s Angels began beating up two girls who have been pushed towards the stage, only to get smashed in the head by a pool cue. The Grateful Dead, seeing what is happening, reuse to play or even get out of their helicopter. And then, several hours late (Bill missed the helicopter), The Stones finally appear and play a set high on their nasty songs and high on drama. It’s certainly a dark and shadowy setlist: satanic prayers (‘Sympathy For The Devil’), domestic abuse (‘Under Your Thumb’), glamorising a rapist  (‘Midnight Rambler’), a slave owner (‘Brown Sugar’) and under-age sex (‘Stray-Cat Blues’): other Stones gigs will feature these songs too but, perhaps deliberately after this one, hardly ever on the same night. Almost every song is interrupted by a relentless tug-of-war between bikers and audience member leading to Mick stopping several songs to plead with them ‘why are we fighting? Brothers and sisters, get it together!’ And then it happens: a girl gets pushed towards an Angel, he threatens her with grievous bodily harm and her boyfriend, a black kid named Meredith Hunter dressed in a snazzy green suit, flashes a knife. The biker hurls himself into the crowd to exact revenge and in the kerfuffle he gets stabbed through the heart, dying in his sobbing girlfriend’s arms (the use of this in the film of the event, released as ‘Gimme Shelter’, has lead to the impression that the band were playing ‘Sympathy For The Devil’ at the time; actually it was ‘Under My Thumb’ which is almost as nasty). Nobody quite knows what to do (this didn’t happen at Woodstock!); nobody thinks to call an ambulance for ages and when somebody does it can’t get through the throngs of people in time. The Stones don’t have a clue what’s going on so they carry on playing, the boy dying to the strains of ‘Brown Sugar’ right by his ear. The event comes to an uncertain halt with the strains of the Stones’ call for a revolution that is never going to happen on ‘Street Fighting Man’ but they were wrong; Altamont was a pr disaster for the hippie movement who had got along so well across the year and the symbolism of this gig taking place just a few days before the end of the 1960s was an irony that was picked up on by many people. Sadly people miss what should have been the big news of the day: an exclusive Elmore James cover ‘The Sun Is Still Shining’ which they never did record and hardly ever played in front of people. The Stones never quite recovered (Mick and Charlie look deeply profoundly shocked watching back the event caught on camera in the documentary film) and the hippie era certainly didn’t: going into the 1970s the world was suddenly a scarier, darker place where all the love in the world couldn’t solve the basic human problems of violence. The Dead, perhaps the band most affected of all, retreated back to San Francisco with a new song about the event and the sudden change in the air(‘New Speedway Boogie’): ‘One way or another, this darkness got to give…’

5)  Where: Strahov Stadium, Prague When: August 5th 1995 Why: Biggest Audience Setlist: [20] Not Fade Away [157] Tumblin’ Dice [287] You Got Me Rockin’ [21] It’s All Over Now [288] Sparks Will Fly [61] (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction [215] Beast Of Burden [158] Sweet Virginia [182] Angie [302] Like A Rolling Stone [293] Rock and a Hard Place [128] Gimme Shelter [278] I Go Wild [207] Miss You [130a] Honky Tonk Women [92] Connection Slipping Away [114] Sympathy For The Devil [119] Street Fighting Man [328] Start Me Up [190] It’s Only Rock ‘n’ Roll (But I Like It) [142] Brown Sugar [124] Jumpin’ Jack Flash

The 300,000 crowd the Stones played to at Altamont was the biggest they ever played to, but the Guinness World Records don’t accept festivals with multiple acts in their list of attendance records. So instead the Stones’ record-breaking concert rakes place here in Prague where 126,702 people flocked to see them play. This amount broke a record that had been set by Paul McCartney in Brazil in 1990 and had been held ever since CSNY played Wembley Stadium in 1974 (in case you were wondering the record now lies with Vasco Rossi who had 220,000 people see him play in Italy, even though I have to confess I’ve never flipping heard of him!) This was part of the ‘Voodoo Lounge’ tour of 1994-1995 which was itself a record-breaker, the band earning some $320 million, a record that will last until 2005 (when, erm, an act named The Rolling Stones beats it with their even lengthier ‘Bigger Bang’ tour). As captured on the live record ‘No Security’ (every Stones tour since the late 1970s has resulted in a new live album, pretty much) The Stones play a scrappy set filled mostly with oldies and a few songs from the ‘Voodoo’ album that work rather well ([310] ‘Saint Of Me’, oddly not played at this gig tonight, is their best live song in years). There are a few surprises for audience too though, notably the band’s cheeky postmodernist take on Bob Dylan’s ‘Like A Rolling Stone’ and Keith reviving the ‘Between The Buttons’ song ‘Connection’ which the band didn’t play live at the time even and singing it with his voice rather than Mick’s! Otherwise though it’s business as usual and this gig is more or less interchangeable with most other Stones gigs from the past twenty years, though thankfully they left their giant inflatable penis at home for this one!

That passing on of the musical baton works the other way too and there are lots of acts who were in turn inspired by The Stones. Their songs were malleable to be done in so many different ways turning out darker, stranger, cuter. With many Stones songs coming in with a ‘swampy’ blues’ tempo, interpretations have also ranged from speeding them up to become super fast while others have slowed them down to bring out their inner beauty. As you might expect, there have been flipping hundreds of Stones cover albums down the years – the best is ‘Cover You’ (1998) a catch all of previously existing songs by lots of big names including two AAA stars in The Searchers and Otis Redding, while others include ‘A Tribute To The Rolling Stones’ (2002),’We Love You!’ (2003) and the psychedelic ‘Stoned!’ (2016). For our list though we’ve gone for three songs that don’t appear on any of these albums and yet are all fabulous and more than worth Stones fans seeking out; in fact I’ll be so bold as to say in all our thirty AAA articles of cover versions these might well be the pick of the bunch!
1) [   ] Paint It, Black (The Animals, ‘Monterey Pop Festival’ 1967)
Especially this one! The Rolling Stones were on the panel of The Monterey Pop festival and many fans were sad they didn’t turn up – Brian Jones’ declining health put paid to that, though he was the one Stone to turn up in person. I wonder what he would have made of his old rival Eric Burdon’s mind-blowing performance of his band’s song? Almost unrecognisable and really digging into the sheer horror of the depression in the lyrics, this arrangement starts off with a two minute violin solo that sounds as if it’s come from the depths of Hell all drilled on one note, before the song finally turns left into what fans will recognise. But wait a minute: even then this song sounds so very different. Freed of the need to be a compact single the song ends up rising and falling on a superb bass line and Eric goes off on an extended rap completely building on the original that’s just extraordinary as he reaches into the song’s emotions and adds a whole new verse: ‘Since you’ve been gone everything is black I know, don’t turn your back on me because I need you by my side, I only need you looking at me and loving me and having you by my side, I walked down the street I saw some cars, they should have been blue and green and brown, I saw some people they should have been white and brown and black but they all turned black baby…You know what it’s like in your life when there’s no colours it’s a drag, it’s a bad bad scene, I know because I’ve been there. And you don’t have to tell me that I’m wrong when what I am doing is right, everything is right if everything is wrong, everything is gone, yes it is, shut up, don’t talk, speak!’ Much as I love the original with its mad sitars and its sense of the hangman’s noose around the neck, I really adore this version where the body is swaying and Eric sings the song much more directly without the slight tongue-in-cheekness of Mick’s vocal. Frustratingly, though, The New Animals never did do this one on record and the only one released under their name (‘The BBC Sessions’) is disappointing, compacted to three minutes that stops before it gets going and without the long rap section. The various artists set from Monterey, though, is a must have for every AAA fan and this may well be the best performance on it, so different to the original and yet so in keeping with its original spirit.
2) [  ] Sister Morphine (Marianne Faithfull, B-Side 1969)
Not many fans realize that ‘Sister Morphine’ started life as a Marianne Faithful song. At the time she had, at most, taken drugs once or twice in her life, but her fevered imagination really conjures up well the decay of the drug scene she saw around her and her worry about what was happening to friends Boyfriend Mick heard and liked it, singing on Marianne’s original version alongside playing by Keef, Charlie and Ry Cooder. Decca weren’t so keen – with the Stones insisting her version come out, they managed to block it so that it appeared as the barely noticed flipside to her single ‘Something Better’ (a very odd pairing!) In the end enough press noticed the name and were so shocked given Marianne’s still pretty innocent public persona that they pulled it from the market after only 500 copies had been sold – these, inevitably, became collector’s items (1991 compilation ‘Come My Way’ is an easier and cheaper way to hear it nowadays!) Marianne’s version is less harrowing than the Stones’ re-recording in 1971 and its almost pretty: Marianne sings like she’s in denial with her traditional vibrato vocal a good match for a purring cat. The backing, though, is more aware – Ry Cooder’s darting guitar is close to where Mick Taylor’s will be on the finished product, but Keith’s acoustic is much more desperate and Charlie’s powerful drumming is a revelation, something way too big and massive for this fragile soul to bear. Of course by the time the Stones recorded this song (with Marianne’s co-credit removed after a publishing dispute) Faithfull really was a full-blown addict and she re-recorded the song herself, without any Stones help, in 1979 where it appeared as a B-side again to her comeback single ‘Broken English’. By now Marianne is singing the song without the smug grin she had ten years earlier – she’s lost so many friends and nearly died herself so many times that this is not a game anymore, her vocal demonstrating the ravages of time with a much more dramatic arrangement. The 1969 is still the one to go for though, a chilling document of someone staring the jaws of death in the face before later jumping straight in.
3) [  ] No Expectations (Johnny Cash, ‘Gone Girl’ 1978)
Have you ever wondered what The Stones’ slowest song might sound like if speeded up to become one of the fastest? Johnny Cash was always looking for songs from the rock and pop world that he could do for his country-rock audiences and you can see why ‘No Expectations’ would appeal – it’s at one with The Man In Black’s many tales of trains and journeys and takes of moving on. Cash’s voice, though, was only built for ballads in his later aging years so he speeds the song up, gives it a bouncy ‘boom-chikka’ guitar riff and the Carter Family all chime in on the chorus as if they’re waving him again. There’s an interesting lyric change (‘Come and pour me on that plane!’) and some terrific guitarwork, while Johnny’s vocal is filled with regret and pride. The new arrangement really shows off just what a beautiful melody this song has and how clever the words are, one of the Man In Black’s better ideas of the late 1970s.

A Now Complete List Of Rolling Stones and Related Articles To Read At Alan’s Album Archives:

'No 2' (1965)

'Out Of Our Heads' (1965)

‘Aftermath’ (1966)

'Between The Buttons' (1967)

'Their Satanic Majesties Request' (1967)

'Beggar's Banquet' (1968)

‘Let It Bleed’ (1969)

'Sticky Fingers' (1971)

'Exile On Main Street'(1972)

'Goat's Head Soup' (1973)

'It's Only Rock 'n' Roll' (1974)

'Black and Blue' (1976)

'Some Girls' (1978)

'Emotional Rescue' (1980)

'Undercover' (1983)

'Dirty Work' (1986)

'Steel Wheels' (1989)

‘Voodoo Lounge’ (1994)

'Bridges To Babylon' (1998)

'A Bigger Bang' (2005)

Ronnie Wood and Bill Wyman's Rhythm Kings Solo

Rolling Stones: Unreleased Recordings

Surviving TV Clips and Music Videos

Non-Album Recordings Part One 1962-1969

Non-Album Recordings Part Two 1970-2014

Live/Solo/Compilations Part One 1963-1974 

Live/Solo/Compilations Part Two 1975-1988