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Every Rolling Stones album from 1980 to 1986, reviewed by me

May 9, 2014

Hi everybody. I’ve been doing a bunch of writing on the Steve Hoffman Music Forums recently. We’re tracking the career of the Rolling Stones, album by album, from 1962 up to the present. It’s been an enlightening journey, stretching over hundreds of pages of discussion. I’m getting deeper into this amazing catalogue of music than ever before. Here is the index of write-ups on each Stones release recorded in their first twenty years as a group. My own major contributions begin with entry #45, Emotional Rescue, and I’ve assembled them below.

Note that linking to this thread of messages does not on my part constitute an endorsement of the opinions or content therein, nor do any ‘likes’ I’ve made on individual posts in it. My own posts are solely my own work, except when they contain quotations of other posts for the purpose of discussion and commentary. I am nevertheless academically indebted to Felix Aeppli for his Ultimate Guide to the band; it’s an absolutely indispensable resource in my research.

I have so far covered half of the 1980s, and I plan to do more going forward. Buckle up because this is a long read. Here’s the first set of reviews, up to 1986 (my birth year).




Emotional Rescue

Upon the ouster of founding guitarist Brian Jones, the Rolling Stones for better or worse became Mick Jagger and Keith Richards’ baby, with the other band members more or less retained as junior partners. After weathering the unexpected resignation of replacement guitarist Mick Taylor, a subsequent fallow period with no firm sense of direction, and the debilitating effects of heroin usage within the group, the band clawed its way back into relevancy. Recruiting Ron Wood, they emerged from the highly successful Some Girls album triumphantly remade in their own image, guns blazing, Jagger & Richards pulling together their finest batch of songs in years. The tape reels were overflowing with classics; there were even a few left over for a jump-start on the next album, should they have needed one. The renewed engine of purpose in the group, now firing on all cylinders, was definitely here to stay.

Touring behind Some Girls proved once again that the Stones could draw crowds in America and, if conditions were right, deliver the goods on stage. An additional series of 1979 side-project shows with The New Barbarians had been a welcome outlet for Ronnie & Keith to take their Good Time Charlie (minus Charlie Watts, and Bill Wyman, and Mick) double act outside the expected Stones repertoire. The single live date for the Stones on this year was a strange hybrid: a pair of charity shows outside Toronto, with the twin lead Barbarians serving as their own opening act, in a court-ordered gesture of goodwill towards fans who were rightly celebrating Richards’ freedom from a trafficking conviction (Keith had finally dropped his intravenous heroin use; although he by no means had ‘cleaned up’, he was certainly no junkie any longer). But the set-list was short, and they didn’t bother to premiere any new songs.

So, after learning to walk before it could run, where did Mick and Keith’s reborn baby finally go? Where the boys all go, it seemed: into the fray with young bands sprouting all around them. The older, wiser Stones clearly belonged not with their former peers, in the ashes of the first British Invasion, but rather deservedly standing alongside the hip new bands popping up in the wake of punk on BBC-TV’s The Old Grey Whistle Test (now with Anne Nightingale hosting, in lieu of ‘Whispering’ Bob Harris, who found himself on the wrong side of Kids These Days after calling the New York Dolls “mock rock”). Or maybe they’d fit well on a weird, experimental new format: an all-music TV channel. The group’s intersection of unique visual appeal and musical adventurism seemed primed and ready for The Eighties.

The obvious formula for the new album was simple — rinse and repeat! That great fountainhead of classic American music had always proved itself a valuable source of inspiration, but in the Paris studio where Some Girls was crafted, Pathé Marconi, the group hit upon a groove which felt more contemporary. Its musical heart was the swinging back-beat at which they’d always excelled, but with an instrumental focus on the rhythmic and harmonic possibilities offered by a multi-guitar attack. In the end, the songs that rose to the surface were solidly-built on a foundation of vintage rock — but a couple of notable exceptions took on a life of their own, and the focus of the album shifted into some altogether unexpected territory. Perhaps having got their rock n’ roll rocks off with the Barbarians, the guitarists were content to indulge the singer’s taste for the slightly-weird.

Obviously, the success of “Miss You” was enough motivation to try once again building a heavy disco feel over Charlie’s solid 4/4 groove, and on “Dance (Pt. 1)”, Wyman even reiterates the octave bass technique he’d copped from Billy Preston over this number, worked up by Ron Wood (credited as co-composer with the Glimmer Twins, Mick and Keith). Stirring in the various percussion overdubs, a killer vocal and additional backups courtesy of reggae legend Matt Romeo, amazing guitar grooves and the long-overdue return of New Barbarian saxophonist Bobby Keys to his former sideman slot, the Stones created a potent stew indeed, and as an opening track it’s hard to beat.


Jagger’s mostly-falsetto soul workout for the title number was less obvious. Leading with this downright-funky number (that’s Ronnie holding down the superb bass line) as the first single, just as the mainstream disco backlash was about to turn into a full-on conflagration, was perhaps not the best choice for the time — despite its respectable #3 showing in Billboard. But time has proven the song’s durability; it became a concert staple in the 2013 live shows after thirty-three years of never being played on stage. Check out the call-and-response outro featuring Bobby Keys trading licks with a guitarist (probably Ron) in the fade-out.

“Summer Romance” is more of a barrelhouse rocker, with Ronnie wailing away mightily on lead against Keith & Mick’s unstoppable rhythm crunch. Jagger’s pastiche lyrics brilliantly play-act the roué, with Stu’s boogie-woogie piano stuck in the back room just outside the action. It’s a FUN track, the laddish backup vocals are snarly but not over the top. Check out Bill’s dive-bombing bass-line, too. Yes, it is pretty similar in vibe to “Where the Boys Go” (which is second in the aforementioned series of thermographic videos) but the character in “Boys” is even MORE of an grade-A assh*le, cockney accent and all. Keith rips a pretty blinding solo, though!


My favourite lyrics on the album can be found on “Let Me Go”, a plea for sweet release. Keith’s solo and Ian “Stu” Stewart’s boogie-woogie piano are gorgeous, but the extra bells on Charlie’s hi-hat distract from what actually sounds like a martial rhythm (’cause it’s marching orders, get it?)… anyway, Mick sings it like he means it. I mean, divorce is a rough business! It’s not for the faint of heart: “can’t you get it through your thick head? This affair is dead as a doornail! Hey, baby, won’t you let me go? The bell has rung and I’ve called time. The chairs are on the table — out the door, baby!”

The most alienating and left-field track of the album is of course “Indian Girl”, another character sketch that possibly for the first time indulges Mick’s globetrotting jet-set diaries in the context of the Rolling Stones’ established penchant for exoticism. They hadn’t attempted anything close to the South American flavour of this track before, although there were some precedents. Really, it’s a bit of an over-stretch, with the lyrics falling flat between the clash of odd instrumentation fighting for space in the soundstage. Between the reggae-fied flavour of “Send it to Me” and this, though, they really manage to cover a broad spectrum of sounds and ideas without losing their rocking feel.

With Keith’s barnstorming rockabilly slap-back rhythm, “She’s So Cold” is really an excuse for Mick to get loose and the boys to bob and weave for a bit. The playing is absolutely marvelous. As a song, it’s the very definition of stretching an idea out (even if the bridge is really great), but there’s masterful use of dynamics and tension-building to keep focus throughout. Getting back to the blues for a spell, “Down in the Hole” takes full advantage of Sugar Blue’s incredible technique on harp. I don’t think he pauses to breathe for more than a second’s time throughout the whole track. It’s an astounding cut.

Richards likes to joke that Jagger used his lyric-writing as an excuse to spill his guts on “the psychiatric couch” for all to see… but considering what’s really going on with “All About You”, that’s Keith being like the pot calling a kettle black. His pained, sparse vocal delivery, complete with lighter flicks and “my, my, my” asides, is really jaw-dropping. The instrumental backing, with Keys sympathetically commenting on the proceedings, is quite lovely. But it’s the lyrics that steal the show, economically expressing what it feels like to wake up and realize you’re in a co-dependent relationship with Anita Pallenberg — and, concurrently, a comatose subservience to Mick Jagger. Luckily for us, one of those two issues soon resolved. There was a brewing ego clash in the band’s leadership. The baby’s parents were quietly fomenting an estranged few years in the wilderness again, but they were at least willing to push their baby into some new territory.

That title says it all, really. The band were not in a place of assurance, but really drifting apart as personalities, with the music providing some respite from their tempestuous personal lives. The jagged, harsh thermographic visuals, roughly duplicated in the stroboscopic promo videos, cap off the proceedings in a slightly jarring way — the stills of the band in closeup are just-barely-recognizable enough to provoke a sense of mystery (is that Mick with his beard in the top left of the front cover?). It had been two full years since the nuclear blast of Some Girls and these omnipresent Stones were still “under construction” in terms of their public image. Without a tour to support this record, it stood little chance of sticking in the public’s mind very long. But the years have been kind, and now it ranks with the best of their post-Some Girls oeuvre, for all its ups and downs.




Tattoo You

From that first clarion call “Start Me Up” riff, there’s something special about Tattoo You. Maybe it’s the exquisite sound, courtesy of dream-team associate producer & mix engineer combo Chris Kimsey & Bob Clearmountain. Maybe it’s the wonderful use of negative space: those reverberations from Keith’s opening guitar lick hang in the air while your brain fills the gap, anticipating the roar of a stadium-sized crowd. Maybe it’s the sharp focus of having one side devoted to rockers, and one side to ballads. But somehow, the LP transcends its long gestation period over almost ten years of sessions into a cohesive whole. The fautless efforts of those two engineers, along with Jagger’s rapid-fire last-minute lyric-writing and overdubbing job, turned what could have been a forgettable salvage mission into a number-one multi-platinum smash, cut together from the chaotic leavings of the band’s aborted attempts and half-formed tracks. They rescued a few anthemic signature songs from the dustbin where they might have languished, too.

You see, there were offers pouring in from promoters (chiefly Bill Graham in the USA) who wanted to book the Stones on a massive-scale tour of outdoor venues and indoor arenas for the autumn of ’81 and summer ’82. The man entrusted with the band’s purse-strings (aristocratic chap, name of Lowenstein) said yes, of course his charges were up to the task, but they would also need a new album to fully maximize this unique promotional hype opportunity, and could it please be ready in time for the start of the touring period? Well, said Mick and Keith, we just happen to have a few left in the tank from our last record. They combed through them, and found the makings of about half a new LP from what had been generated for Emotional Rescue.

Panic, that great artistic motivator, must have started to set in as the deadline loomed with not enough time for a formal jamming and recording period to write the remainder. While the Stones were busy sorting out details of their upcoming tour commitments (and getting more and more pissed off with a lack of agreement on musical direction), Kimsey spent three months trawling the vaults in search of master takes from earlier sessions that Jagger could turn into finished works with minimal involvement from the other band members. He then handed the completed tapes over to Clearmountain, who duly polished them into a recognizable shape, and hey, presto. Here is the crib-notes version of origins for these songs, courtesy of Wikipedia and vetted my friend and fellow aficionado Christian Bonner.

  • Start Me Up — started as a reggae number circa Black and Blue, spontaneously re-recorded with a rock backbeat (apparently within one 24-hour period of “Miss You”) in Paris ’77
  • Hang Fire — kicked around during the Some Girls sessions, and worked up for Emotional Rescue at the famous Compass Point studio in Nassau, failing to make the final cut on either LP
  • Slave — jam session from Black and Blue, initially running a lot longer with a guitar lead that bootleggers erroneously credited to Jeff Beck (it sounds nothing like him)… but his fellow virtuoso Pete Townshend does contribute to the backup vocals!
  • Little T&A — another Emotional Rescue off-cut from the Bahamian session
  • Black Limousine — Ron Wood’s bluesy riff, bred from Some Girls jam sessions in early ’78; master take recorded for Emotional Rescue in Paris ’79
  • Neighbours — the only new group effort on the LP, dating from a Paris session in late ’80
  • Worried About You — another Black and Blue outtake, with Wayne Perkins on lead guitar, played onstage as early as the ’77 El Mocambo club shows in Toronto
  • Tops — the original backing track is from the Goats Head Soup session in Jamaica; also attempted for It’s Only Rock ‘n Roll sessions in Germany (both w/Mick Taylor), finally dug out and polished up in ’79
  • Heaven — also dates from the late ’80 Paris session, but without Ron or Keith
  • No Use in Crying — another Ronnie co-write recorded during the Emotional Rescue Paris sessions in ’79
  • Waiting on a Friend — probably the oldest song in the collection, apparently dating from 1970; backing track recorded in Kingston ’72 then finally finished in Paris, late ’80

When it came time to do the final work on these older tracks, it’s debatable how close to being done they really were. The work-in-progress version of “Tops” that had started in Kingston during the Goats Head Soup sessions, for example, was reasonably close to the final form, minus vocals. “Worried About You” had already seen some stage time. But the tracks received a lot of polish during the post-Emotional Rescue sessions in 1980, including Sonny Rollins’ terrific saxophone parts (which Mick “conducted” in the studio through his usual stage dance moves) and in ’81 after Mick rented a freezing-cold warehouse in Paris to complete his vocal overdubs on the Rolling Stones Mobile truck alone with Kimsey. Final mixing and tidying-up took place in New York with Bob Clearmountain at various studios, with Mick and Keith in attendance.

Involving Clearmountain, who entered the picture with his superb remix of “Miss You” in 1978, was the start of a longstanding effort on the part of Jagger to reach newer Stones fans with the latest and greatest in production values and styles. I’ll argue that this process continues on each subsequent album. There’s a genuine effort made on Steel Wheels and the 90s records to stay on top of modern trends, which tends to initially piss off some of the older fans who complain that the group went “too modern”, but ends up being retroactively praised as a good idea after all. A Bigger Bang, for example, sounds a whole lot like a Black Keys record in places, and that’s going to be something people will take notice of in another ten years when they have enough critical distance to put it in context with the times.

So it is with Tattoo You. The trademark Clearmountain reverb on Watts’ snare (brilliantly entering “Start Me Up” on the first downbeat, rather than the second beat) actually tightens up the energy of the backing tracks, and makes the disparate locations all over the world where recording took place feel a little more homogenized. Mick’s overdubbed vocals, recorded through a vintage Neumann U47 tube mic, sound alive and clear against the dense rhythm because of his commitment to performing as well as singing vocal tracks, and of course his very good microphone technique honed by years in the studio.

The tracks were perfect for performing live, too, as we’ll see in subsequent entries, many showcasing Ron & Keith’s stinging guitar weave and vocals as well as Mick’s iconic delivery. And they sounded great on television, too, with Michael Lindsay-Hogg’s obligatory series of promotional clips now getting dangerously close to MTV-ready territory, particularly the Rear Window-aping “Neighbours”. There were also startling moments of intimacy, like “Heaven”, co-existing with the balls-out rock of the first six tracks, and it all felt like it belonged to one group’s catalogue. Oh, and anyone skeptical of Ron Wood’s usefulness to the Stones need only spin “Black Limousine” for a complete re-education.


Ian Stewart and Bill Wyman, usually the most self-critical members of the band’s inner circle, both agreed that (unusually, they thought) there wasn’t a single duff track in the whole lot. Music critics were generally kind, too. It turned out to be the band’s last triumph on all fronts: public enthusiasm, artistic development, and confidence in the band’s execution. There is lots more to love in what would come later, but very rarely does it hang together in its totality as well as this does, for the duration of a whole LP that you can put on at parties without sidelong glances. For that very reason Tattoo You tends to be a little over-exposed, and one album that I tire of hearing every now and then. But that is a minor quibble, because within a few months I’ll be itching to dig it out all over again and start it up, start it up, and never stop!




Sucking in the Seventies

Compilation albums are a thorny point for fans of this band. There are just too many options: a multitude of competing discs aiming at the same thing, namely collecting the most pertinent tracks that represent a certain area of the band’s history as typified by a radio-friendly approach. The more successful anthologies of the Stones eschew this altogether, and simply go for a fun listen by putting less obvious alternatives next to more recognizable hits. Sucking in the Seventies is in the latter category, and more or less picks the songs that critics missed when they were eager to write off everything after Goat’s Head Soup as self-indulgent twaddle.

Opening with a one-two punch of “Shattered” and its B-side, “Everything Is Turning to Gold”, the players pretty much put lie to the album title in five minutes flat. This is anything but S-U-C-K, more like capital G-O-L-D you can roll to. Ron Wood co-wrote the latter song, and it’s one of his crowning moments of riff-rock glory. Rarely have the Stones ever grooved like this! With the Some Girls reed players Mel Collins & Sugar Blue wailing over an unstoppable low-down rhythm, this cut alone makes the album essential for non-single buyers. I don’t know who that is chugging along with Charlie on additional percussion, possibly the “1 Moroccan, 1 Jew, 1 WASP” credited on the Some Girls album notes, but at any rate, this is unmissable stuff. If you don’t have it in your collection, it certainly belongs there in some form!

A vastly shortened edit of “Hot Stuff” follows, with almost two minutes removed from its original length, and it really moves along nicely without overstaying its welcome; in fact, this is probably my preferred version of the track. The album’s producers (nominally the Glimmer Twins, Mick and Keith, although what the latter might have contributed to this exercise is questionable) tried the same hack-and-slash gambit with “Time Waits for No One” but, unfortunately, it sticks out in this sequence for its comparatively cloudy mix, and fading out before the end of Mick Taylor’s gorgeous solo robs the song of its climax. Having the promo edit of “Fool to Cry” close Side One is a good choice, and you can lift the needle easily if you’re sick of hearing it and skip ahead to the next side. This edit and the one that closes the album, “Beast of Burden”, later became the standard versions for numerous other official compilations (Jump BackForty Licks and GRRR! all anthologized them, too).

Side Two opens with the highlight of Love You Live, a filthy-hot slice of Muddy Waters’ “Mannish Boy” excerpted from the El Mocambo club shows in Toronto circa March 1977. Again, this edit loses almost two minutes and quite possibly for the better. Billy Preston does a fine job on piano and backup vocals, and Mick’s overdubbed harp playing and additional vocalizations sit back in the mix, perfectly complementing his commanding lead vocal and brief snatch of “live” harp. For maximum impact, they just needed to cut the cruft, and this edit accomplishes that. Next is a rip-roaring take on “When the Whip Comes Down” from the Masonic Temple in Detroit, recorded July 6th 1978 on a theatre stop from the Some Girls shows. No overdubs, no trickery, just straight-up ROCK on a good night of a great tour. Listen to the sheer glorious mid-range crunch of the three guitars and piano, on top of a rhythm section beyond rebuke and Mick’s smoking hot vocal. Hard to believe this has never been released elsewhere, as it’s another essential track.

“If I Was a Dancer (Dance Pt. 2)” is another cut unique to this album. It is “Mick’s take” on the Emotional Rescue song recorded in ’79, with a raft of extra lyrics and a different mix that fades out just as the trippy infinite-delay vocals (which can be heard more prominently on the rare instrumental version issued on the back of an “If I Was a Dancer” promo single in December 1981) start to take effect. This track actually hit #26 on Billboard’s Mainstream Rock chart, which is kind of astonishing considering it lacks an actual chorus and was already familiar from the Emotional Rescue release in 1980. Seventies closes out with two more shortened versions of Stones classics, “Crazy Mama”, which blasts through its rampage in four minutes flat, and the aforementioned “Beast of Burden”. I miss having Ron’s beautiful guitar solo in the latter, and the full-flight riffage of the former, but I suppose that’s what the original LPs are for. Given these slots in the lineup, they work just fine.

In the original packaging, a large and beautifully reproduced tongue-and-lips logo adorned with the tracklist sat on a cut-out sticker atop the stylized black-and-white “7o” front sleeve design, with a layer of shrink-wrap in between. On the reverse side, the daring album title repeated itself in art deco block lettering. This challenging, artsy vibe betrays the intended historical re-contextualization that would become de rigueur for Stones compilations in the future, challenging the listener to put this slightly off-putting, funky album in context with what they THOUGHT they knew about the band’s “wilderness” years. This is almost an alternate history of that time, skimming the cream of the mid-to-late 70s where the Stones were seen to have gone off the rails.

By the time Virgin Records got around to reissuing the album in spring of 2005, it felt more like a crass promotion for the upcoming A Bigger Bang campaign, and also had the misfortune to arrive during the brief period when Virgin’s then-parent company EMI (now deceased and absorbed by Universal) were experimenting with copy protection on their audio discs and customers were their guinea pigs. Hence, in several territories, the release (featuring just-okay remastering by Bob Ludwig) was not a proper Redbook CD at all, caused many players to skip or malfunction — yet the intended purpose, to stop it from being ripped to hard drives, was easily defeated using standard CD-ROM drive with the appropriate software. A sucky idea, indeed.

What’s very striking and ultimately pretty perverse about the compilation is this: inarguably the most outstanding and memorable song of this period, “Miss You”, is absent. Perhaps it was already so ubiquitous that no one thought it necessary to include. Perhaps the goal of this compilation was to present anything that might have slipped under the radar to casual fans. In the end, though, it proved unnecessary to include on a broadly entertaining whistle-stop tour of a much-maligned transitional phase in the Rolling Stones’ history.




Still Life

Once the trigger was pulled on Tattoo You‘s final completion and release schedule, the necessary arrangements fell into place for the massive tour that had spawned it. Having got their act reasonably together, Mick & Keith’s mutual disaffection had cooled to a polite ceasefire. They arrived at an understanding: as long as Ronnie could steer clear of debilitating freebase cocaine intake, the Stones could resume right where they left off after their final gig in Canada two years earlier. All gathered and rehearsed for six weeks in summer of ’81 at Long View Farm in North Brookfield, Massachusetts, and ran through a myriad of songs, piecing together a reasonably well-balanced set (building upon their established repertoire from the ’78 shows), which would remain fairly stable for the entire tour.

When the dust cleared, a few more “oldies” (but goldies) had returned, some tunes being played live for the first time or sporting new arrangements. Everything from It’s Only Rock ‘n Roll & Black and Blue was still firmly off the table. Stalwart ol’ Stu was returning on grand piano, as was “Mac” on electric keyboards, but other players dropped by to jam as well, including David Sancious (of the E Street Band) and a former sideman for the Allman Brothers, one Chuck Leavell. A couple of weeks into the tour, they were joined by accomplished session saxophonist Ernie Watts (“no relation”) on most tracks and also occasionally by Bobby Keys who, despite his sterling contributions to Emotional Rescue, was still working his way back into Jagger’s favour after the unseemly fallout from drug excesses that led to his termination from the ’73 tour. None of Keys’ performances made it to Still Life and no one yet realized he was truly to stay on for good — he would not formally return to the officially announced lineup of players until ’82.

There were no jumbo-sized CCTV screens yet in most of these American stadia where the tour was booked, and so, in order to be visible from across an enormous outdoor football pitch, the band made some concessions to the traditional garb of these sports-based venues. Jagger chose garish colours over outlandish NFL-styled leggings as a means to an end: so that anyone looking could spot his location and movements from the cheap seats. Hal Ashby’s film Let’s Spend the Night Together depicts the dusky sunlit afternoon of one such open-air stadium show in all its jaw-dropping vastness, where the band seem nearly swallowed up by the scale of the event. They had learned to expect this from the outdoor ’78 shows, however, and Jagger worked up the idea of a raked-stage set design that could maximize visibility in these settings to combat this dwarfing of the players. Charlie Watts, being a former graphic design student, also took an interest in the layout, keen to give the band additional visual appeal. As Charlie later put it in discussing the vagaries of stadium rock, “you need a bit of theatre”, and the Stones certainly excelled at that.

The illustrated scrim on either side of the stage took on a primary-colour Americana theme, designed by Kazuhide Yamazari and depicting a stylized electric guitar, a flashy sports car, the star-spangled banner, and a turntable. This was re-worked for the Still Life album artwork to wrap around the entire front and back cover: when folded out, the impressionistic figures dominate the illustrated stadium bowl, coming to ‘life’ and rising into the radiant sunshine (only a single brown stick-figure person — a jumping jack, of sorts — is depicted on the stage). At key moments, the band released balloons, let off fireworks, and bathed the stage with brilliantly coloured light to thrill the crowd. Jagger even climbed into a cherry-picker crane, for the surprise conclusion of the main set.

For 1981, this was ground-breaking stuff, considering most bands showed up with a few PAR cans and follow-spots for lighting and no staging other than bare risers on scaffold. The indoor shows mounted later in the tour (in cities where weather was becoming too inclement for an outdoor setting) were arguably even more technically ambitious, with the drum riser rotating outwards to play “in the round” and a wraparound runway for the now-entirely-wireless players surrounding it. This was a logical continuation from the flowering “lotus stage” of 1975, but fully incorporating the technical improvements of 1980s gear.

After a mood-setting Duke Ellington intro, “Under My Thumb” starts things off in highly energetic fashion, with Brian Jones’ marimba line transposed into a hard-rocking Keef riff, doubled on organ and interwoven with Ronnie’s answering licks. There’s definitely an overdubbed third guitar adding reinforcement to Keith’s part, though it’s barely audible and mixed quietly to centre. The arrangement is long on repetition, but it feels briskly efficient compared to the slinky original Aftermath cut (and it skips the “Her eyes are just kept to herself / While I can still look at someone else” verse entirely). Opening the show with this familiar yet re-worked classic was a brilliant move, allowing Mick to stretch out and gallavant while the guitarists strode forth down the ramp towards adorning punters. The crowd even claps in time for the whole song.

Another mid-sixties chestnut “Let’s Spend the Night Together” follows after Mick’s introduction, welcoming those watching the tour-capping Hampton Coliseum pay-per-view special (which we’ll cover in depth later) at home “drinkin’ a few beers, smokin’ a few joints”. His voice is a little hoarse, and the wireless mic a bit crackly, but the two pianos and guitarists (again with a little double-Keith embellishment in post-production) absolutely shine here, particularly Ronnie. Next is the more recent calling card “Shattered”, which they take at a furious clip. Again, Ronnie is on fire here, taking a beautiful solo and contributing to those charming call-and-response backup vocals at the conclusion with Keith and Mac. That glorious phased guitar riff is just insatiable!

Eddie Cochran’s “Twenty Flight Rock” is next, quite a fun choice for a cover (notably, one P. McCartney remembered the words well enough to be let into the Quarrymen), which the Stones never recorded in the studio. Once again, the other players do a great job of matching Keith’s knuckle-whitening pace. On most dates of the tour, it was played in a medley with “Going to a Go-Go” but they specifically chose a show where the two were played separately to get clean tops and tails recorded for the album. I love both songs very much, as they were important salvos in the 50s rock ‘n roll revolution. The overdubbed “Go-Go” vocals really shine here, rivalling the Miracles’ original performance, and Mick’s lusty lead is entirely his own. Oh, yeah — how about that sax!

For the first time, the Stones promoted their new live album with a single, and shrewdly, this was the track selected. In keeping with their long tradition of chart success covering the Motown catalogue, it fared pretty well and had a promotional video released for the fledgling MTV market. Its B-side was a non-album recording of “Beast of Burden” taken from the third and last show in Illinois (where the Still Life “Start Me Up” was also recorded), which makes an interesting listen thanks to its bouncy tempo and Watts’ slick sax licks. Unfortunately, the chorus vocals are a little flat and Ronnie’s solo, although nice, doesn’t quite take off the way it should. Nevertheless it was in contention for the album’s final running order, as it appears to have received a cowbell overdub and fancy vocal delay treatment (“put me out, put me out!”) in the mix down stage. It would also later appear on the Flashpoint Collectables and Rarities 1971–2003 anthologies. Mick rants “I don’t want you to wash my clothes, I don’t want you to change my baby’s Pampers, I don’t want you to come in my kitchen, I don’t want you to f*ck around with it” and it sounds like everyone’s having a reasonably fun time.

The Still Life recording of “Time Is on My Side” also came out at the end of summer ’81 in a rather fetching picture sleeve, with back-and-white photos taken by Ken Regan of a contemporary club gig. It had its own video promo, too, with archival shots of the band intercut with the Hampton footage by then-rising star Austrian video directors Rudi Dolezal and Hannes Rossacher. The 12″ single version put the album versions of “Twenty Flight Rock” and “Under My Thumb” together as one seamless B-side. It’s a great arrangement of “Time”, too, with Keith doing a manful job on backup vocals and holding down the rhythm.

Side Two of the LP starts with “Let Me Go”, a real workout for Jagger, who would usually sing the extended final chorus on a whirlwind sprint out into the crowd, on an extended platform leading from the stage, or just mingling out on the ground surrounded by bodyguards. Once again, the pace is furious, and the guitars bitingly nasty. The highlight of the second side, however, is an intense, extended arrangement of “Just My Imagination” that would stretch out for over nine minutes on most nights. It’s judiciously edited down here, hitting only the highlights. Really very tasty, and once again Watts’ sax contribution is essential.

This album was primarily conceived to provide another tour souvenir; its title an indication that this was the American concert experience, finished in time to be sold along with T-shirts and badges to European audiences on the ’82 leg. It cross-cuts between shows freely, name-checking different cities along the way. The feel is taut, with Jagger’s voice (usually overdubbed but certainly live on the Hampton tracks) doing a reasonable job of meshing well against the players’ weave. There are a few unobtrusive patch-ups in the guitar department, Keith’s additions poking their way in here and there to reinforce the main riff, but the solos are all thrillingly fresh and in-the-moment.

Most of these basic arrangements became canonical for subsequent tours, including the revitalized “Satisfaction”, which they definitively knocked into tour-ready shape after a five-year absence from the setlist since opening the show at Knebworth ’76. It had never been captured in a form considered worthy of live album release before. Here, it sounds like it had never left, and the crowd receives it as rapturously as ever. In its afterglow, the fireworks display blasts over Hendrix’s Woodstock performance of the national anthem. Bombast, defined!

Compared to Love You Live, this is a lot better in almost every respect — it’s even great compared to the ragged sloppiness of Some Girls Live in Texas ’78. For all the slagging-off that Still Life gets, it’s certainly more professional than the out-of-tune, vocally incompetent, floundering mess that the ’70s Stones shows often were. Despite a slightly muddy mix (Bob Clearmountain had yet to figure out how to really make these live recordings pop), and a few percussion overdubs that don’t quite sit correctly, the only real problem with Still Life is its subsequent duplication and recapitulation. Not only does the home video Let’s Spend the Night Together re-create the trick of cross-cutting from show to show, it has this same version of “Satisfaction” and outro (only longer). TheHampton Coliseum (Live 1981) release contains the same versions of “Let’s Spend the Night Together”, “Shattered” and “Time Is on My Side”, as well as similar renditions of the other tracks. All of these were rehashed AGAIN by the Live at Leeds Roundhay Park 1982 archive show. There are subtle differences, which we’ll discuss soon, but the fact is that the ’81-’82 leg is extensively documented by other official releases, for anyone who cares to dive in.

So this album, for all its fine points, is now an artifact among artifacts. The harsh criticism it routinely receives is undeserved, but if you want some insight into how well the band could play in this period, your best bet is to start elsewhere. If you grew up with it, though, the nostalgia factor may persuade you to revisit and rediscover its hidden charms.




Live at the Checkerboard Lounge, Chicago 1981

I gather that this release was not originally on the forum’s list of albums to cover, but I thought it important to discuss for a number of reasons. For one, it stands in stark contrast to the surrounding material: the carefully polished, overdubbed, pristine Still Life is a far cry from the wild, woolly music emanating from the cramped Checkerboard Lounge stage. There is a charming lack of formality — an unpolished, free-form looseness — to most of the performances contained here. This is more of a jam session than a musical statement, with little attempt to cleanly present a precisely defined formal structure. It is essentially a late-period Muddy Waters juke joint show, with special guests sitting in to mix things up. That those special guests numbered, in part, three brash white guys from England (and a laconic Scotsman) who had day jobs with the biggest rock band in the world is why it merits our attention.

Mind you, it’s pretty inauspicious makings for a great Stones live album. Without Charlie Watts present on the main program, there’s arguably little basis to its claim as a canonical “Rolling Stones” release, either. And yet, in chronological terms, Checkerboard Lounge stands right in the middle of the recording dates for Still Life: on a night off before three consecutive arena shows in suburban Rosemont, Illinois, most of the Stones’ touring entourage went en masse for an evening out at the feet of the guru in his spiritual home on gritty Southside Chicago. Thanks to the foresight that this would be an important summit, and worthy of posterity, a video crew and multi-track recording setup were commandeered into the tiny club. The footage cleaned up nicely when digitally restored, and Bob Clearmountain & his assistant Brandon Duncan remixed the audio to a surprisingly pristine standard for a DVD+CD release in 2012. An even more expanded soundtrack found its way to a triple-LP, double-CD box set concurrently in Japan (where there are, it should be no surprise, entire floors of record stores devoted to Stones live recordings).

It’s vitally important to trace the Rolling Stones’ lineage as musicians back to the Chicago blues tradition. Yes, the Delta blues stylings of Robert Johnson et al. played a large influence on their classic-albums period, but it can’t be denied that the Chess Records canon in particular was the primary reason for this band’s existence: it was the spark that lit their eternal flame. Their earliest visit and subsequent recording session there in ’64 was a landmark development in the progression from “white man’s R’n’B” to the quintessential Rock ‘n Roll Band, to say nothing of bolstering their blues bona fides. Instead of standing in awe of their heroes, they were forever more standing among them: immersed in and not just proselytizing on behalf of that tradition. The ‘ancient art of weaving’ was actually nothing more than a technique born out of stage routines that these Chicago blues bands developed from necessity: if your star wanted to play rhythm and lead alternately, any sideman worth his salt quickly learned how to pick up the other side of that stick without even thinking twice about it.

Incidentally, the sidemen in Muddy’s band circa 1981 were absolutely top-tier. On this occasion his pianist Lovie Lee sings two tunes to start things off, “Sweet Little Angel” & “Flip Flop and Fly”. As a bonus feature, the DVD includes a third introductory number, “You’re Gonna Miss Me When I’m Gone”, sung by guitarist John Primer. Then George ‘Mojo’ Bruford steps to the front, his bandolier of harmonicas arrayed for every possible key. He introduces “father of blues, Muddy Mississippi Waters”, who calmly strides onstage strapping on his Telecaster, thanking the crowd and namechecking the Peppermint Lounge, his old regular gig just up the road. After a commanding workout on “You Don’t Have to Go”, Muddy silences the crowd with his unmistakable slide lick to cue “Country Boy”. This is a brilliant performance; shame that the edited CD version scraps it due to time constraints. Over a lugubrious, hypnotic groove, Muddy plays a thrilling, climactic slide solo that builds to a show-stopping round of applause for his antics. He then gives each of his lead players a turn to tell the tale, in their contrasting styles, before winding the tune down on Rick Kreher’s crystalline fireworks display into the final verse.

There were three more tracks performed in sequence here, available on the expanded Japan-only edition: “I’m a King Bee”, “Trouble No More” and “County Jail”. The DVD skips over them, eager to get to the arrival of the guest artists. Once he realizes their arrival is imminent, Muddy looks offstage to his right — it’s time to take the show up a notch. He kicks the band into “Baby Please Don’t Go”. A camera is stationed outside at this moment to capture the sight of the entire Stones touring band (except for Bill & Charlie) sitting down to have drinks at the table right in front of the stage. They doff their coats and shake hands with a white-suited Buddy Guy, club proprietor and host for the evening. They are dressed for a night off; Woody is clad smartly in a tie and Keith in his usual idiosyncratic style. Mick’s red sweatsuit looks slightly bizarre now, but given the Olivia Newton-John-inspired fitness/fashion craze of the day, it was probably not a bad look.

Once they’re settled, Muddy invites, then COMMANDS, Mick up to the microphone. They share a verse and immediately the feeling between them is loose and fun. Muddy invites Keith up next, who straps on a nearby Tele and blows an exceptional solo like he’s just breathing. Stu is still sitting front and centre, visibly impressed. Ronnie then gets in on the act, strapping on a Strat just as the tune is peaking with Muddy’s solo — whereafter he exuberantly joins hands with them all. An absolutely stunning “Hoochie Coochie Man” duet between Mick & Muddy follows. Then he calls out the key of the next tune, “Long Distance Call”, and hands Woody his own slide to take the lead. It’s another jaw-on-the-floor showstopper. But the best is yet to come: the greatest and best-known composition of Muddy’s career, and perhaps of all Chicago blues, “Mannish Boy”. The Stones kicked ass whenever they did this on their own, and when they play it with the man who forged its legend, sitting right there — it’s perfection. There’s a particular mischief in Muddy’s eye as he sings the line “I’m a Rolling Stone” in between three of them. Then Muddy gets to his feet. The whole room seems to shake at his hand’s every chop and gesture. This. Is. Magic.

Muddy summons his one-time protégé Buddy Guy to the stage, who hugs Mick in his immaculate white suit and grabs the mic before strapping on his guitar. Muddy brings up his bluesman compatriots Junior Wells and Lefty Dizz, who each grab Mick’s mic in turn. Their performances and appearances are pretty dishevelled, but to be fair this is probably long after the announced start time for the show, and the drinks are visibly flowing free. Muddy winds things down to take a break, excusing Mick, then Stu jumps on piano while Junior sings and plays harp on “Got My Mojo Workin'”. He sounds a little bit below his usual par; having toured with the Stones earlier in the 70s he plays it almost too cool to even acknowledge them. There are many great videos from their European tour where he and Buddy Guy traded off on lead, with unflappable Bill Wyman on bass. Keith and Ron are clearly enjoying the opportunity to jam with Buddy, who counts in the next tune “Next Time You See Me” to sing and play lead with his trademark insanely-overdriven Strat tone. Keith busts out yet another fabulous solo before joining axes with Buddy for a transcendent duel.

All through this, John Primer has been holding down a steady rhythm, along with a wide-grinning Ray Allison on drums. Just as Junior Wells busts in on the action again, we hear Stu’s exquisite boogie-woogie piano stylings exposed and sounding absolutely perfect for the occasion. Lefty Dizz straps on his beat-up, backwards (and horrendously out-of-tune) Strat while Buddy leaves the stage to resume mingling. It’s chaotic, but beautifully so; Ron Wood’s eyes visibly water during Lefty’s balls-out blinder of a lead. Again, while Lefty may appear unprofessional to a predominantly white rock-and-roll crowd, his antics are totally juke joint ready. These guys are musical veterans in their own right, not on par with Muddy but certainly showmen deserving of stature in the Chicago blues circuit.

It’s time for “One Eyed Woman”, a comedy number, and Lefty Dizz intros Nick Charles taking over on bass while bantering with Mick in the crowd. Stu is absolutely in his element, here — Ronnie too, and his solo is worth the price of admission alone. Lefty wanders out into the crowd, shouting the words off-mic until Junior steps up and interjects something from another tune entirely. Muddy watches from the front, nonplussed and sensing this is just a little too loose, but smiling kindly, while Lefty drunkenly continues back into “Baby Please Don’t Go” and asks if his Daddy will join them (?). It starts to fall totally off the rails here, and the regular CD version edits this portion out entirely.

Muddy resumes his place to put things back in order, ordering Primer to start “Clouds in My Heart”. Unfortunately, he can’t will Lefty to tune his guitar. But he does coax Keith into stepping up for yet another spectacular lead, then cueing Ronnie to do the same on slide. Primer takes a third chorus and then Lefty redeems himself with a sputtering turn but is shooed away from taking the mic. Muddy owns a stage when he steps on it, and his prowess saves the show. The incendiary finale is Muddy’s own composition “Champagne and Reefer”. He brings Bruford back up on harp, and finally encourages Mick back up to once more take a turn. He coaxes him through it, despite Mick hardly knowing the first verse. Muddy points out his favourite verse: “Every time I get high I lay my head down on my baby’s breast…” Then they close on the admonishment not to mess around with cocaine, as the band jams out over the end credits. The unedited CD closes with a second and final jam. As if to prove that this was all in a day’s work, the DVD includes bluesy riffstravaganza “Black Limousine” from the ’81 pay-per-view show at Hampton Coliseum as a final bonus.

Sadly, this was the last band Muddy toured with before his death in 1983. He was not at the height of his powers on this night, but his sheer awe-inspiring physicality is still apparent. This release captures what it was about his overwhelming stage presence and effortless cool that inspired and transfixed the band we all know and love. On this special night, a few of their fans (and now all of us) watched them all get a little of that mojo workin’ for one last time.




Hampton Coliseum (Live 1981) Live At Leeds Roundhay Park, 1982

It’s always a curious circumstance when rock concerts are broadcast on live TV. It can bring out the best and most unexpected moments of true kismet: those unplanned magical accidents you can never predict, which multiply when the stakes are higher in front of a much larger viewing audience. It can also inhibit the performers, knowing millions of people are potentially watching their every move, with the camera magnifying it all. Perhaps most infuriatingly, it’s a haven for added technical challenges that constantly threaten to put a wrench in the usual workings. The Stones’ pay-per-view TV special at the end of their 1981 American tour (the first of its kind anywhere) broadcast from Hampton Coliseum in Virginia was host to all of these myriad wrinkles.

Jagger, especially, was cognizant of the added pressure to sing on pitch rather than expend quite as much breath on his play-to-the-cheap-seats dance moves. As a result, he sings conservatively and pretty well despite an audibly sore throat. Keith was a lot more nervous; this was a hell of a way to spend a 38th birthday, and it didn’t help that his performance was marred by monitor feedback almost every bloody time he stepped up to sing. The setlist was long, and Mick’s rapid-fire banter with the TV crowd in a laundry-list of cities they’d just visited was well-rehearsed, but the band, even after fifty shows, didn’t sound all that tight. Their ragged, shoddy execution lagged behind their usual standard for most tracks. Many fans are very familiar with this show thanks to widely-distributed unofficial dub videos of the broadcast. Pound for pound, however, it’s pretty lacklustre, except for the few bright spots handily lifted for Still Life and, of course, that brilliant and legendary guitar-slinging moment of thwarted stage invasion during the “Satisfaction” finale.

With that said, we’re lucky Bob Clearmountain, who engineered the original multi-track recording and live-to-air TV mix, polished up the show in 2012 with a new remix for the Stones Archive series of live downloads. What the Archive series has done is offer fans an apples-to-apples basis for comparison between all the shows that it presents, so that anyone with access to the downloads can examine the progression of song arrangements and performance styles from tour to tour (in most cases, with better results than the corresponding official live albums). Clearmountain’s remixes pick up each vocal cue, each drum fill, each bass riff, each note of each guitar in pristine clarity, warts and all. Previous unofficial versions of these Stones shows, even excellent ones, were (at best) soundboard mixes without the benefits of automation technology deployed to help cut out the extraneous noise. Clearmountain circa 2012 coaxes out more isolation from the mics, so the performances aren’t hidden under unmusical muck. The downloads are also priced very reasonably indeed.*

  • *They are just five bucks each on the Google Play store. C’mon! Incidentally, I’ve got a single favourite moment, out of the entire Stones Archive series. Have you? Mine happens four minutes into “Time Is on My Side” from the Hampton show; right after Mick says “I ain’t forgetting Los Angeles, either”. Some yob in the crowd, panned far left in the mix, responds on cue with “F*CK LOS ANGELES!” Too perfect.

On these two releases, from the end of the ’81 and ’82 tours respectively, Clearmountain is faithful to the sound of the original tapes (right down to the studio-tweaked vocal on the Hampton “Time Is on My Side” and added guitar on “Let’s Spend the Night Together”, both added during production for Still Life). They’re from two different legs of the same tour, and so the setlist is much the same but the side players are different. We wave goodbye here to Ian McLagan and Ernie Watts; replacing their positions are Chuck Leavell & Gene Barge. Veteran recording stalwart Glyn Johns returned to engineer the Leeds show taping, and whether it’s his doing or simply down to the revamped European tour lineup, the resulting audio presentation simply blows away the American one in every conceivable aspect.

Leeds ’82 demonstrates a tighter band, and a better listen overall. Right from the first notes of “Under My Thumb”, Keith is totally on point, and Ronnie sounds very focused. Plus, Chuck Leavell’s lead keyboard sound is more faithful to the original marimba lick than McLagan’s woofy Wurlitzer organ. There is not any feedback marring Keith’s vocals, and Chuck’s even-toned backups blend very well as the low-key baritone glue between Mick and Keith’s harmonies. As much as I miss Mac’s funky organ rhythm and rock-solid barrelhouse electric piano, Chuck betters him just a little bit for tastefulness, and with Stu still holding down the boogie-woogie grand, the Stones’ keyboard/backup department is well and truly sorted for the very first time. I have a hunch he had something to do with keeping the arrangements tight as well, which I’ll bring up again later.**


  • **McLagan is, to this day, a fine player and singer in his own right. He was a key member of both Small Faces and its later Ron Wood iteration, Faces. He was less of an easy fit with the Stones; the bouncy, laddish quality of his approach certainly befit the New Barbarians and the swaggering Some Girls and Emotional Rescue tracks he played on, but more often than not, it just fell flat in open-air stadium gigs with the Stones. For whatever reason, Ronnie made the transition handily into a new group with larger expectations, whereas Mac’s tenure with the Stones is rarely remembered.


Leavell had oodles of experience gigging in stadia already with the Allman Brothers, and had previously sat in with the Stones during their ’81 show in his native Georgia. Having received the approval of hard-to-please founding keyboardist Stu, he was brought aboard for the entire ’82 tour and, well, never left. To this day, he remains the most important sideman with the Stones. He proves his mettle in the Leeds show right in the first three tracks, and with that out of the way simply does his job without undue flash.


Mick sounds a little out of breath on the Leeds “Shattered” and Charlie uncharacteristically speeds it up a bit towards the end, but after that slightly rough edge, things are on a consistently even & high-octane keel. Mick welcomes all from far and wide to the massive outdoor gig, and Chess Records session man Gene Barge acquits himself very well on the sax break in “Neighbours” after Ronnie peels off a side of fantastic whammy-heavy lead. Wood keeps the pace for his pyrotechnic showpiece “Black Limousine”, on which Gene keeps a little closer to the straight-ahead album arrangement than Ernie Watts did with his free-flowing jazzy interjections. Keith steps on Mick’s corny intro to “Just My Imagination” a bit, but it’s a very fine performance, again with just a little less saxophone throughout and a slightly better vocal backing than in Hampton. “Twenty Flight Rock” and “Going to a Go-Go” are also cleaner, almost telepathic in their rhythmic tightness, and they swing with an easiness not always found in the ’81 shows. Plus Bobby Keys’ lusty solo in “Go-Go” is simply the best.

“Let Me Go” is a tie, but Leeds’ “Time Is on My Side” wins over Hampton hands-down because KEITH F*CKING RICHARDS, that’s why. He soars high on “Beast of Burden”, too. The highlight of the entire set, however, is “You Can’t Always Get What You Want”. It’s absolutely exquisite, including a Southern Rock-flavoured slide solo from Ronnie (perhaps taking a slight Georgian influence from Leavell), and the Leeds crowd sings along very well despite hardly acknowledging Mick’s admonishment to “get your lungs out” at the start.

Mick introduces the entire band (oui oui, Bill Wyman le rock star), mistakenly identifying Gene Barge as being from Detroit — did he think he was still singing “Go-Go”? — then correcting his error. Keith kicks into “Little T&A” and actually gets most of the words right for a change. We miss out “Waiting on a Friend” and “Let It Bleed”, neither being staples on the ’82 leg of the tour, but instead get a very cool take on “Angie”. There is also some white-hot playing on “She’s So Cold” and “Hang Fire”, easily bettering their Hampton takes. There’s one other track they played on the ’82 tour set and it’s another ’50s rocker: the Big Bopper classic “Chantilly Lace”. We are spared that unique pleasure, here.

In the second verse of “Tumbling Dice”, something exceptional happens: Bobby and Gene, rather than trading off with each other, start to play as a section, with complementary harmonized sax parts matching up with the studio version chart. They do it on “Honky Tonk Women”, too. It’s a commonplace occurrence at Stones shows now, but actually it had been almost nine years since the band played with horns in this way. These exquisite parts are indelibly woven into those songs as we know them: they enhance the groove tremendously, adding swagger and verve to the arrangement, not to mention exactly the right lift in dynamics. And yet, for the previous tours from 1975 to 1981, the Stones’ sidemen had ignored them entirely. For the finale of “Satisfaction”, the two saxes even start to play the opening riff Otis Redding-style, just the way Keith had originally intended to arrange that lick. Was it Leavell who reintroduced this crucial element to the show? I suspect it was. He recognized, along with fellow Southerner Bobby Keys, the unique appeal in a horn-flavoured rhythmic and harmonic texture. Ernie Watts was no slouch, certainly, but he is more of a single-line top melody guy, and with two lead guitarists and a singer in the band already, he tended to crowd the stage a bit.***

  • ***Which brings me the most egregious example of tasteless overplaying in the Stones’ early-80s period: Mick Taylor sitting in for roughly half of the show in Kansas City, four days before the Hampton broadcast. He appeared to have no idea that these songs had arrangements, taking solos at maximum volume at every opportunity and not knowing when to leave the stage. No wonder the current-day Stones specify just a handful of spots per show in which he makes guest appearances.

There was much cause for celebration at these welcome developments on the ’82 tour. Bobby Keys was definitely, officially back in the fold, forever more reclaiming his spots in “Brown Sugar” and remaking the “Miss You” sax break in his own unique territory. The band as a whole, especially compared to ’81, were in very sturdy shape at the tour’s conclusion. Things looked bright for the future, and with very little delay they headed back to Pathé Marconi to start work on the next studio album — bringing Chuck Leavell along with them.





After the ’82 tour wrapped up, the band took a four-month break, during which Mick finished work with Hal Ashby on editing Let’s Spend the Night Together. The band reconvened again in Paris, initially just with Mick and Keith bashing their way through pre-production work eyeball-to-eyeball in a small demo studio, and then at their old setup (now five years on from Some Girls) at Pathé Marconi with Chris Kimsey once more co-producing and engineering. With most of the songs plotted out in advance, there was no need to go vault-trawling for leftovers, and the recording process went relatively quickly, albeit in fits and starts. Most bed tracks were cut with live keyboards, with Chuck Leavell present for each basic take. At the end of ’82, the band were already discussing a wrap-up in time for another possible tour, which never materialized. Sessions resumed in the new year, before Mick and Keith moved to Compass Point in Nassau circa April ’83 to add overdubs. Final mixing and overdubbing took place at the Hit Factory in New York City.

Dub reggae was a primary influence on the Bahamian session, with Sly Dunbar recruited to play Simmons electronic drums for many tracks. These were absolutely in vogue for then-fashionable New Romantic bands, being a relatively cheap and reliable way to add a compressed, exciting “thud” to live percussion on demand. Dunbar had actually just acquired a set of these curious hexagon-shaped pads, with the drum ‘brains’ (a primitive form of early digital sampler) sending individual signals to tape along with Charlie’s kit and the additional African percussion played by Brit Martin Ditcham and Senegalese players Brahms Coundoul and Muostapha Cisse. When added to the mechanical-sounding harmonized delay effects on Jagger’s vocal and guitar, it sounds rather like a programmed drum machine sequence rather than a live player; but there are variations in timing that betray the all-important human element. Highlighting these machine-gunning effects in the mix reinforces the lyric beautifully. It’s a common misconception that this gambit was solely Jagger’s attempt to keep up with modern trends. In actual fact, Keith was a huge fan of the Jamaican dub records that inspired the collaboration, and had many admiring remarks for the contributions that Sly and the other percussion players made. If Keith played guitar on the recording of “Undercover of the Night”, however, I don’t think it’s present in the final mix — I hear only Mick’s chopped-up slashing rhythm and Ronnie’s lowdown, creeping answering licks on the final cut. There is an outtake mix circulating with a reasonably complete scratch vocal and an insistent acoustic part, which was later scuttled in favour of “Mick’s version”.

The violent imagery in Jagger’s lyric rings very true. It feels like reportage, rather than invention. The 100,000 disparus (“the disappeared”) were real political prisoners in South America, many becoming victims of horrific torture at the time for opposing their governments. Mick, whose family struggled through the ravages of WWII, surely felt an empathy for those living under General Videla’s brutal Argintinan military junta. By ’82, this chaos was spreading right under the West’s nose, in the sprawling new megastates being born in an unimaginable, untamed paradise now subsumed in bloodthirsty terrors. The exotic romance of Peruvian and Brazilian locales became overshadowed by the turmoil of everyday life under the gangster regimes ruling the surrounding territories. You’d be forgiven for not noticing this, if all you ever watched was MTV.

Then, off the coast of Argentina, President Galtieri rung down the Union Jack flag of old-guard imperialism and rung up one of a socialist military coup in the Falklands. In response Britain sent a naval cruiser, and the nightmare spectre of international war loomed yet again. These were uncertain times, and the title song is a brilliant commentary on the repressive societal response to an uncomfortable reality. “Out of sight, out of mind” applied equally to moral panic over the West’s involvement in challenging or propping up foreign dictatorships as it did the callous response of the junta denying its involvement in the mass imprisonments. Combined with the imagery borrowed from William Burroughs’ Cities of the Red Night, the impression left in “Undercover of the Night” is incredibly nightmarish. This was the first time since “Street Fighting Man” that Jagger had come close to capturing the political mood of the times in his songwriting.

It’s just a pity that the whole thing was wrapped in such crass, ill-advised, unnecessary, misogynistic and downright UGLY cover art, depicting a disrobing woman shrouded in peel-able stickers. I’m sure the Stones fans in South American nations, many of whom to this day treat objectification of women like a national sport, were pleased. Anyone else over the age of fourteen, on the other hand, should find it a horrendously stupid art concept. It didn’t help matters that when they issued the title track as this album’s lead single, on the flip side was “All the Way Down” with a most cringe-inducing lyric: “still you’re a SLUT, eh girl?” Yeah… stay classy, Mick Jagger. Surely there was no parallel to be found in your personal life. Ahem.

Thankfully, “She Was Hot” rivals any Stones track for its superlative combination of grooves, catchy lyrics, clever arrangement ideas, and incendiary playing. Here, Keith’s musical purism and Jagger’s baroque pop arrangement instincts come together in a perfect encapsulation of everything the band does best. I could write a whole essay on this track alone. It’s really that good: brimming with great ideas and replay value. Listen to Keith’s killer introduction, the way the backing vocals build up and up in textural richness over the final extended chorus, the duelling keyboards of Leavell (two tracks of him) and Boogie Woogie Stewie… this is a masterclass on how to build a contemporary-sounding record that harkens back to the roots of rock and roll.

“Tie You Up (The Pain of Love)” is built out of another midtempo rock jam with a simple harmony, which lasts all the way through Ron’s tightly-played solo and the unsettling third verse until the head-turning breakdown with the percussionists grooving over a series of chord-less shouts. This is one of the first instances of Jagger extensively using his guttural, throaty, strained shouts in a studio track. He would develop this style more later, until wearing its novelty out with Dirty Work where it becomes just plain annoying. Deployed here, it suits the twisted, unsettling imagery of sadomasochistic sleaze, and the sidemen do a fine job keeping the groove going. Sequenced among far stronger tracks, however, it drags the pace down and loses appeal fast.

At the same time as they were looking forward, the band were getting nostalgic. They’d just celebrated their 20th anniversary together, after all, and before the album was complete Jagger had celebrated his big 4-0. In a 1983 interview Keith admitted “I could have done with being one of Elvis’ original band, being one of the Crickets, being one of the Blue Caps. I could’ve used being in Little Richard’s band in the ’50s, a million others. I would’ve loved to have been in Muddy’s band in the early ’50s. Would’ve loved to be in Louis Armstrong’s band in the ’20s.”

Keith also apparently would have loved to have been in another band with long hair that played American music to screaming teenagers during the 60s, or at least loved playing songs like the ones they wrote. “Wanna Hold You” sounds like something Lennon/McCartney would have cobbled together on a day off from one of their British theatre package tours with Helen Shapiro and Roy Orbison twenty years prior. There’s a stubborn refusal to use their “bloody Beatles bridge” technique of a contrasting middle-eight, however. The CD versions (all, that is, but the ’83 original) contain an extended version of this track that leaves in a few more repeats of the guitar intro and an additional verse. Ronnie’s spidery pedal steel tone in the sustained notes of the chorus and outro is really something to behold! He also plays bass on this, and the preceding track.

The aforementioned reggae influence is most prevalent in “Feel on Baby”, with the electronic percussion doubled, and the dub delay effects laid on to add a subtle air of mystery to the hypersexual groove. Keith’s backing vocals and Mick’s harmonica are also welcome, soulful additions. For both this and the title track, the Stones recruited experienced session bassist Robbie Shakespeare (Sly’s partner in crime on uncountable thousands of Jamaican records) to overdub a precise, taut, staccato, almost slap-back figure — not really in keeping with Bill Wyman’s usual fluid style. While he had been edged out of his usual seat on many previous records, it’s easy to see how the “we’ve gone DUB and done it WITHOUT YOU” approach could have been a slight to ol’ Bill, and his lack of bass playing on the finished product might have discouraged him from wanting to contribute as much in future. Mick and Keith had enough problems matching each other’s competitive egotism without needing to inflict it on others.

Outside of the band’s usual troubles with sorting out their public image and musical direction, Charlie’s marriage was by now in a downward spiral, manifesting as an increasing reliance on alcohol and amphetamines; soon enough, he would progress to heroin abuse. This was a troubling development indeed, and one that would keep the band off the road for another six years. For his part, in December of ’83 Ron Wood was admitted to an English drug rehabilitation facility in Devon (to little effect), which sounds like the worst way to spend Christmastime imaginable. He did have enough facilities about him to contribute several really tasty tracks to Undercover, including another groove for the ages, “Pretty Beat Up”. Initially demo’d under the charming title of “Dog Sh*t”, it is an irresistible dance number with some surprisingly funky piano work from Stu and Bill with Keith on bass. It also out-and-out confesses to the tribulations of Wood’s wrecked physical state. Sonny Rollins’ sax solo is terrific, though one might well speculate as to why Bobby Keys was not asked to play it.

The lyrics of “Too Tough” are obsessed with tawdry cultural decadence, from re-run soap operas to teenage brides (insert your own Bill Wyman joke here). As with the other tracks, the lyrical through-line connects sexual temptation and indulgence with tempestuous violence. It falls a bit flat on its face here, but the sex-as-violence metaphor continues into the popcorn/tabloid culture-parodying “Too Much Blood”. It is far too busy being campy to be taken as a serious comment; it’s parody, plain and simple. Echoing “she could be the Alien” from “Send It to Me”, it name-drops An Officer and a Gentleman and carries on with a silly monologue far extended into the ridiculous rant on the 12″ remixes by Arthur Baker.

One prevailing force at this time in pop music was Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”, with the inescapable John Landis promo film replaying constantly on MTV. It was a corny track (sorry, Jackson fans) with a cheesy “rap” by Vincent Price that appropriated the innocent nickelodeon horror flick tropes of teen culture, and it was ubiquitous. Jagger must have decided he could out-do the Gloved One at this game by upping the body count, making the connection between seduction and predation more explicit, and hiring a real horn section (CHOPS, who also appear briefly at the end of “Pretty Beat Up”) instead of a synth player. The album cut is a little over-long, and the extended freak-out mixes on the 12″ single are doubly so — but at least they make call-outs to Jackson and Price by name (“very f*cking funny, Michael!”). The “Too Much Blood” music video is even more priceless, with Mick being ravaged by chainsaw-wielding Ronnie & Keith.*

  • *Zealous bootleggers took the image to heart when giving names to tracks they pirated: there’s even a rip-roaring jam session from the ’82 Marconi sessions called “Chainsaw Rocker” (actually entitled “Cookin’ Up”, which raises eyebrows in the guitarists’ direction). The music video and the two others accompanying it for this album will be a topic for our next sidebar.

The album closes on “It Must Be Hell”. A poor choice, really, though the riff is pretty cool and sounds like a slowed-down take on the finale to “Soul Survivor” (which is itself merely a slowed-down James Brown lick). The lyrics are a slightly trite examination of Reaganomics’ ascendency, in the vein of “Hang Fire” — but turned on the great stagnant American dream. Actually, Mick’s lyrics are on a pretty high standard, they’re just slightly jarring set against the same-y music tracks. While its weaker songs drag down the overall impression, the ambitious highs of Undercover are quite impressive. The arrangements and production hold up very well today, with fine use of backing vocals, percussion and keyboards for textural variation.

It’s just a shame that the lowest-common-denominator aesthetic intruded (the LP label states “Front Side” for the first half and “Back Side” for the other… because butts! Get it? It’s a joke about butts and there’s one on the REAR cover too, nyuk nyuk). One exception is on the inner sleeve, adorned with a lovely painting of two apples by a Japanese artist. Juxtaposed here amidst the collision of bawdy lyrical themes and that horrendous cover, unfortunately, it’s hard to see it as anything but representing another swollen pair of sex organs. The album’s artsy dabbling in social commentary and alternative sexual mores clashed with the slickly commercial pop ambition of the music, and the crass cover did it no favours. Compared with Tattoo You‘s very strong sustained success, it was a sales flop; this boded ominously for their next project.




SIDEBAR — World War III Declared: a crossfire hurricane brewing

CBS Records forked over a very tidy sum in 1983 to get distribution rights on the next four Rolling Stones Records albums, as well as reissues of anything bearing that imprint in the meantime. They didn’t just buy “four new albums by The Rolling Stones”, mind you, but four new Rolling Stones Records albums (a crucial and yet often over-looked distinction). CBS bought the lot — everything the band had done in the previous thirteen years, and whatever came out in the next five — hook, line and sinker. With a much buzzed-about new album in the can (Undercover, the last new Stones album that the titanic Atlantic Records would launch), and lucrative new CD and home video markets opening up, signing with the global giant CBS meant that the Rolling Stones could gracefully transition into a new era, flush with record company support and a bright-looking future. Keith Richards married Patti Hansen on an extended wintertime working holiday in Mexico, with Mick Jagger serving as best man. Very soon, alas, the year of ’84 that had started out promisingly sunny for the Good Ship Stones darkened ominously. What had seemed like a slam-dunk deal would soon prompt a fatal dispute threatening the band’s future altogether.

The Undercover LP began to slip down the charts, and without an accompanying tour, the percolating appeal of its singles to underground dance clubs and MTV (seemingly) could not save its commercial prospects. All patiently waited throughout ’83 and ’84 for Charlie Watts to return to work with the band, so that another recording and touring cycle could fall into place. Thanks to a punishing bout of insecurity on the Watts family front, however, the drummer was in midlife crisis mode and he was therefore unwilling to devote significant time to any group activity. With the other band members also otherwise occupied, there was little momentum to continue onward once the promotion of Undercover finally ended in ’84.* Coasting on goodwill from the success of Tattoo You only got them so far, especially as Undercover had under-performed in comparison.

  • *Charlie did play casual one-off gigs with Stu’s boogie-woogie band Rocket 88 several times in this period, as well as benefit gigs organized by Ronnie Lane of the Faces for Action into Research for Multiple Sclerosis (ARMS) also involving Ron Wood & Bill Wyman. Keith did not perform much in public; establishing his married life with Patti instead entailed putting many of their familial affairs into order. Ron Wood began to paint his artwork in earnest, starting in April of ’84 and, before the year’s end, he would hold his first exhibition in Dallas. Dear ol’ Bill Wyman was putting the moves on a 13-year-old girl, whom he would soon marry in a storm of horrendous publicity and bizarre personal fallout.

Unbeknownst to the others, and probably out of legitimate concern that this was actually a waning period for the band, Mick signed a sly separate deal for a solo career on the back of their new CBS contract. The deal meant that, should four prospective Rolling Stones albums fail to arrive, the company would throw their support entirely behind Jagger’s solo discs instead. If they had fully disintegrated, if Charlie and the others could not commit to finishing another new project, this ensured Jagger could nonetheless keep his job as a popular musician without having to overtly break up the band. After four albums, either by Mick solo, or by the Stones (defined as Mick plus one other band member), the CBS contract would nonetheless be satisfied. Although this was a shrewd move on paper, it turned out to be a bet against the winning horse, and keeping it a secret was an astonishingly poor way to treat the other band members who at least deserved the respect of being invited into the room for a deal that brokered their potential legacy.

When Keith figured out the full implications of this epochal decision (perhaps not until months later in ’84), he was absolutely livid. In cozying up to slimy record company moguls and losing faith in his bandmates, so figured Keith, the bastard had traded in their combined sweat equity for the purchase of his own ego inflation. Worse still, Jagger held all the chips in major decisions about what the band could release until the CBS contract expired, and therefore stood a chance of stealing all media focus away to his solo act. While Keith had politely told Mick in ’83 he’d theoretically support the singer’s attempt at a solo side project, this unconsidered little contractual wrinkle was actually indulging an entirely different scenario: one where the band could have faded permanently out of the picture, gambled away in the crapshoot of pop stardom. Richards reacted by walking away from Jagger’s camp entirely, refusing to play ball while biliously taunting Mick in public for his superstar pretensions.

As a stop-gap measure, the suits began assembling a greatest hits package called Rewind that would anthologize the entire Atlantic-helmed period. Unlike all previous compilations of the post-ABKCO era, this was a comprehensive hits collection (with varying tracklists tailored for different markets). It kept the band in a holding pattern, continuing to trade off their past successes while the provenance of new material remained doubtful. Julien Temple, who had directed the Undercover clips, shot twenty minutes of newly scripted material featuring Mick and Bill to help sequence together a long-form home video release packaged to accompany the Rewind album. He intercut these segments with existing interviews (sometimes quite clumsily, when the rights to use interviewers’ voices could not be obtained), live footage, and vintage promo clips to create a flimsy-premised through-line about Bill Wyman the nightwatchman breaking into a museum store-room containing rock relics, hanging out with a frozen ’72-vintage-jumpsuited Jagger encased in glass, and reminiscing about the band’s faded glory days. They scroll around on the museum computer (Bill was a hobbyist in the early craze for home PCs) to play back the footage, and pointedly lament that Charlie isn’t around to play anymore.

Thrown into the sequence also were Temple’s three epic promotional films for Undercover. It was a good second-life airing for these clips, and showcased their high production value outside of MTV airplay, where they had enjoyed less heavy rotation than would perhaps justify their exorbitant budgets. That said, they didn’t really fit with the “trawl through the archives” framing device, and consequently feel a bit out of place. That’s not to say they are bad, by any means. Julien Temple was an astute craftsman, and the videos are highly accomplished works of art in their own right, providing intelligent visual commentary on the lyrical and musical imagery they convey. But they could and should be restored from their 35mm film elements soon — the video prints used the Rewind video are faded and run at the wrong speed, yet troublingly, they appear to be the sources for the Stones’ official YouTube channel versions.

Although it was crippled from potential daytime airplay by the violence of the plot, the full “Undercover of the Night” clip is exquisitely constructed, with Mick portraying a mustachioed white-knight figure who saves a Mexican girl from a marauding gang (including one death’s-head-wearing Keith) only to be mowed down in their church hideout in a climactic gunfight. It’s a battle between the ego and the id, and the meta-story of the teenagers watching at home adds another layer of commentary: you can acknowledge and pay attention to the violent reality of your world, as the girl wants to, or lose yourself in sex and drugs and rock ‘n roll, as the boy wants to do by switching the channel back to the Stones playing. In the end, authority figures (here personified by the girl’s parents, representing the superego) thwart the indulgence of either. It’s a perfectly-tuned psychodrama.

“Too Much Blood” is in much the same vein, with its horror movie pastiche (though it was, again, slightly too suggestive for white-bread MTV). The TV-watching protagonist is beset by the nightmarish spectre of a blood-soaked raft of entertainment options, from glossy Life magazine, to alcohol, to the Stones themselves. “She Was Hot”, by absolute contrast, excelled in the campy British Carry On tradition, while paying tribute to the colour-saturated 50s rock filmThe Girl Can’t Help It with Anita Morris standing in for Jayne Mansfield and Charlie Watts in a show-stopping star turn as her manager. This clip was, perversely, also banned from some TV broadcast playlists, not because of any violent or suggestive content, but because one of the shots shows a record executive (presumably a pastiche of those A&R suits they’d just left behind at Atlantic) holding a foaming can of Tab soft drink, which had not cleared its trademark for use in the video. Even if these corny visual gags don’t do it for you, the video is definitely worth viewing for the added lyrics in the extended first verse. I think the song still makes sense without them, but having those extra lines explains things a bit better.

In fact, minus the Undercover segments, the Rewind video is quite sharply self-aware: the dialogue spoken by Mick and Bill (as well as the placement of the band’s historical detritus), when viewed with acknowledgement of the band’s crippled and on-standby status, is very telling. It ends with Jagger being confined to his case again, only to literally break out on his own while the other band members languish in obscurity; then Bill wakes up, to realize he dreamed it all and they’ll remain rock stars as long as they can stay together and maybe even someday get some of those MBE medals they gave the Beatles. It must have been done in response to the real-life stalemate facing the band. I tend to read the intertextual fantasy of “Bill Wyman’s dream” that occupies much of theRewind video as an alternate scenario: a message from Mick to the others, of sorts, as if to say “let’s let bygones be bygones, so that we can keep our band identity together and attempt to maintain a relevant collective entity, or else it will fade into museum-piece status.” This must have lit some kind of fire under Keith, because he accepted the challenge of doggedly trying to get the band to record together again. After a fraught band meeting in Amsterdam, however, Jagger overstepped his boundaries and pissed Charlie off by calling him up long after he’d retired to bed, insultingly calling him “my drummer”; the way Keith tells it, Charlie reacted by getting out of bed, dressing to the nines, and physically assaulting Jagger to retort that he was “MY singer”.

With Mick now totally cast adrift from the band, things were only going to get bleaker in 1985.




Dirty Work


Around the time that the Stones’ Rewind came out on home video in November ’84, Mick had finished his first solo album She’s the Boss, and perhaps in a bout of competitive one-upmanship, he shot some yet more elaborate Julien Temple music videos to accompany it. But even with a dream-team of players (including future Stones sideman Bernard Fowler) assembled by funk producer Bill Laswell and dance-pop mastermind Nile Rodgers, the album itself was shockingly bereft of good ideas. There are a couple of great licks from Jeff Beck, and one song co-written with Keith, but it sounds totally out of date and too careful by half. Despite fairly healthy contemporary chart performance and sales, it is primarily a patience-testing artistic misfire, jarringly out of step with the dance world and not quite rock, either. Mick got away with it, but he didn’t break as big as hoped. The best that could be said for the project is that he at last went just outside of his comfort zone.

Mick went back to the Stones in early ’85 to begin work on a new record, but his attention was now sharply divided between two careers. In fact, pre-production on Dirty Work coincided with promotional work for She’s the Boss, so Jagger was not around much at first. The other Stones were bitter at the absenteeism, and it’s hard not to see Jagger’s contributions being perfunctory as a result, but even though this Stones album is pretty reviled, it’s nowhere near as bad as Jagger’s LP. Ron and Keith had been keeping their chops by hanging out together, bouncing riffs and ideas off each other while waiting for the rest of the band to assemble. When they finally did gather, in Paris once again, the two guitarists were raring to go and in ship-shape playing condition. It’s just that Jagger didn’t really want to be around them, and they were pretty sick of him too.

According to Dirty Work co-producer Steve Lillywhite, Keith would call She’s the Boss “that f*cking disco album” to anyone listening and was obviously very emotionally stung by Mick’s betrayal. He continues: “Keith was very annoyed at Mick for making that record. To him, loyalty is everything, and he saw Mick going outside the band as no different from seeing your wife cheating on you. Mick and Keith were hardly in the same room together — the tension was pretty thick. So I kind of saw my role as being the Henry Kissinger for the guys, keeping the peace.” Lillywhite didn’t begin working with them until May of ’85, however, by which time the sessions had been in progress on and off for four months. Keith was effusive in his praise at the time for the producer’s ability to encourage the band to give their best performances and help shape song arrangements. Nevertheless, blame for the album’s dated sound lands at Lillywhite’s feet.

Charlie Watts was AWOL for much of the sessions, his personal problems now having advanced to full-blown heroin and alcohol addiction (which saps more than a little of the energy required to do a drum take). He also injured his hand during the tracking stage and so doesn’t play on some songs, with session drummers and even Ronnie Wood filling in on a couple of numbers. From the very first snare hit on Dirty Work, it’s clear that Watts is not going to be able to carry his usual weight. The fill with which he enters “One Hit (To the Body)” is torpid, unsteady and worst of all, drenched in a foggy stew of gated reverb that would have made Bob Clearmountain, even in his Born in the USA glory days, yank down the gain knob with a look of disgust. Lillywhite, then a rising star in his own right after working behind the desk for many contemporary artists like U2, Simple Minds, and Psychedelic Furs, in many cases added sheen and anthemic sweep to songs that needed it, but at the expense of that distinctive Stones rhythmic attack of straight-rock over swing, which relied on Charlie’s backbeat being audible as more than just a sound effect in the wash. Engineer Dave Jerden, who had just worked with Mick on “She’s the Boss”, was used to the rigorous standards of jazz production and would tune the drum heads every day to match the home key of whatever number was being recorded. This attention to detail is a great thing, but useless when the natural sound of the instrument is sucked away into a box.

On the other hand, “One Hit” is a really great song, co-written with Wood and packed with amazing guitar riffs including a fine guest solo by Jimmy Page. It was the second single taken from the album, with a memorable music video directed by Russell Mulcahy where Keith and Mick really look like they’re about to kill each other. The song was a minor hit in the USA but fell flat elsewhere, being the Stones’ first UK single to miss the top 75, which is too bad because Ronnie really did save the day and deserves more credit for this. He also co-wrote three other songs on the album, and this low ebb of Jagger/Richards compositions would have bespoke certain disaster for the band’s future had Ronnie not been standing by to pick up some of the slack and ease tension long enough to actually finish the album. He was able to channel the turmoil into creativity, and held down his end of the bargain to see the Stones through this rough period by continuing to write songs for them (tellingly, all four of his tunes have lyrics about tumultuous relationships, partly inspired by the feud).

“Fight” is one such track, and it would have been far better without the added production layers. The guitar and keyboard tones are excellent, but it’s all buried under Jagger’s flamboyant growls, unnecessary backing vocal harmonies, and Charlie’s indiscernible performance enmired in reverb muck while Ronnie attempts to steer him from the bass guitar chair. “Harlem Shuffle” works really well, with Don Covay, Bobby Womack and Tom Waits (of all people) turning in fantastic backing vocals, and Mick ably rising to Keith’s challenge to sing some vintage R&B. The only thing missing is the iconic horn section from Bob & Earl’s original. The Stones scored a worldwide hit, with the extended 12″ dance mixes receiving extensive play in clubs and the 7″ edit cracking Billboard’s top five. The animated video directed by Ralph Bakshi is a hoot, too, raunchy and fun.

“Hold Back” is a lightweight song, sounding like a leftover from She’s the Boss with its soupy reverb and Jagger’s growly bluster spoiling some otherwise fine guitar work and a swinging groove (thanks to Ivan Neville lighting a fire on bass, and Bobby Womack on rhythm guitar). “Too Rude” is a complete tour-de-force, with Keith turning in a brilliant vocal performance of this Half Pint classic, and Ron Wood taking over from both Charlie and Bill as a one-man rhythm section on dub-delayed drums and swooping bass (as well as backing vocals, with Keith and reggae legend Jimmy Cliff). Keith’s solo band the X-Pensive Winos later played some great live performances of this, and it’s easy to imagine it being a highlight of a Stones tour, had they ever worked it up. Steve Jordan, a key member of the Winos and songwriting partner of Keith’s, was invited to Pathe Marconi during the ’85 sessions and there met Keith for the first time; apparently, on hearing him sing some tracks in Mick’s absence, he immediately knew they should collaborate again later.

“Winning Ugly” works okay, with another lyrical commentary by Jagger on American foreign policy. The extended London Mix from a 12″ promotional single is a more enjoyable take, with better placement of instrumental textures and spotlighting the strut of its bassline. The unwavering rhythm pattern doesn’t sound anything like Charlie and Bill though; it’s uncredited session player Anton Fig and funk bassist John Regan (who had the dubious honour of also playing on Mick’s horrendous cover of “Dancing in the Street” with David Bowie). The keyboard sounds on this and following track “Back to Zero” (co-composed by Chuck Leavell, again featuring Womack’s guitar) are very dated, but they do swing with the rhythm track and Mick’s vocal approach actually suits the lyrical theme of nuclear annihilation. There’s a clumsy edit going into the bridge, Dan Collette’s trumpet solo is pretty aimless, and the uncredited percussion overdubs don’t help matters either. But there is a good song buried in there, somewhere.

The title track (unsurprisingly, another Ronnie Wood co-write) is pretty smokin’, with Chuck Leavell on tasty Hammond organ licks and Bill Wyman FINALLY turning up the heat on bass. Too bad he totally forgot about “Had it with You” altogether, another fun Ron Wood number featuring himself on sax and no one on bass. “Sleep Tonight” is a piano-based Keith torch song, with a stuttery Ron Wood drum track and a nice high-strung acoustic that can barely be heard above the reverb. By now, if you’re not pissed off completely with the album’s enervating unevenness, you can stick around to hear Stu tickling the ivories on a bit of “Key to the Highway”. Although he can’t be heard playing elsewhere on the final mix, he was still acting as personnel and equipment manager during the sessions (a position that Pierre de Beauport would assume forever afterwards), keeping the Stones on their toes and their axes standing by.

Not only do we have to say goodbye here to Stu, who stoically and steadfastly shepherded the band through its daily ups and downs only to suddenly die of a heart attack on December 12th 1985, but also to the critically important Pathe Marconi studio in Paris. This was the last time the Stones would record here, after routining all their foundational recording sessions there since Some Girls. Once the Stones moved to New York to finish the album in the fall of ’85, they polished and dubbed over the magical sound of that room almost entirely beyond recognition. Only the dry, tight thud of “Had It with You” comes close to the feel that they had got there before with Chris Kimsey. In search of that old magic, they would eventually seek out a reunion with him for their next project. But the band’s continuation was by no means a sure thing.

It was a painful nine-month process to record Dirty Work, and only three years of bitter silence healed the scars it left. For various reasons, Bill and Charlie were even less present than they were on Undercover, and they approved the final product via cassette courier rather than listening in the control room. Mick vetoed a tour for the record, which Keith had been counting on as late as February ’86 to get the band back into shape. Instead, the only performance they gave that year would be a small tribute show to Stu, in whose memory the album was dedicated. Bob Geldof approached the Stones collectively to play at the historic Live Aid concerts, but they were in no fit state to do so until Charlie cleaned up afterwards. Jagger played a solo set at the Philadelphia show with Tina Turner and Hall & Oates; afterwards, Bob Dylan played with Ron & Keith backing him. Both performances were, in their own ways, disasters, and back-to-back they painted a pretty sorry picture of the Rolling Stones even before the album arrived in stores and Keith announced Mick’s decision not to tour. It was a tacky-looking record with some tacky sounds, but the soul and feeling of what was once Stu’s band was still in there. However, they simply couldn’t continue as they were.

Something had to change.

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