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In the vast and varied theater of modern popular music, the spot assigned to Mick Jagger is, without fear of contradiction, right in the front row. This 66-year-old son of the English middle class (father and grandfather were teachers, mother a hairdresser), much less transgressive, vicious, and "dangerous" than the media have argued and fans have imagined all these years, rightfully belongs in the Olympus of the greats thanks to an immense, almost unique personal charisma, a true gift of nature that has benefited rock as a whole, as well as him and the Rolling Stones, much more than his actual musical abilities.
Mick's big lips have become a stereotype of outrage and non-conformism; the man behind them as early as 1971 decided to take administrative control of his group, distancing impresario Allen Klein and personally taking care of the financial side of things and therefore his own destiny with rational punctiliousness, practicality, and, when necessary, cynicism. Later on, when in 2003 he received the proposal to be named Sir by the British Royals, he accepted with pride and delight, heedless of partner Keith Richards' curses ("Fucking paltry honour!") and the derision of his right-thinking drummer Charlie Watts ("Anyone else would be lynched: wives and children left and right and they make him a Knight!").
Mick Jagger is one of the geniuses of rock music and this by virtue of his image, personality, and talented showmanship that has essentially contributed to expanding the collective imagination of the image of a group's frontman. From a technical standpoint, he holds a powerful and steady voice (he is truly a born singer, after all, he claims to have been singing... since he was born!), recognizable among thousands, incredibly personal, an indisputable human heritage for historical and dissemination merits.
He moves me just the right amount, far less than many others, as it's... rude, and not very flexible. As a composer, being much more of a singer than an instrumentalist, Jagger has always needed (even for this record...) to rely on one or more musicians capable of stimulating him with good chord progressions, which he then refines with his vocal line and lyrics: the role (one of the roles) of his alter ego Richards in the Stones, in essence.
Here on "Primitive Cool" Keith is just not there, as the album, the second under Jagger's name and dated 1987, comes out in the middle of one of the most acrimonious and hostile phases of their relationship. The new friends Mick attempts to consolidate an effective solo career with here, ready to forever quit with the Stones in case of great success (which won't be...), are named David A. Stewart (the one from the Eurythmics, a sort of parsley of the eighties, hyperactive and hyper-compositional), Keith Diamond (co-producer), and as far as the lead guitar is concerned, an old acquaintance and still the best on the market: Jeff Beck.
The relationship between Beck and the Stones is love/hate: attracted by the success and charisma of the group, who always courted him when it was time to change guitarists, Beck has always harbored strong doubts about the musical consistency (or rather, the rhythm...) of the band. In the end, the marriage never happened, but the first two solo Jagger records, this one and the previous "She's The Boss", see the prodigious soloist adding value with his inimitable touch. Jeff isn't given much space on this album, but just listen to the guitar theme that opens and supports the initial "Throwaway" to be amazed at how sound, choice, and flavor given to each single note are from another planet.
The single taken from this collection is unfortunate, to say the least: "Let's Work" is a clumsily rhymed blues rock rendered as square as possible to be danceable, but the rhythmic groove is unfortunate, while the insipid lyrics advise us to work hard "to conquer poverty" (whose poverty? Since when does the result of the vast majority of our work benefit the poor?) and not to be lazy... Much more danceable, even for the standards of those times, is the track that titles the album, where electronics and traditional instrumentation (even trumpet and saxophone) are intertwined and connected together by an impeccable production that also mixes oriental-like mellotron splashes á la Led Zeppelin with hard riffs and funky breaks, in rotation.
The second part of the album is more pleasant because it's less cheeky/song-like and more rock, particularly the pair consisting of "Shoot Off Your Mouth" and "Peace For The Wicked", robust hard blues (especially the first) in which Jagger's rough and spirited voice is very convincing. "Party Doll" instead seems to evoke the Rolling Stones' ballads of the late '60s, half country and half pop. However, the autobiographical epilogue of "War Baby" is pretentious and a bit boring because it's too long. It is confirmed, in this release as well, that Mick undoubtedly has the stature of a great frontman of a group (and who can doubt that?), but not exactly that of a soloist, a singer-songwriter.
Tracklist Lyrics and Samples
01 Throwaway (05:03)
Used to play the Casanova
Smoother than the Bossa Nova
Love to play the Romeo
But I never need a home to go to
I'm so greasy, I'm so slick.
I leave no traces
I just get out quick
I use cheap champagne
Brief affairs and backstage love
But a love like this
Is much too good
To ever throwaway
I've played the fool
I've played the clown
I'm an easy lover
When I come to town
It's a fashion
It's a buyer's market
To bust it up
Before it's really started
I'm incurably romantic
If you leave me I'll go frantic
With cheap champagne
Brief affairs and backstage love
But a love like this
Is much too good
To ever throwaway
Yes a love like this
Is much too good
To ever throwaway
If the glove still fits
Don't call it quits
Don't throw your life away
Cause a love like this
Is much too good
To ever throwaway
Used to play the Casanova
Faster than a roller coaster
I gave you the best years of my life
Don't you kick me in the gutter
Cause a love like this
Is much too good
To ever throwaway
Yes a love like this
Is much too good
To ever throwaway
Yes there's many a slip
Between a cup and lip
Don't let it slide away
Cause a love like this
Is much too good
To ever throwaway
02 Let's Work (04:50)
No sitting down on your butt
The world don?t owe you
No sitting down in a rut
I wanna show you
Don?t waste your energy
On making enemies
Just take a deep breath
And work your way up
Let?s work, be prou
Stand tall, touch the clouds
Man and woman, be free
Let?s work, kill poverty
La, la, la
Work your way up
Let?s work, be prou
Stand tall, touch the clouds
Man and woman, be free
Let?s work, kill poverty
You?re sitting down on your butt
And your get greedy
You start to lose your nuts
Don?t you look seedy
Can generosity bring you humility
So take a deep breath
Ain?t gonna sweat for you
Ain?t gonna sigh for you
Ain?t gonna cry for you
If you?re lazy
Ain?t gonna slave for you
Ain?t gonna hurt for you
It just won?t work for you
If you?re lazy
Let?s work, be proud
Stand tall, touch the clouds
Let?s work, let?s eat
Let?s live in ecstasy
Man and woman, be free
Let?s work, kill poverty
Let?s work, be proud
Stand tall, touch the clouds
Man and woman, be free
Let?s work, let?s work
Get down in the dirt and let?s work
Get down in the dirt and let?s work
Get up, be free
Get down in the dirt, let?s work
Get down in the dirt, let?s work
Get down in the dirt
Take off your shirt
Get down in the dirt
Let?s work
03 Radio Control (03:56)
I?m a player in a game show
And it?s poisoning my mind
I?m a string on someone?s yo-yo
I feel my life is trivialised
I eat scandal for my breakfast
I spit gossip late at night
I?m not one for fancy speeches
But they?re sucking me like leeches
Feel my body?s under radio control
Listen
Hey hey hey
Hey hey hey
Hey hey hey
Hey hey hey
Every woman that I?m loving
She?s got to have that sense of style
All the men love that aggression
They want to walk that extra mile
I?m getting sick of competition
You better take me off this mission
Feel my body?s under radio control
Listen
Hey hey hey
Hey hey hey
Hey hey hey
Hey hey hey
I always stay fresh
Don?t run out of juice
I don?t let the power run dry
Don?t make a fool of myself
Let my tounge hang too loose
I stay out of range to survive
Every woman she got to walk that extra mile
I?m not one for fancy speeches
But they?re sucking me like leeches
Feel my body?s under radio control
Listen hey hey hey
Hey hey hey
Hey hey hey
Hey hey hey
Walk forwards
Walk backwards
Radio control
Work hard
Take a vacation
Radio control
Radio control
Radio control
09 Party Doll (05:19)
You used to be my party doll
But now you say the party?s over
You used to love to honky tonk
But now the honky tonking?s over
Now life is a bitter thing, my sweet
Now life is a mystery to me
Love?s pain, I ain?t buying
Love?s strange. I keep trying, trying, trying
You used to be my party doll
But now you want to live in clover
You used to be my number one
But now those salad days are over
Times change but fascination stays
Love wins but the passion just fades
I?ll drink to the dancing days
I?ll drink to your crazy ways
Through the whiskey haze
Face the music, face the truth
Chase that fleet sweet bird of youth
Grow up sweetly, grow up strong
Hear the heartbeat, in my song
Love?s pain, I ain?t buying
Love?s strange. I keep trying, trying, trying
You used to be my party doll
But now you say the party?s over
You used to love to honky tonk
But now those dancing days are over
You used to be my number one
But now you vanished in the ozone
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