The Rolling Stones. Many of you might have been at the concert in Milan during the scorching summer of 2003. I remember watching a puppet show. The unfortunate session man on bass and the others on horns going crazy trying to keep up with the jumps of the three in front, always late, actually, "out of sync." I didn't hear the concert because, for us poor souls in the last tier, hardly any sound from the performance reached us. Then, when Our Heroes moved to the acoustic set, I really only heard the audience below singing. But I enjoyed that evening. Perhaps it no longer matters to hear the Stones, but rather to be sure, to see that they are still alive and moving (like puppets).
Leaving the stadium: "Did you see Mick Jagger running for two hours?... How the hell does Keith Richards still stand?... Think that Ronnie is the same age as my father, etc. etc." Everyone carefully avoided talking about music.
The same goes for this latest album. It doesn’t matter the quality of the songs (a bit ugly, by the way) but the fact that the old geezers manage to be 100 times tougher than the listless twenty-something epigones who today infest the Anglo-Saxon music world full of bands already washed up, toxic, burned out after three years of career.
Welcome "A Bigger Bang" to be listened to without even turning up the volume knob from 0.
In playback like puppets.
Time is essentially a fiction, and the Stones tell us this with their usual album, with the horrible cover and the divine content.
Even when trying little, these four grandpas are infinitely better from every point of view than all the young imitators who happen to have.
Music has returned to planet earth.
Many years have passed since Sticky Fingers, but the group seems unfazed by them.
The disarming lack of inspiration that permeates this album should depress those who loved them and keep away (at least from this work) those who have never listened to them.
The only ones unwilling to surrender to the inexorable passage of time are still them.
That riff of 'Rough Justice' with which Richards wakes us up, strong sounds, daring lines, more like cannon thunder than notes.
‘Infamy’ and ‘Let Me Down Slow’ break no taboo now, it feels like reheated porridge and you exclaim: 'What a bore!'
The riffs are rock solid, the blues is very bluesy, and the heart-wrenching ballads make you want to find a soulmate, lose them, find them again, and have 25 kids together.
'Rough Justice' is sharp and ironic, with Mick making fun of himself; 'Streets of Love' is sad but with a catchy melody.