The Rolling Stones
Black And Blue

Despite the fact that from their beginnings the music of the Rolling Stones has always been dominated by black influences, this is perhaps their most "black" album since the days when the five were performing thrilling re-makes of songs by Chuck Berry, Solomon Burke, and Sam Cooke. From the beginning to the end of Black And Blue, the Stones make a thorough reconnaissance of the black funk from New York to Kingston, and as "Hot Stuff" demonstrates, sometimes both ethnic cultures collide in a bizarre collision. The group rides a repetitive disco riff, while that big brag of Jagger mumbles his personal interpretation of the playful Jamaican talkover. However, the menacing stance the Stones take in this and other tracks is certainly not that of certain peaks of the empty street generation, but rather that of dashing Sweet Macks, flaunting high-heeled crocodile shoes, pants creased as sharp as razors, and pink diamonds the size of pigeon eggs: Gentlemen of Leisure. Sure, Hot Stuff and the insidious Hey Negrita might well represent the type of brutalized danceable that Le Jardin plays until your feet and ears bleed, but these two tracks do not require a Tom Moulton mix to be fashionable. On the contrary, this record is an experiment in style where the Stones reaffirm their origins, integrating the rawest elements of Salsa and Fatback funk.
Anyway, there are moments when the performance is good but the result is weak. Eric Donaldson's Cherry Oh Baby, for example, is a failure due to the same reasons that made Luxury one of the most successful tracks of It's Only RNR. In truth, the Stones are much more adept at recreating a particular style according to their needs than at reproducing a straight copy. As a "mandatory" reggae track, Cherry Oh Baby does not add any additional arrows to their quiver.
In search of new black inspirations, Billy Preston is grabbed by the collar to the point of being Jagger's shadow in Melody, and together the two hum this gem of pure Uptown "schmaltz". On a purely spontaneous level, it is certainly the best track on the album, and, despite Preston making his presence felt here and there, this is not at the expense of Keith Richard's tasty blues phrases or Charlie Watts' skillful drumming, undoubtedly the major protagonist of the album.
Of the eight long tracks, only Hand Of Fate, with an admirable guitar solo by Wayne Perkins, and Crazy Mama come close to the Stones' more traditional riffs, even if reduced to the essentials.
Memory Motel is the way Jagger prefers to sing the blues; made in the same stylized mold from which came Moonlight Mile and If You Really Want To Be My Friend, it is a seven-minute "on the road" love song, featuring Jagger, Richard, and Preston on keyboards with Perkins and Mandel on guitars.
To finish, Black And Blue may not be the album that most of the aficionados expected, especially since Mick Taylor left after five years and his absence is felt. The Stones will try a handful without outstanding results. Maybe it's the material that shows too many cracks of imagination, too much routine.