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Rating: This album, despite being recorded under the most terrifying conditions and remixed an indeterminate number of times, remains one of the main cornerstones of the Rolling Stones' discography. In 1972, the Stones were truly fugitives, maligned and outlaws, more on the run from the UK tax collectors and London police—who frequently arrested Jagger and company for possession of illegal substances—than from the demons that had dramatically shown themselves a few years earlier during the Altamont gathering. Exiled and hiding in the damp, claustrophobic basement of Keith Richards' villa in Nellcote, in the south of France, the Rolling Stones managed to produce their great masterpiece. A warm, dense, raw, anarchic, and uncontrolled album.
"Exile On Main Street" is one of the most important and influential musical chapters in the history of rock. The work that, with "Beggars Banquet," "Let It Bleed," and "Sticky Fingers," gives miserable mortals a feverish and cursed musical four of a kind that has granted the Stones immortality. Never has a collection of tracks covered all aspects of rock music with such comprehensive precision of details.
The underlying theme of the album is a return to the essentiality and genuine purity of early rock 'n' roll. A jukebox of unadorned, ancient, anachronistic sounds rich in black music, blues, and profane gospel, packaged with a rich instrumental array thanks to the decisive additions of Nicky Hopkins, Bobby Keys, Jim Price, and completed by a mix that is in no way refined and highly toxic. The colors that dominate from the famous cover are black and white, and over everything, a sense of alienation hovers. The months it took to record this work were deleterious and hard for everyone involved. Drugs of all kinds and alcohol were a constant, as was the infernal frustration of living and working daily all together in an inadequate and uncomfortable place once used as a Nazi headquarters.
This double album remains essentially a creature of Keith Richards, with Mick Jagger almost absent and occupied in Paris where his wife Bianca was about to give birth. Keith, with the help of producer Jimmy Miller, organizes the group like a dirty and visceral rock-blues band, blessed by the ghost of Robert Johnson and illuminated by dear old Chuck Berry riffs, Stax brand rhythm 'n' blues, and the country-rock of friend Gram Parsons. The final and exhilarating result is a record with a dirty recording, with no clarity or technical precision, capable of reclaiming the spontaneity of their early days. A parable of the Stones' musical history from the origins up to the Seventies, with their perpetual musical roots as its focal center. An album seductive, nonchalant, and seminal that shows the wild and proletarian side of rock, capable of influencing generations of musicians from Springsteen to Petty, from the Clash to the Replacements, from John Mellencamp to the Black Crowes.
The sound of "Exile On Main Street" is light-years away from the technological productions of the Seventies and is not calculated or orchestrated. It is merely the result of approximate, precarious, and often chaotic recordings conducted among the rooms, kitchen, and cellar of Richards' villa. It is pointless to quote or comment on all eighteen tracks of this classic. Those pieces remain there, unchanged since that distant 1972, to bear witness and demonstrate the complete musical mastery the Rolling Stones had at the time and to remind us, with each reverent listening, what it really meant to produce a rock 'n' roll album, conceived on the road when all dreams had vanished and unease reigned supreme.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
02 Rip This Joint (02:23)
(M. Jagger/K. Richards)
Mama says yes, Papa says no,
Make up you mind 'cause I gotta go.
I'm gonna raise hell at the Union Hall,
Drive myself right over the wall.
Rip this joint, gonna save your soul,
Round and round and round we go.
Roll this joint, gonna get down low,
Start my starter, gonna stop the show.
Oh, yeah!
Mister President, Mister Immigration Man,
Let me in, sweetie, to your fair land.
I'm Tampa bound and Memphis too,
Short Fat Fanny is on the loose.
Dig that sound on the radio,
Then slip it right across into Buffalo.
Dick and Pat in ole D.C.,
Well they're gonna hold some shit for me.
Ying yang, you're my thing,
Oh, now, baby, won't you hear me sing.
Flip Flop, fit to drop,
Come on baby, won't you let it rock?
Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah!
From San Jose down to Santa Fe,
Kiss me quick, baby, won'tcha make my day.
Down to New Orleans with the Dixie Dean,
'Cross to Dallas, Texas with the Butter Queen.
Rip this joint, gonna rip yours too,
Some brand new steps and some weight to lose.
Gonna roll this joint, gonna get down low,
Round and round and round we'll go.
Wham, Bham, Birmingham, Alabam' don't give a damn.
Little Rock fit to drop.
Ah, let it rock.
03 Shake Your Hips (02:59)
(James Moore)
I wanna tell you 'bout a dance
that's goin' around
everybody's doin' it
from the grownups down
Don't move your head
don't move your hands
don't move your lips
just shake your hips
Do the hip shake, babe
do the hip shake, babe
shake your hip, babe
shake your hip, babe
What you don't know
don't be afraid
just listen to me
and do what I say
Don't move your head
don't move your hands
don't move your lips
just shake your hips
Do the hip shake, babe
do the hip shake, babe
shake your hip, babe
shake your hip, babe
well ain't that easy
Well, I met a little girl
in a country town
she said, "What do you know
there's Slim Harpo!"
Didn't move her head
didn't move her hands
didn't move her lips
just shook her hips
Do the hip shake, babe
do the hip shake, babe
shake your hip, babe
shake your hip, babe
well ain't that easy
04 Casino Boogie (03:33)
(M. Jagger/K. Richards)
No good, can't speak, wound up, no sleep.
Sky diver insider her, skip rope, stunt flyer.
Wounded lover, got no time on hand.
One last cycle, thrill freak Uncle Sam.
Pause for bus'ness, hope you'll understand.
Judge and jury walk out hand in hand.
Dietrich movies, close up boogies,
Kissing cunt in Cannes.
Grotesque music, million dollar sad.
Got no tactics, got no time on hand.
Left shoe shuffle, right shoe muffle,
Sinking in the sand.
Fade out freedom, steaming heat on,
Watch that hat in black.
Finger twitching, got no time on hand.
05 Tumbling Dice (03:45)
Women think I'm tasty, but they're always tryin' to waste me
And make me burn the candle right down
But baby, baby, don't need no jewels in my crown
'Cause all you women is low down gamblers
Cheatin' like I don't know how
But baby, I go crazy, there's fever in the funk house now
This low down bitchin' got my poor feet a-itchin'
You know you know the deuce is still wild
Baby, can't stay
You got to roll me and call me the tumblin' dice
Always in a hurry, I never stop to worry
Don't you see the time flashin' by
Honey, got no money, I'm all sixes and sevens and nines
Say now, baby, I'm the rank outsider
You can be my partner in crime
Baby, can't stay
You got to roll me and call me the tumblin'
Roll me and call me the tumblin' dice
Oh my my my, I'm the lone crap shooter
Playin' the field every night
Baby, can't stay
You got to roll me and call me the tumblin'
Roll me and call me the tumblin' dice
Got to roll me
Got to roll me
Got to roll me
Got to roll me
Got to roll me
Got to roll me
Got to roll me
Keep on rolling
Got to roll me
Keep on rolling
Got to roll me
Keep on rolling
Got to roll me
Got to roll me
Got to roll me
Got to roll me
Got to roll me
Got to roll me
Got to roll me
Got to roll me
Got to roll me
06 Sweet Virginia (04:25)
(M. Jagger/K. Richards)
Wadin' through the waste stormy winter,
And there's not a friend to help you through.
Tryin' to stop the waves behind your eyeballs,
Drop your reds, drop your greens and blues.
Thank you for your wine, California,
Thank you for your sweet and bitter fruits.
Yes I got the desert in my toenail
And I hid the speed inside my shoe.
But come on, come on down Sweet Virginia,
Come on, honey child, I beg of you.
Come on, come on down, you got it in ya.
Got to scrape the shit right off you shoes.
I want you to come on, come on down Sweet Virginia,
I want you come on, honey child, I beg of you. .
I want you come on, honey child you got it in you.
Got to scrape that shit right off you shoes.
But come on, come on down Sweet Virginia,
Come on, come on down, I beg of you.
Come on, come on down, you got it in you.
Got to scrape that shit right off you shoes.
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Other reviews
By RingoStarfish
Exile after repeated listens finally begins to reveal itself in its greatness, which seems all improvised, playful, unconscious.
Jagger is the red thread of this complex sonic and human puzzle, the storyteller who reveals what was and what it has become.
By jackpizzello
Exile On Main Street stands as a milestone in the now forty-year-long career of the Stones.
Simply a masterpiece, one of the most significant albums in Rock history.
By j&r
The greatness of this album lies precisely in its total formal imperfection, in the frantic, disorderly, and chaotic way it came to light.
Exile on Main Street is the strongest example of total symbiotic fusion between life and music.
By woodstock
Because inside here there's rock, all of it, and I don’t care if anyone says otherwise.
Probably, even in moments like these, a record can save your life.
