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It is almost unbelievable to say and it seems absurd to talk about, but even the Rolling Stones had their own distant golden age. So, we are not dealing with one of those inexplicably famous names, nor eternal inflated egos or ridiculous clowns. In short, we are not in the presence of bogus names on the level of Queen, Eagles, Elton John, or Guns 'n' Roses, but rather, of a band that for over thirty years has been consciously ruining a glorious and illustrious reputation. Partly out of illness, partly out of selfishness, "partly" for the "noble" purpose of profit, they have decided to unnecessarily prolong a tasteless project, made of untimely and misplaced clamor, and mean caricature appearances. Much could be written about the shattered and clumsy Stones, but it is also true that they are the only ones who can truly afford to be so awful. The reason is easily explained: their first decade of career is worth more than the careers of U2, Who, and Led Zeppelin put together, and it is not an exaggeration. The specific weight of the Stones in the history of rock has very few equals: R. Johnson, Berry, Dylan, Beatles, Young, Lou Reed, and Velvet Underground are the only artists that can truly stand alongside the name Rolling Stones, and to hell with David Bowie, Frank Zappa, or Captain Beefheart. They deserve profound respect especially from that myriad of young ignorant loudmouths (Oasis above all) who do the job they do only because of who knows whom. The Stones have completely redefined the canons of rock music, bringing Chuck Berry's rock to a decidedly more complex and higher artistic level. Apart from the great singles of the mid-sixties (Satisfaction, Get off of My Cloud, Paint It Black), what matters most about their golden age are those five albums that will forever be remembered in the history of Rock: Aftermath, Beggar's Banquet, Let It Bleed, Sticky Fingers, Exile on Main Street. This is their specific weight. A rock band that in their moment of inspiration cannot be compared to anyone else. Neither to the Who, nor to Led Zeppelin, nor to the Doors, nor to the Allman Brothers Band, nor to Bruce Springsteen.
Among the aforementioned albums, a special mention should be made for Exile on Main Street, an album without which Tom Waits, Patti Smith, Springsteen, and even the best albums of Neil Young (see Tonight's the Night, On the Beach, Zuma) and U2 would never have existed. No one would have ever expected that after Sticky Fingers the Stones could compose such an album. Four sides of vinyl for a total of twenty new filthy and raw tracks. It seems to be the band's first album for the stylistic-artistic approach adopted: recorded in the basement of Keith's Parisian house, this is material that howls of basements and slums, of anarchic spirits. The record, by far the most swaggering and raw of the catalog, is considered the greatest white blues album ever made, a sort of memorable theft to the "detriment" or benefit of blacks. Four sides of blues, rock and roll, country, soul, and gospel thrown into a generally deliberately frayed mess in which the voice is almost never in the foreground, giving space to a vigorous and never again so powerful band. From this point on the Stones will never be the same and will embark on a long decline that continues to this day. And it is not even true that the album is so perfect, as many say; indeed, there are even a couple of filler songs (Loving Cup and the monotonous cover of Stop Breaking Down). But what truly makes this album great is the utter disinterest of Our Artists in money. One distinctly and tangibly breathes the taste of making music "art" with a capital A, in the way most congenial to them, that is, allowing the continuous and unpredictable stream of inspiration to flow without brakes or "inhibitions." The greatness of this album lies precisely in its total formal imperfection, in the frantic, disorderly, and chaotic way it came to light, in Keith Richards' coughs in Happy and in Jagger's disjointed and animalistic screams some twenty centimeters from the microphone. A saturated, lazy, and sweaty sound, a fireball made of drunkenness, brawls, and drug addiction. Exile on Main Street is the strongest example of total symbiotic fusion between life and music. A wild creativity marvelously immortalized in this sub-urban fresco of ruthless, raw and hyper-realistic black and white images. Five great artists at the height of their greatest genius, violent and addicted, but not for banal and trivial exhibitionism, but to feed that same beast that lived inside them: The Blues.
The very same music that swallowed Robert Johnson into the darkness?... for this and much more, for better or worse, God Save The Rolling Stones.Tracklist Lyrics and Samples
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 currahee72
A warm, dense, raw, anarchic, and uncontrolled album.
An album seductive, nonchalant, and seminal that shows the wild and proletarian side of rock.
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.
