The Rolling Stones
Sticky Fingers

It's 1969 when the musical genius of Brian Jones leaves this planet, closing a golden chapter for the band he had founded with so much dedication and passion. The farewell from his companions/colleagues was not among the best, but after all, Brian was causing quite a few problems for the group's well-being, and this weighed on everyone, from the record label to the listeners.

After closing the decade, the luckiest and most authentic for the famous rolling stones, with a loss, a much-discussed concert that was not very enjoyable in honor of Brian, and with "Let It Bleed," which by some strange coincidence winks at their historic rivals, who were meanwhile in ruin (if we can call it that), the "new" band headed by Mick Jagger enters the '70s and does so in grand style, presenting to the public in April 1971, a pair of jeans, shameless, provocative, perhaps even offensive to some, but extremely inspiring, that serve as the cover for "Sticky Fingers," an icon of Stonian music, evidently not for everyone. Andy Warhol, who had already worked in the music field with the Velvet Underground just a few years earlier, also lends himself for the pose of this mysterious figure, who probably devoid of slips (even though, opening the zip inserted in the cardboard, the slips will indeed be there, and beautifully autographed too) will leave a mark on pop culture.

It's the '80s when Springsteen releases "Born in the USA," an original cover, right? Not to mention "Mamma mia" by the "new" Maneskin, who, while I write this review, are likely singing somewhere around the globe acclaimed without any real reason, or perhaps there is one. The advertising campaign was substantial, the five posing with a nice pair of pants, Keith obviously showing his backside as expected, seemed enthusiastic about what they had just accomplished. It was also the first time the filowarohliana tongue (a neologism) appeared, right on the inner sleeve of the record. But perhaps that enthusiasm lasted little, because the aura of indifference that was created around this work leaves me not a little indignant. Indifference, yes, because "Sticky Fingers" has (never) received the proper recognition, apart from the great initial success. It's the band's arrival in America (symbolically, of course), the album that more than any other summarizes in 10 songs the dirty rock of the Stones. Yet today, there isn't a single track from this album in the much-publicized "Sixty Tour," but that's another story. It seems that the group members themselves don't particularly love it, perhaps it's the new decade, perhaps it's the new guitarist, who here for the first time (after the lukewarm introduction in "Let It Bleed") manages to feature in great sonic performances. And yet Mick Taylor was in a mindset so far from that of the other four members that I wonder today why he ever joined the lineup for those few years. But fortunately, he did, yes, because at least as far as I'm concerned, Mick represented the best guitar sound of the group, perhaps not the most recognizable one (in this, Keith surely has his merits), but the most surprising and enjoyable. An incredibly underrated talent, maybe just because he didn't go after women after concerts, or because he didn't sniff before them (or maybe he did, who knows). The fact is that, if in the first track there's still Keith's open G, "Brown Sugar," with one of the most iconic intros of the five's discography, and a "dedication" to a black girl, or maybe just to heroin, the second, "Sway," is one of those tracks that explodes, albeit quietly, in the final solo played by the new member. The third track is then the best ballad the Rolling Stones could ever give birth to, with those subdued tones, those guitars framing the whole. "Wild Horses" is the best track of the album, the cathartic, dreamy, idyllic moment. The following "Can't You Hear Me Knocking" starts by breaking the eardrums, then continues with dirtier and "imprecise" sounds, which are novel within the album (perhaps they could only be identified in the first track). The finale then makes the track the longest, with its over 7 minutes, the singing gives way to a blues/rock instrumental arrangement, where Taylor's guitar and percussion prevail, a sort of jazzy Stones event (a similar event will occur in "Slave," included in "Tattoo You" of 1981, recorded precisely in these years). It ends side A with the only cover, "You Gotta Move" by McDowell, who in turn drew inspiration from a classic gospel. The acoustic guitar accompanies Jagger's chant for over two minutes, before giving way to silence.

"Bitch" opens the second side similarly to how "Brown Sugar" did but in even more pop and commercial tones. One of the great successes, who knows why. Nevertheless, it remains an excellent piece, especially for the horns and Taylor's six strings. Not forgetting their origins, the five retrace the most authentic blues sounds in "I Got the Blues," with a poetic final climax. The mystical and dreamy "Sister Morphine" will instead be the second dedication to drugs, if we consider the opening price valid, here with morphine as the protagonist, to soothe the pains of the body and soul. Perhaps "Dead Flowers" is the most recognized track by the five, and the most played live (always relatively), but after all, with a Mick singing "I won't forget to put roses on your grave," we couldn't expect otherwise. Then the finale has something magical, it may not be the most well-known piece, but perhaps it's the most black and white, like the cover, the one that best tinges with these colors, and that takes its time, the right time, to gently and slowly accompany the listener to silence. "Moonlight Mile" is the masterpiece that was not expected at the end of such an album, and yet it arrives, without shouting, but fascinating each of us, putting us on that road just a mile from the Moon, in that precarious balance trying to make us fall, who knows if it will succeed.