THE ROLLING STONES - We Love You

(MS)

1967 was the apex year of tabloid infamy for The Rolling Stones. A time when the Establishment attempted to bloody them via drug busts, court summons and imprisonment. It succeeded in knocking them off course for a spell, introducing a frisson of self-doubt to their exit-velocity swagger. But even more damaging was the perception from some, that they were looking a bit ill-prepared to adapt to the rapidly progressing musical climate their peers were defining, looking a bit “Out of Time”, like those poor girlfriends they were incessantly trampling over.

In truth these trials represent nought but a few creases around the eyes in Mick Jagger’s sun-dried dish-cloth face but history has left us with the idea that this period is some sort of aberration to be swiftly swept under the carpet. In actual fact The Stones mid-60s catalogue is chock full of sleeper gems that seem willfully neglected, almost hidden in plain sight, due to a combination of factors that have very little to do with the quality of the music. Poorly constituted track listings, sonic production transgressions, critical over-attention to everything recorded 68-72 and some sort of frenzied media obsession to gnash teeth that they just weren’t as good as The Beatles.

1967 felt like 2000 light years away when I was growing up and I remember rushing out to buy a copy of “Sgt Pepper’s” on the 20^th anniversary of its release. For someone so reliant on making home tape recordings, my ownership of a physical copy felt a bit like obtaining one of the Dead Sea scrolls. That evening a TV show commemorated the event. They did talk about the Stones but not “Satanic Majesties”. Tarring the garage roof that summer of 1987 I boomed out “Sing This Song Altogether (See what Happens)” and I made the comparison myself. It wasn’t that good.

There is some irony in focusing on 1967 as an obscure year for the Rolling Stones as it could be argued their entire output from 1963 is confused and badly ill-defined. What’s better the mono or the stereo? Do you go with the UK version or the US version? And what about the non-LP stuff on 45s and EPs? And the material that was scattered across albums over various years. And then there’s the stuff that retrospectively escaped due to loopholes in their business contracts and stuff that wasn’t released and still hasn’t, that’s as good if not better than some of the stuff that was. And now there is the stuff that’s been sensitively re-mixed in people’s back rooms that’s far better than all that over hyped re-cycled product resold to mug punters, dissected and discussed on the Steve Hoffman forum.

Go to YouTube and grab Ant2 Man Bee’s “Between the Buttons” and compose yourself a beautifully re-mixed version of that LP jettisoning the two abysmal Kinks meets New Vaudeville Band tracks that close each side. Add the “Let’s Spend The Night  Together/Ruby Tuesday” 45, throw in non-LP cuts “If You let Me” and “Get Your Yourself Together”, re-sequence the whole thing and take a 40 minute bus ride with it blasting in your ears. Suddenly this late 1966 album makes complete sense and puts The Stones progression from “Aftermath” into proper context. This album is the peak of their Dylan fixation, an artist they influenced to turn electric, who in turn provided them with the lyrical confidence to expand their own “put down” schtick and who would inadvertently rescue them when he shook everyone out of the psychedelic tree back to their roots.  

But before that tree got shook The Stones crept up to thumb their noses back at the Establishment. The “WE LOVE YOU” album that was never released is a post-modern classic (using re-mixing courtesy of Stereofidelic this time) where the band display a knowing disdain for the psychedelic movement they were moving through. It’s like a patch-work electric comic-book of the satirical, sincere and just plain odd. A mirror to the whole psychedelic movement, wrapped in whatever instrument Brian Jones was practicing at the time. It’s sloppy, tight, experimental, derivative, forward-looking and far better sequenced like this than in its original incarnation.

 Kicking off with the bongo hippies jamming in the shit, “Sing This Song Altogether” is an anti-Pepper overture with Paul and John in on the joke with backing vocals. The media was full of sunny San Francisco at the time. A long way from wintery London or paranoid New York. Riff-heavy “Citadel” with its bursts of North African horns, harks back to a trip to Warhol’s Factory hanging out with the creeps. “Candy and Taffy, hope you both are well” is the second name-check to trans girlfriends that year, coming hot on the heels of “Miss Amanda Jones” ode to Amanda Lear on the previous album.

“Hey girl, with your nonsense nose
Pointing right down at the floor
Hey girl, your suspender shows
And the girl behind you looks a bit unsure”

Amanda dallying with Dali

Point of note – Brian Jones had already had a fling with Nico by this stage and on VU’s “There She Goes Again” Lou Reed paid note for note homage to The Stones arrangement of “Hitchhike”. The inspiration flowed between the bands, ideas criss-crossed the Atlantic and everyone was openly stealing from each other.  “Dandelion” comes in at this point, sweeping through like a sweet soft-psych breeze to a fade-out like something from Syd Barret’s Floyd. This song is one of those stunning 45s that gets neglected for not being on an original album release. Shoehorning it in feels like restoring a national monument. Evolving from a trippy harp piece titled “Acid in The Grass”, the harpsichord driven “In Another Land” is an early hours piss take with The Small Faces. The sound of Bill Parks snoring at the end gives the game away. “2000 Man” describes a weirdly visionary future where the middle-aged hippies abstain from the Love Generation to an on-line ”…affair with a random computer” whilst the kids berate them for destroying the planet. They were on the nose with this one and musically too with it’s great swinging acoustic into electric riff-chorus. “Where’s that joint?” asks Mick as the doors crash behind him in the segue into the title track of this imaginary album. “We Love You” with Nicky Hopkins at his most psychotic was released as a thank you to friends and peers. John and Paul are on this one too. It sits in the space vacated by the infamous “Sing This Song Altogether (See what Happens)” which certainly is a hot turd and a classic example of going too far because there’s no-one around to tell you not to.

Flipping sides (but not needing to) Nicky Hopkins solos away on “She’s a Rainbow” to future Zep man John Paul Jones string arrangement and Marianne Faiithfull’s backing vocals for the albums unheard smash hit single. I love the avant-gardy bit when the strings start duelling. The Stones nod to Arthur Lee’s Love with the line “She Comes in Colours”, from the Da Capo album, an album that features that band’s “Revelation” which sounds like an even more expansive wig-out version of the Stones “Going Home”. The influences abound. Next up is “The Lantern” maybe the deepest long lost Stones classic here, with a bass line foreshadowing “Jigsaw Puzzle” of the following year and a strummed acoustic that could have gone delta-blues if they’d wanted it to. What remains is a ethereal sounding description of love and loss amongst heavenly bodies, establishing a recurring theme. The instrumental section of “The Gomper” is surplus to requirements but the song section remains with its vibe eerily reminiscent of The Velvet Underground’s “Lady Godiva’s Operation”, forming a nice bridge into “Child of The Moon”. The latter was only put on tape in early 1968 a couple of months after the release of “Satanic Majesties” but when you’re making this stuff up who really cares. And in terms of sound this song is the band’s last flowering bloom to the sound of ’67. It also and very importantly rocks drawing the album’s symmetry back to the sound of “Citadel”. The darlings of the underground Pink Floyd did not escape the boys debauchery that year, so they upped it to create something more Floyd than Floyd, “2000 Light Years From Home” ends up as a serious contender for inventing space rock. The album ends with a far more successful attempt at Kinks-like whimsy with “On With The Show”. A book-end combination of audio-verite and Mothers-type satire which ends the album with a two-finger salute to any number of detractors.

Give this music a listen and maybe a deaf-ear to accepted wisdom.

(PS)

Their Satanic Majesties Request should serve as a warning to any bands out there who feel overly restricted by their management and want more creative freedom.

Despite his many faults, Andrew Loog Oldham was a visionary and central to the early success of the Stones, pitching them as the alternative to the Beatles that you wouldn’t want your daughters to marry. Sure, he was an unprincipled cad and took his artistes for all he could rinse them for, but perhaps he was just more in keeping with the times there. When he was forced to relinquish his control of the band, they took matters into their own hands and produced their next LP themselves… and the result is a shoddy, ill-disciplined mess of a record.

This is where the Beatles were light years ahead of the pack, in terms of shifting focus from the 45 to the 33. While they and the Stones had a string of fine singles, the difference in album quality between the two bands is stark, certainly between 1965-67: compare Aftermath with Rubber Soul and Between the Buttons with Revolver, and it’s really no surprise that Their Satanic Majesties Request is no Sgt Pepper.

The Stones’ 67 release has all the weaknesses of the previous albums, but without any of the structure. Yes, She’s a Rainbow is a cute single; Citadel has a raw, garage rock riff and is probably the highlight of the album; 2,000 Light Years From Home is pure Pink Floyd and an interesting attempt at far-outness… but that’s about it.

Sing This All Together is a weak song which should never have been an album opener; 2000 Man and On With the Show are attempts to sound like the Kinks, but have nothing of the wit and charm of Ray Davies compositions; The Lantern and Gomper sound like under-developed ideas stitched together to form songs which have no flow or internal logic, the latter ending up with an attempt at a raga jam which just overstays its welcome.

The band even had their own Ringo Starr moment when they actually let Bill Wyman honk into a microphone unattended for a few minutes on his own song In Another Land, followed by a recording of someone snoring: quite an effective anti-dope message right there, don’t do drugs kids.

The most egregious moment on the LP is of course, the torrid Sing This All Together (See What Happens): it’s over 8 minutes of ham-fisted, noodle-baked nonsense that sounds like a pre-school music lesson. Utter self-indulgence, but coupled with a staggering lack of competence and musicianship. Commentators have since tried to edit this monstrosity out of existence, but unfortunately it’s very much on my vinyl copy. Any producer worth their salt would’ve stopped recording halfway through and put the tape on a bulk eraser.

I should point out here that having your manager leave mid-session can sometimes be a blessing: just look at what the Jimi Hendrix Experience cooked up when Chas Chandler threw his arms up in frustration at all the hangers-on and stormed out of the studio after the 42nd take of Gipsy Eyes (how he even made it to 42 is beyond me, the dude must have had the patience of a saint)… but if removing the 3 minute shackles ends up with 1983… (A Merman I Should Turn to Be) and Moon, Turn the Tides… Gently Gently Away then frankly, I’m all for it… but these were far better musicians, and they still had Eddie Kramer to Marshall them (see what I did there?).

The good news is that from 1968 to 1972, with the help of Jimmy Miller to herd these cats, along with the addition of John Mayall’s protégé Mick Taylor on lead guitar, the Stones produced their finest body of work upon which the band’s enduring legacy could be built.

Psychedelia just wasn't a good fit for the Stones. I think the best that can be said about this LP is that it’s a pre-cursor to greater things.

(LK)

There are, for me at least, a few greater pleasures in life than discovering new music, and I have been fortunate, over the span of many years, to have worked with people of all ages who have introduced me to a wide range of music of various genres and, it has to be said, of varying quality. Many of those same people would also hold the opinion, with which I did tend to agree, that the music of the eighties was much better than the current musical landscape. Even though we did tend to find ourselves in agreement on that matter, I have had to point out to them that, for all the good stuff that was around then, there was some absolute garbage that regularly made its way into the top ten of the musical charts. I shall refrain from naming names, but all I shall say is that you know who you are and we are all still waiting for an apology for having had to sit through all sorts of effluent, just to hear our favourite songs on the radio or television.

The interesting thing is that, in the same way that people today look back to the eighties, we, when we were of a similar age, would often look back to the sixties for our musical listening pleasure. Regardless of the many artists and styles of music that are available from that period, when discussing that decade amongst friends and colleagues, the question would frequently come up, do you prefer the Stones or the Beatles?

For those who preferred The Rolling Stones, which I will admit includes myself, there were the classics that everyone is now familiar with, whether that be the brilliant version of Not Fade Away that surpasses the original in so many ways, not least of which is just by the sheer energy brought to the recording, or the wonderful strutting pomp of (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction which, although constant over exposure to this cultural touch stone has lessened its impact, drips with sexual and psychological angst.

There are also the albums that everyone knows such as Beggars Banquet, Let It Bleed, Exile On Main Street and Sticky Fingers, the last two not being released in the 60s but let’s not be too precious about these things, the heart of these albums were still bred in the 60s, but before these came the album that has possibly the most famous title of all, Their Satanic Majesties Request, which would lead to an alternative name for the band amongst commentators, but is well known for other reasons as well.

At the time the album was recorded three of the band, Brian Jones, Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, were awaiting trial on drugs charges and facing the possibility of prison sentences, Brian Jones was becoming less able to contribute due to his drug use and psychological condition and then, just to add to their problems, Andrew Loog Oldham, their manager and producer, decided to leave. It should be noted that Mick Jagger has gone on record as saying that one of the reasons Oldham left was because he didn’t think the band were taking the recording seriously, and therein lies the problem with this record.

From the start this sounds less like an album and more like a rehearsal that has been recorded, or, at least in the case of the opening track Sing This All Together, like a school musical. When I sat down to listen to this album my main recollection of it was She’s A Rainbow, which I failed to get to on first listen because I turned it off after track five before I defenestrated myself from sheer disappointment. I’m not even trying to argue that She’s A Rainbow is a particularly brilliant song, but on this album it absolutely stands out because of the utter dross that surrounds it, with SIng This All Together (See What Happens) finishing the first side, meaning that the first half of the album is topped and tailed by two of the worst songs the Rolling Stones have ever seen fit to impose upon the world, at least until a couple of decades later and ignoring the solo works of the various members.

The second half of the album is not really any better, with the exception of, as I have already stated, She’s A Rainbow. The various tracks sound like an attempt to make a style of album that is simply not understood by the people making it. That’s not to say that there are not interesting parts to the songs; there are small parts of the songs, little riffs and musical themes which are enticing to the ear, but they never really develop into anything of great interest and are often drowned out in what appears to be a more is more approach. It is also the case that the way the album is mixed does nothing to help, sounding at times as if they took the view that everybody should feature as much as possible in every track, or possibly that everyone should help to mix every track. Whatever the reason may be, the sound that comes across is frequently a confused stew of sounds with a variety of instruments, which add nothing to any of the tracks, appearing for no apparent reason.

The late, great American comedian Bill Hicks once suggested that if you were against people taking drugs you should probably go home and burn all your albums, but when it comes to Their Satanic Majesties Request I would imagine that he would simply suggest that you burn the album because of the drugs the band were taking. It is hard to deny that the state of the band members, the drug use, the concerns over possible prosecution and their self-confessed lack of seriousness in regard to the song writing and production all had a negative effect on what was eventually laid down on vinyl. It certainly seems that the members of the band decided, whether by themselves or through changes in personnel, to discard their experiments in psychedelia and return to what they were good at, for which the world, I am sure, is eternally grateful.