THE ROLLING STONES: LET IT BLEED (1969)
1) Gimme
Shelter; 2) Love In Vain; 3) Country Honk;
4) Live With Me; 5) Let
It Bleed; 6) Midnight Rambler; 7) You Got The Silver; 8) Monkey
Man; 9) You Can't Always Get What You Want.
Keith Richards. Most of us are probably quite
fond of the guy, whose mixture of brutality and tenderness, ugliness and
beauty, toughness and vulnerability, seriousness and humor might be the most perfectly
balanced mixture in all of pop culture. For all of that, we can also recognize
and pardon his flaws — such as a certain obstinacy when it comes to expanding
one's musical horizons, and, perhaps, a certain neglect of musicianship in
favor of showmanship over the years (a process that, ironically, began around
the same time that the man began to clean up his act). But there was a brief
moment in time, back in 1969, when Keith Richards happened to be more than
Keith Richards: dare I say it, for a brief while he became music incarnate. The greatest Guitar-Oriented album of 1969 was not
made by Jimi Hendrix (who, perhaps driven by fate, did not record any albums at
all in 1969), not by the Who, not by Led Zeppelin: it was created, almost in
its entirety, by this one man, Keith Richards, and it has, for almost thirty
years, remained my favorite guitar-oriented album of all time.
By «guitar-oriented» I mean, of course, not
that the songs are simply written for / driven by electric and acoustic
guitars (from that point of view, Abbey
Road would count as well), but that the guitar sound of the songs — the tones, the effects, the mixing, the
weaving, the careful selection of the appropriate chords for the
counter-melodies and instrumental breaks — actually matters more than the
skeletal structures of the songs themselves. Herein lies the big
misunderstanding that I often have with people who are amazed how it is at all
possible to mention a record like Let It
Bleed in the same sentence with Abbey
Road or Pet Sounds: and indeed, composition-wise
the album shows little progression compared with Beggar's Banquet, and perhaps even a bit of re-gression compared with the 1966-67 period. Yet we are not
talking Mozart or Beethoven here: we are talking a distinctly different medium
where one note can sometimes matter more than a beautifully resolved musical
sentence, provided you can find just the right instrument, just the right
pitch, just the right effect, and just the right sound engineer for whatever it
was that you wanted it to mean. And I am still amazed at how many perfect
moments of this type are scattered throughout the material on Let It Bleed.
Keith was still largely clean at the time, not
yet a victim of strong heroin addiction (if I remember correctly, that did not
really kick in with full force until after Altamont) — and as Brian's journey into
the secret life of vegetables accelerated tremendously towards the end of 1968,
it became Keith's responsibility to ensure the Stones' survival as a relevant
musical force. Although, funny enough, Let
It Bleed credits both the Stones'
original second guitarist (for, ahem, congas on ʽMidnight Ramblerʼ and autoharp
on ʽYou Got The Silverʼ: multi-instrumentalist until the end!) and his replacement (Mick Taylor came in
just in time to play on ʽCountry Honkʼ and ʽLive With Meʼ), the absolute
majority of guitar parts that you hear is just Keith — Keith on acoustic, Keith
on electric, Keith on slide, even Keith on bass for the single best bass line on
the record! Naturally, Mick should not be underestimated, either, but now that
I think of it, Let It Bleed lacks such
over-the-top, theatrical, iconic character impersonations from him as we'd
heard the year before on ʽSympathy For The Devilʼ and ʽStray Cat Bluesʼ: the
obvious choice would have been ʽMidnight Ramblerʼ, but the studio version
features an unexpectedly subtle, understated performance — which I like just
fine, yet the character of the song would not really burst out in flames until
they'd taken it to the stage.
Much like Beggar's
Banquet, Let It Bleed is also
conceived and executed in the «shock rock» paradigm, and since the stakes for
«shock» had to be doubled each year, we now progress from singing about the
Devil to singing about the end of the world (ʽGimme Shelterʼ), from singing
about parachute women blowing Mick out to singing about women menstruating on
him (ʽLet It Bleedʼ), from singing about dirty perverts hunting for 15-year
olds to singing about serial killers running in the night (ʽMidnight Ramblerʼ),
and even good old sunny psychedelia has by now turned into something far more
disturbing and potentially dangerous (ʽMonkey Manʼ). However, no matter how
embarrassingly cheap it may have seemed to certain types of prudes at the time,
I would opine that in retrospect Let It
Bleed remains the last Stones album that is completely free of any
noticeable lapses of taste — a line that would be crossed, lyrics- and
attitude-wise, with Sticky Fingers,
and music-wise with Goats' Head Soup.
Here, Mick's lyrics remain firmly dependent on dirty, but inventive metaphors
and insinuations; and Keith's music makes even the most straightforwardly
«gruesome» subjects come to life in subtle ways that would somehow all be
eventually forgotten over their next decade in the record studio.
For one thing, they never again did — and
neither did anybody else — anything that would come even remotely close to the
foreboding terror of ʽGimme Shelterʼ. I even remember, upon first hearing the
song on a cassette tape copy, that my initial reaction was — "hey, this
can't be the Stones! they never have it that
dense!" But it was the Stones all right, and I am still not sure how they
make it that dense. There's some sort of bass echo wobbling around, covering
the entire song in a dark, scary cloud; and there's some sort of effect placed
on Mick's harp that makes it truly sound like a "mad bull lost its
way", and then, of course, there's Merry Clayton whom they got out of bed
late at night and who, in a matter of something like half an hour of recording,
made herself more famous than over the rest of her entire career (further proof
that great things can be meticulously planned and organized, but transcendental things can only be
improvised).
I mean, legions of people have sung about rape
and murder over the years — it's not difficult to do — but how difficult is it
to write a song about rape and murder that can still chill you to the bone after decades of listening to all sorts
of music? ʽGimme Shelterʼ is the rare type of song that accidentally (again,
all true greatness is to some degree the result of blessed accident) hits that
one particular nerve out of a million — and it is also a song that is bound to
remain relevant and vital for as long as humanity continues on its mad
self-exterminating spree: play it in the era of Vietnam, play it after 9/11,
play it in a world torn apart by crazy leftists and rightists alike — that
dragon-breath harp, that Walkyrian backing vocal, those razor-sharp licks from
Keith's lead guitar, and even that final doomed attempt to show you a way out
at the last moment (so "love is just a kiss away" in the exact same
world where "murder is just a shot away") will retain their full
power and meaning in any place, at any time, under any circumstances.
For another thing, Let It Bleed marks a particularly high point in the history of the
Rolling Stones generating heavy atmosphere with light means. At this date,
Keith remains a stark believer in the possibilities of the acoustic backdrop,
and the ponderous, aggressive feel of the title track is not generated by a lot
of fuzz or distortion, but simply by having an acoustic rhythm accompanied by some
overloud drumming and a few carefully selected slide notes — in fact, as far as
I'm concerned, the song does not properly begin to climax until Keith enters
with his guitar break, possibly the single fuckin' best break he ever had in
his lifetime. A few brutal power chords, each of which is given ample time to
dissipate and make a deeper impact — three slashes of the knife, maybe? — and
then the sticky red stuff begins to flow, slowly and gloppily, over the next
few bars, as the lead player, with the efficacy and accuracy of a well-trained
Fleet Street barber, collects every last drop into the little basin and
resolves the procedure with a perfect flourish. Uh, okay, got a little carried
away there, I guess. But I do love how Charlie gets so deeply into the
proceedings — towards the end of the song, he is pounding away at the cymbals
like crazy, which does not happen all that often with him. Alas, none of these
things could be remembered and reproduced once they began playing the song
live in the Eighties, when it became a fairly ordinary country-rock number.
Which it is, if you only pay
attention to the base acoustic and the vocal melodies — but it is the «little
things» that make it so much more, a sort of Freudian tale of sexual
understatements and suppressed viciousness.
Another night-and-day contrast between studio
incarnation and stage realization is ʽMidnight Ramblerʼ, here present in its
«properly midnight» phase, with suspensefully downtuned guitars,
cockrel-crowing harps, echoes, whispers, sublimations, and arch-innuendos. Is
Mick really singing about a
psychopathic killer, or is he merely using the image as a metaphor for his
ever-growing sexual appetites? The good news is that you can take it either way
— or invent a third and a fourth interpretation all for yourself. Or just
forget about any interpretations and enjoy the two or three Keiths weaving
licks in between themselves on the extended instrumental sections. And how,
pray tell, do you handle an extended instrumental section if your band is
called the Rolling Stones and you only have one valid guitarist at hand and his
name is not Eric Clapton? Simple — turn your jam into a bit of a musical game
of hide-and-seek, where you begin at regular speed, then accelerate for a
while as if running away from pursuers, then bring everything to a hiding-in-the-bushes
halt, then hit 'em with a few well-placed shots, then accelerate and bring it
all back home... they sure have come a long way from ʽGoin'
Homeʼ, replacing inspired, but risky improvisation with a gradually unfurling
musical drama in several movements. Some people still see this as generic
blues-rock with cheap shock content — I say there's never been a single moment
in the history of blues-rock when it came closer to the level of high dramatic
art, both innovative in form and possessed by the spirit.
There may be no better example to show the
level to which these guys had elevated the blues in 1969 than their «cover» of
Robert Johnson's ʽLove In Vainʼ — a song they'd only heard recently on a
bootleg LP, since Johnson's legacy had not yet been completely reintroduced by
1969 — and I do mean those quotation marks, because this is a cover in name
only. Keith had always marveled at the stark, lonesome beauty of Johnson's
original, but truth is, that stripped, minimalistic arrangement really only hints at the potential of the material
rather than discloses it for the average listener, and the genius of the
Stones is that they went a step ahead of the average listener and then rendered
it accessible for everyone, including schmucks like your humble servant. The
thing is not done in the Stones' usual «dirty» blues style, but neither does it
have anything in common with the bland «reverential» style in which slow Delta
and Chicago blues are often played by polite white performers — this here is reverence
with a flair, aimed at laying bare all the pain and aimlessness of life that
remained implied in Johnson's old blues. The three key ingredients are: (a)
Keith's acoustic riff, plucked so that you can actually taste every single
string ping (kudos to Glyn Johns for engineering that sound) and having more in
common with Fifties' soul and doo-wop than with Delta blues — but also
introducing a harsh breaking «chop» at the end of each verse that is all pure Keith;
this is the breath of the protagonist, interrupted by the occasional choke; (b)
Keith's slide overdubs — the most ethereal, transcendental part of the song, a
barrage of emotional drops-and-surges that could seriously compete, in terms of
harmonic accents, with the best of George Harrison's lead work; these are the
pangs of desperation, or the silent suppressions of unbearable pain by the
protagonist; (c) Ry Cooder's mandolin break — the perfect icing on the cake to
represent an outburst of subdued crying (to be replaced with Mick Taylor's
soaring electric solos in concert — as perfect as perfect blueswailing is
concerned, yet less original and evocative than Cooder's part). Throw in Mick's
vocal, intentionally avoiding any signs of sentimentality but attempting to
convey that abandoned-and-broken feel through a sort of self-resigned
intonation, and you got yourself what might be the single most unconventionally
beautiful song in the Stones catalog (where by «unconventionally» I mean
«avoiding predictable means such as strings, harpsichords, and falsettos»).
The perfection of the other songs will be
commented upon only briefly, so as not to turn this review into a mini-novel,
but here goes: ʽLive With Meʼ — single most memorable bass line in Stones
history (and played by Keith, too!), particularly since it holds together the
entire song and provides Keith and Mick Taylor with their first opportunity to
weave left- and right-channel licks around each other, plus featuring the
album's most hilarious lyrics, satirizing British nobility (was it for the line
"the meat I eat for dinner must be hung up for a week" that Sir Mick
Jagger ended up knighted, I wonder?); ʽYou Got The Silverʼ — the first and greatest of Keith's country ballads,
if only because he could still sing at the time and still retained a good sense
for form and structure that would later prove to be incompatible with heroin;
ʽMonkey Manʼ — Nicky Hopkins' opening piano flourish alone would suffice to
proclaim it a classic, yet it also goes on to feature not one, but two of the album's greatest guitar riffs,
while lyrically, you could construe it as Mick's answer to ʽI Am The Walrusʼ,
the hero gleefully wallowing in his self-absurdization. (On second thought,
maybe it's not that absurd: certainly
Mick Jagger as a "monkey man" makes more sense than John Lennon as
The Eggman... or does it?). Even ʽCountry Honkʼ, the original vision of ʽHonky
Tonk Womenʼ before Mick Taylor took it into the much more familiar barroom-rock
direction, is redeemed by the inimitable fiddle of Byron Berline, though I
would not break the consensus on the track being the most expendable one here —
still, it's much more fun than ʽDear Doctorʼ, and there's always something to be
said for a brief moment of lighthearted catchy fun on a heavyweight record
like this one.
And so, nothing less than the London Bach Choir
to finish off the Rolling Stones' finest forty five minutes in the studio — I
do agree that ʽYou Can't Always Get What You Wantʼ might be trying a bit too
hard to give the album a ʽHey Judeʼ-like epic conclusion (personally, I've
never much liked the verse about the mysterious Mr. Jimmy and never understood
why it was so important for us to learn that he and Mick decided to get a
soda), but the song's main advantage is in how it seamlessly sews together
anthemic gospel elation with the Stones' usual earthiness, bitterness, and
cynicism, both of these sides already symbolically represented in the opening French
horn solo as played by Al Kooper, where he first goes high up to Heaven and
then plunges back to Earth — and then mirrored in reverse by the chorus, which
begins cynically ("you can't always get what you want") but ends with
a firm promise of hope ("but if you try sometimes..."). On the whole,
the song offers a more uplifting finale than ʽSalt Of The Earthʼ, even if
technically, both of them end the same way — with the entire band galloping
away from the listener at top speed, Nicky Hopkins its temporary commander-in-piano;
but the tonality of the ʽSalt Of The Earthʼ finale was ambiguous, mixing
exuberance with anxiety, whereas ʽYou Can't...ʼ pretends to be convincing us
that even after all our love was in vain, even after all the storms and fires
swept over our streets, even after all the midnight ramblers and monkey men
occupied our dirty filthy basements, there's still some terrific hope ahead.
Heads up for Altamont! Never ever again would they dare end a record on an
anthemic optimistic note like that one, because look what's happened the last
time we did it.
And finally, returning to the opening theme of
the review: it does seem a bit ironic that the best (in my opinion, of course) Stones album ever is the only Stones album
to prominently feature only one Stones
guitarist, what with the band having always been so dependent on guitar interplay
between two of them. But there is, perhaps, a certain internal — and humorous —
logic to this as well: the best «weaving» partner for Keith that there ever was
turns out to be... Keith himself. I mean, in a series of calls-and-responses,
who'd be the more likely partner to provide you with a perfect answer to your
question and to correctly predict the next one than yourself? The only
additional necessary condition would be to keep your mind open to suggestions
and perspectives — and no time was more ripe for that than 1968-1969, when the
not-yet-greatest-rock'n'roll-band-in-the-world still had something left to
prove.
And even more importantly than proving their
God-like status and their readiness to take over the world in the dawning era
of rock deities, jet planes, and coke parties, they had to prove how much — and
how purely, genuinely, committedly — they loved the very spirit of the music
they were playing, the individual and collective textures of each single
overtone. I could, perhaps, concede that there are Stones records out there
that feature, purely quantitatively, a larger number of great songs, from Between The Buttons all the way to Sticky Fingers, but no single Stones
album really has a more juicy, velvety, sonically seductive feel to it than Let It Bleed, with Keith's instincts
somehow sharpened to an all-time high. No electric guitar, not even Tony
Iommi's, has ever sounded more sinister than the one on ʽMidnight Ramblerʼ; and
no acoustic guitar, not even Jimmy Page's, has ever sounded more intimate than
the one on ʽLove In Vainʼ — all right, so this is a personal opinion that you
can take or leave, but you should at least definitely take note of it if you've
reached this far down. So let this thumbs up rating bleed all over you as you are
slowly intimidated into agreeing that this is, in fact, one of the three or
four greatest rock records of all time. I mean, how could it not be, with that fantastic album cover
and all?
If Let It Bleed included Honky Tonk Women instead of Country Honk, it would be absolutely perfect. Perhaps the greatest album ever made.
ReplyDeleteThe opening of Gimme Shelter is a magical moment that is unique in all of rock music. I am not so sure that I like Mick's vocal performance though, but just for the intro it deserves its status as all-time classic. Love in Vain is probably the best acoustic blues of all time, demonstrating that work reaps benefits and that musical invention and sonic engineering can elevate even such a homely genre as acoustic blues.
ReplyDeleteI find your review much more interesting than the album itself. In fact, it looks like I've been listening to an largely different album than you have, also called "Let It Bleed" and credited to a band called "The Rolling Stones" but with half the songs not matching your descriptions at all, with "Live With Me" and "Let It Bleed" replaced with some nondescript hackjobs which I cannot remember at all after two dozens of listens (the former one definitely with no "most memorable bass line", and the latter one is just a two-minute melodiless song stretched to more than 5 minutes by repeating a boring chorus for what seems like an eternity) and only with few songs actually matching those great ones you're describing here. The funny thing is, the lyrics do match the quotes from the review, so it's not just the album title and band name that appear to be stolen here, but the actual lyrics too! So, great reviewing job as usual, George! If only I could find the dense and intricate album you've described here and use it to replace the same-titled fake I've been listening to all these years...
ReplyDeleteActually, on my copy of the album "Let It Bleed" is a one-and-a-half-minute melodiless song (I can figuratively agree with that) that turns into a near-psychedelic delight as soon as the slide guitar part comes in. Perhaps you just needed to adjust the treble level on your speakers all these years.
DeleteExcuse me, but how on earth can one consider the title track "melodiless"??? The vocal melody is incredibly catchy and well-structured.
DeleteYep, Live With Me and the title track are pretty tuneless. Love In Vain is a poor retread of No Expectations, especially as track 2. Country Honk ain't no Honky Tonk Women. You Got the Silver - eh, it's just 'there' really. And has a choir on a rock song ever been good? Some good moments here for sure, but a bland let down after Beggars Banquet.
DeleteWell, it is pretty evident we Do have different copies after all :P
DeleteIn all seriousness, I can't, for the life of me, find Live With Me and the title track "tuneless". The first has an incredible bass riff supporting Jagger's vocal hooks. Don't you dare lie and say you don't remember the bass line! Or,for that matter, the terrific vocal cadences of the verses.
And the title track is another song where it is practically impossible not to remember the melody, or not to get hooked by it. Shit's ingrained in my DNA. But, oh well.
And Love In Vain a poor retread of No Expectations? Really. I guess that the title track on MMT is also a poor version of SPLHCB's title track. That seems about right :P
In 1977 I was taking a Freshman English class at a Division II university and during a poetry unit we turned to a page in our literature book and there was "Live With Me" as a poem among works by Frost, Dickinson, D.H. Lawrence. But to read that "poem" I couldn't help but recall that opening bass riff that carries the vocals and the other instruments. The bass riff, as well as the punctuations by Charlie Watts, makes this among my favorite fast rockers by this band. After that class I started to pay more attention to the lyrics of theirs (and other bands') songs.
DeleteThe opening bass riff of Live With Me is indeed great. But that's pretty much all I can remember about the song. And the drum sound on the title track is about as huge as Charlie ever got, which compensates (for me at least) for the lack of tune. Not a bad album, just one that 'sounds' better than it actually is, if that makes sense?
DeleteOnce again, spot-on in every paragraph. One of my all-time Top 5 (maybe even Top 3) albums, and undoubtedly some of the best (personal preference) guitar tones, 'coustic or 'lectric, ever captured on recording. The description of the title track gave me chills just recalling Keith's slide parts and Charlie's maniacal enthusiasm. "Midnight Rambler" is perfect in its incarnation here; while I enjoy the Ya-Ya's version quite a lot, this is a performance that (again, thanks in large part to Charlie's bashing) frightens the daylights out of me. The instrumental bridge of "Monkey Man" is like the sun exploding through the gooey clouds of psychedelic nonsense. I could go on and on and on, but I think I'll just go listen instead.
ReplyDeleteA final note for anyone who's seen the American version of The Office: just as the ideal assistant to Dwight Schrute is Dwight himself, the perfect sparring partner for Keith "Left Speaker Acoustic" Richards is Keith "Right Speaker Electric" Richards.
George said: "transcendental things can only be improvised"
ReplyDeleteWe'll make a jazz fan out of you yet, namesake. :)
I read on wiki that Merry Clayton had a miscarriage straight after her performance on Gimme Shelter. :O
ReplyDelete