THE ROLLING STONES: TATTOO YOU (1981)
1) Start Me Up; 2) Hang Fire;
3) Slave; 4) Little T&A; 5) Black Limousine; 6) Neighbours; 7) Worried
About You; 8) Tops; 9) Heaven; 10) No Use In Crying; 11) Waiting On A Friend.
But see, this is why you can never properly
give up on the Stones. In 1976, they seemed gross, antiquated, and ridiculous —
and they could still groove better than most of their competition. In 1978,
they proved capable of riding the new trends under a bittersweet sarcastic
sauce — and thus re-ensured their survivability. In 1980, they recorded a lazy
album of renovated outtakes — and fell flat on their faces. What would be the
next logical move? Why, naturally: record yet another album of even more deeply rooted outtakes — and end up with
an absolute winner. Whoever thought that ʽWhere The Boys Goʼ was a sign of a
formerly great band in its final death throes, was in for a pleasant surprise.
Not that Tattoo
You could ever hope to recapture the attitudes and atmospheres of the band's
golden age — even if it tried, it couldn't, and, wisely, it does not even try.
In fact, Tattoo You does not try
much of anything: it is oddly de-personalized, and, apart from the opening
track, does not focus too significantly either on Mick's swagger or on Keith's
riffage. The entire album, as it happens, was quickly cobbled together from
various leftovers (mostly selected by associate producer Chris Kimsey) as an
excuse to go on tour — there was no time to rethink the image, to put together
a statement, to suck in any of the latest trends; the only «conceptual» element
of Tattoo You, other than Mick's and
Keith's Polynesian mugs on the sleeve, is the separation of the material into a
«rockier» Side A and a «balladeering» Side B (which, surprisingly, turns out to
be quite a good sequencing idea in this case).
And this, apparently, is precisely what they
needed at the time. Already with Black
& Blue, it was quite obvious that «overthinking» their records was
generally a bad idea for the Stones, since it usually led them to a
give-the-people-what-they-want attitude, and, consequently, to songs that
sounded more like silly impersonations of others than proper Stones material. These songs, however, were unearthed by
Kimsey's well-discerning eye, glossed up a bit to match current production
standards, and released before Jagger had a proper chance to rethink them as
mock-synth-pop, pseudo-hardcore punk, or suave disco. They're just... songs.
The «rocking» side, first and foremost, is
striking in terms of diversity — even on Some
Girls, you had songs like ʽLiesʼ and ʽRespectableʼ that were genristic
clones of each other, whereas here, all six have their own identities. ʽStart
Me Upʼ, the record's best known and most radio-friendly classic, is
unimpeachable as perhaps rock'n'roll's finest aerobic number — it's almost
impossible to resist its stop-and-start structure, although as far as classic
Stones rockers go, this one is one of their most toothless ever: it's not so
much about sex per se as it is about using sex as an allegory for push-ups and
sit-ups (I think even the accompanying video sort of reflected that). ʽHang
Fireʼ is punk-pop like all those failed attempts on Emotional Rescue, but here it is made good by a tight, catchy
structure, infectious falsetto harmonies, and a welcome return to social
provocation ("In the sweet old country / Where I come from / Nobody ever
works / Nothing ever gets done" — hey, that doesn't quite sound like The
Clash, now does it?). And while many people seem to cringe at ʽNeighboursʼ, one
of only two songs that was largely written during the sessions rather than
before them, I don't get it — not only is it an extremely catchy pop rocker
with great sax solos from Sonny Rollins, but it is also a hilarious look at the
problem of living like a rock star in the middle of everyday people. It's
tight, it's danceable, and its sneer and bark is smarter and funnier than, say,
ʽSummer Romanceʼ.
At the other end of the spectrum, there's
ʽSlaveʼ, a riff-based blues-rock jam dating back to the Black & Blue sessions and also featuring Sonny Rollins on the
sax. Keith's riff here is probably one of the best things about the entire
album: slow, gruff, loose, and mean, perhaps the slowest and gruffest since the
days of ʽHonky Tonk Womenʼ, and the band jams around it like crazy. Trivia bits
such as Pete Townshend providing backing vocals for the sessions aren't nearly
as important here as the realisation of how tough and cool the Stones could
sound even on complete autopilot in the heroin-soaked mid-Seventies — and the
inclusion of this track adds a nice, chilly feel of that old sexual menace, already
practically non-existent on Some Girls
and turned into toilet humor on Emotional
Rescue. Next to this, even Side A's weakest track, the Keith Richards solo
spot ʽLittle T&Aʼ, sounds more respectable than it would have on Emotional Rescue, for which it was
originally recorded — texturally quite close to ʽShe's So Coldʼ, but even less
politically correct in terms of lyrics (even Keith Richards in 1981 can hardly
be excused for referring to a lady as "my tits and ass with soul");
still, I'd rather have a dirty, but tight rocker from Keith than a shapeless
sentimental ballad like ʽAll About Youʼ.
The truly neglected gem on the first side is
ʽBlack Limousineʼ, a song that few people pay attention to just because it is
a generic 12-bar blues (16-bar blues, actually) — in reality, it is way above
generic: a tight, concentrated blast of spite and loathing... self-loathing, one could even say, if you
allow yourself to not interpret the song in the key of ʽLike A Rolling Stoneʼ
(Mick taunting a former flame for wasting away her life), but as one that
refers to the Glimmer Twins themselves: "look at you and look at
me!" is basically Mick addressing Keith, which is only natural, considering
that if you looked at Keith's face in 1981 and compared it to Mick's, you'd
clearly see who of the two got more beat up by Mother Nature for a life of sin.
What's even better, the whole playing team gets behind Mick — Ronnie gets a flurry,
scorching solo, Ian Stewart's piano lines never sounded better, and then Mick
himself blows some of the most shrill harmonica blasts since those early days.
Arguably their best pure blues number here since 1972's ʽStop Breaking Downʼ,
and perhaps the last great pure blues number they ever did.
The second side, meanwhile, incidentally turns
out to feature a weird spiral — with three numbers in a row that go from
strange to stranger to strangest ever, far from your average platter of Rod
Stewart ballads. ʽWorried About Youʼ, also dating back to the Black & Blue sessions (in fact,
they'd already played it live at El Mocambo in 1977), features Mick in
full-fledged falsetto mode (more accurately, slowly winding his way from
falsetto to growling, handling this quite masterfully), not to mention a great
solo from Wayne Perkins (the same guy who also played lead guitar on ʽHand Of
Fateʼ). Then there's ʽTopsʼ, an outtake from Goats Head Soup — for some unexplainable reason, this great song
was left off in favor of rubbish like ʽHide Your Loveʼ, but now it gives you a
chance to hear some more lead guitar from Mick Taylor, as well as an odd mix of
recited ad-libbing and sung verses; they tried to make a Spinners-style soul
number out of it, but with Mick's barking and Taylor's bluesy symphonies, it
becomes significantly more dark and dangerous, a ballad straight out of hell,
if I might say so.
And then there's ʽHeavenʼ, which is, hands
down, the weirdest piece of music
from the Stones camp since... well, probably since 1967 or so. I have no idea
where it came from, and even less of an idea where it is going. I know they also
began recording it during the sessions for Emotional
Rescue, and I'm almost glad they never put it on that album — sitting in
between ʽWhere The Boys Goʼ and ʽSend It To Meʼ and all that crap. It has no
Keith on it (it's mostly a Jagger / Wyman collaboration, with Bill on synth and
guitars, and should have been credited as such instead of the usual Jagger /
Richards credit), it almost has no discernible vocals, it's all drenched in
special effects, it's totally unrecognizable as a Stones song, and it totally
rules. Take the lyrics literally (once you locate the sheet, that is), and it's
a love ballad: "smell of you baby, my senses be praised...". Take
them figuratively, and it's a religious anthem: "nothing will harm you, nothing
will stand in your way". Disregard them completely, and the song is a bona
fide psychedelic experience — is this the Rolling Stones or the Cocteau Twins? With
those guitar tones, those phased vocals, the soft kaleidoscopic electronic
tinkling in the background, it creates an atmosphere of «mortally dangerous
celestial beauty» that is as art-rockish as they come, and up to this day
remains one of the most bizarre and overlooked sonic gems in the band's
catalog.
Next to this psychedelic oddity, ʽNo Use In
Cryingʼ is a return to more traditional R&B balladeering (and also bears
an uncanny resemblance to ʽHeart Of Stoneʼ in its basic chord sequence), but
the perfect final touch is ʽWaiting On A Friendʼ, a song that, for the first
time since ʽMoonlight Mileʼ, ends a Stones album on a deeply positive note —
though not necessarily on a deep
note, considering how ʽMoonlight Mileʼ gave you the atmosphere of final
blissful relaxation after a torturous journey; ʽWaiting On A Friendʼ just gives
you an atmosphere of relaxation as such, and not particularly blissful — still,
it might be one of those perfect, straightforward buddy anthems that get you
with their simplicity and open-hearted nature (in the accompanying video, we
saw this personalized in the form of Mick actually waiting for Keith down at
St. Mark's Place, and it just isn't possible that anybody who saw this video at
the time could have previewed the deep rift between the two that had already
begun to spread open).
And really, that's what Tattoo You is all about. It's a simple, fun-lovin' record, tempered
with a bit of intelligence and spiced with a couple weird surprises. There's no
agenda to it, no special conceptuality, no intuitive understanding and artistic
expression of their «band on the run» status as there was on Exile, and no conscious selection of songs
according to the principle of «let's include this because it makes us sound like 15-year olds peeping in the
girls' bathroom». There's just 45 minutes of non-stop good music, for the last
time ever in Stones history. Thumbs up.
Hey George, will you be reviewing the Singles Collection: The London Years after Dirty Work?
ReplyDeleteHi George, just wanted to say I really enjoy reading your reviews, very detailed and insightful. I completely agree about 'Heaven', I've always loved the way Mick's voice and the synthesiser seem to blend into each other. Looking toward to hearing your views on Blue & Lonesome, keep up the great work!
ReplyDeleteAnd... if only they just stopped here .
ReplyDeleteMaybe the song "out of control" is the only redeeming thing they've done in the studio since TATTOO YOU (Live they still had plenty of great moments)