|Pop Culture Gadabout|
Friday, April 11, 2008 |
( 4/11/2008 07:26:00 AM ) Bill S.
A GAS GAS GAS: Reading pans of Martin Scorcese's current Rolling Stones concert flick (as well as some of the "Baby Boomers Suck" pieces being written as correlatives), I tried to imagine the last time Mick and the Boys truly mattered to me. The answer turns out to be a fairly standard one. I'm not one to worship at the temple of Exiles on Main Street (though I've always admired that album's carnie packaging): to my ears, the band's last truly solid set is 1969's Let It Bleed. Though capable of still cranking out a rousing track or two ("Shattered," say, of "Undercover of the Night"), their days as purveyors of wham-o long-players are long in the past. The late seventies Stones, with their aura of rock royalty privilege and who-gives-a-fuck attitude, are part of the reason punk rock came into being.
Still, a couple of weeks ago, I had to drive two clients to Casa Grande, a trip that took something like two-and-a-half hours, and I brought a copy of Singles Collection: The London Years with me for the trip. Played all three discs all the way (up thru "Wild Horses" and "Brown Sugar") and I'm glad I did. (My passengers, though over twenty years younger than yours truly, dug it, too.) There really was a time when the Stones were the World's Greatest Rock 'N' Roll Band.
Think I'll take Bleed in the car to work this a.m.