Word: newely
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...Stones' performance today is poorer for lack of tension. Brian Jones, the silver in the original Silver Rolling Stones, and the most talented musician in the band, is dead. Only he could fight Richard for control; with Jones gone the music is all Richard's show. Their new album, Let it Bleed, maintains much of the Stones instrumental excitement only because Richard does the important rhythm work himself in the Jones style. But Mick Taylor, who may be nice for John Mayall, can't hold his own, and the result is Richard's easy domination of many of the songs...
...green air of evening, communicate a sort of horrible obsession, an inexhaustible mental ratiocination, like a mind ceaselessly taking its bearing in the maze of its unconscious." Of course, Jagger isn't really a great dancer; Tina Turner, who did a set right before the Stones in New York, cuts him in every way. We are told he's a great dancer, we imagine him to be one, and we respond to him as one, but that's our fantasy, our wish for a midnight rambler, and has nothing to do with...
...changed from fifteen to thirteen year-old girl (outrage, like any fashion, ages quickly). They do some slow numbers, a "Prodigal Son." Richard's steel guitar funkier and less evocative than the Rev. Robert Wilkins, and "Love in Vain," a Robert Johnson song, which Jagger, sketching out the Stones' new image, and rushed to keep ahead of mere satyriasis and the universal dope-taker, dedicates to "the minority groups in the audience, the fags and the junkies...
From there they went into "Under My Thumb," sounding more like the Who's version than their own, and a new one, "Live With Mc," Richard doing a fine solo instead of the sax. Then another Chuck Berry song, "Queenie," "from when you were about thirteen years old." The Stones oeuvre might be subtitled Anthems of Young America, and they finally cut loose on the song that made rock and roll a movement, "Satisfaction," Richard ripping off huge Chuck Berry chords and adding an cery vibrato, Jagger doing an Otis-like "I can't getta no, no, no, no," that...
...does. As long as he gives us a few concrete gestures, the rest doesn't matter; we'll extrapolate from there. His sulking, his mincing, the fluttering eves, the limp wrist are but touch-stones to the structure of our own imaginations. I don't know what happened in New York or the Boston Garden anymore and no one else does either. Perhaps this not knowing is the residue of all great theatre experiences, those that, like Mick Jagger, "invite the mind to share a delirium which exalts its energies...