Let The Stones Roll
(a response to Neal Pollack’s Sept. 1, 2002 New York Times article, “Rockin’ To The Stones? Yeah, in Chairs.”)

I’m sitting here listening to The Rolling Stones’ “Get Yer Ya-Yas Out,” a magnificent recording of a concert the Stones gave at Madison Square Garden in November, 1969. At this moment, Keith Richards’ guitar is straining out little fits and starts, as Mick Jagger is croaking out the lyrics to “Midnight Rambler:”

Did you hear about the Boston strangler?/ Honey, it ain’t one a those!

When this was recorded, over thirty years ago, things were different than they are today. Jagger and Richards were in their twenties, were at the top of the music scene in every way imaginable, and were not facing the constant stream of criticism that has been dealt them since around 1980. Namely, no one was telling them they were has-beens, washed up, or irrelevent. An article like Neal Pollack’s would have been laughable, because here were the princes of rock’n’roll, cooking like a witches’ cauldren. The music was so potent, the stories surrounding the Stones were so amazing, and these guys were a legend in their own time.

Of course, not everyone has the luxury of preserving their legend by dying young, while they are at the top of their game. While John Lennon had the good sense to die before he became another aging peacenik, Paul McCartney went on to dye his hair, tour the world, and get written off as irrelevent. Keith Moon, getting pudgy and worn out at the still-young age of 32, also knew when his relevence to the Who, and to Rock in general, had vanished, and the beloved drummer met his maker in 1978. Even the Rolling Stones’ own Brian Jones has permanently secured his status as untarnished, dying young and beautiful at age 27 in 1969. Ah, but the rest of the Stones have had the misfortune to continue breathing, and, worse still, to continue touring and recording. Nothing makes a band more irrelevant than to stubbornly soldier on through the years, even when the torch has clearly been passed to newer, younger bands.

Before going any further, it is true that to be a Stones fan is to be an apologist. Anyone who has heard the sloppy “Black And Blue” from 1976, or anything the band touched in the 1980s, knows that this band is not without sin. There are many clunkers in the Stones catalogue, and even the band members will admit this in interviews. But the Rolling Stones have never claimed to be the standard bearer for Generation X, or even the Baby Boomer generation, for that matter. In 1969, when they started calling themselves “The Greatest Rock’n’Roll Band In The World,” they arguably deserved the title. They no longer use such hyperbole, although plenty of writers still call them on it, regardless. Rather, Jagger and Richards stake two positions: first, that the fans are still coming to their shows, which means they still obviously still get something for their money; and second, the Stones have payed their dues and done their important work already. If they want to see how far they can go, who are we to tell them to call it a day?

Pollack, of course, does not make his arguments in black and white; for example, he names Iggy Pop and Bob Dylan as two examples of musicians who have been playing the game for about as long as the Stones, yet they still maintain their relevance and integrity (it’s curious that he mentions Iggy Pop, considering the he included a vague passage that reads “Even though Iggy filled half the time with mediocre material off his new album, he still threw together one of the best rock concerts I've ever seen....And much of his audience was under 40. Iggy meant something to them, because he still rocks.” There is no explanation of why it matters that Pop’s audience is younger, or just how he “still rocks.”). So, why has he picked on the Rolling Stones? Because of Mick Jagger’s prancing stage moves? Because of the overblown stage shows? Because of the music?

Certainly, Jagger’s stage antics have been written about, analyzed, and mocked for years, long before he was considered too old for this sort of thing. Back in the 1970s, comedian Richard Belzer even had a routine mocking Jagger’s particular dance moves, and no one was calling Jagger an old fart back then. One might want to keep in mind that, like him or loathe him, no one has a hard time conjuring up Jagger’s stage act, which is more than can be said for any of the current crop of front men (although one would be hard pressed to even name any current front men, anyway). For example, the Black Crowes’ Chris Robinson merely apes Jagger’s best moves. Call him flamboyant or an aging aerobics instructor, but Jagger puts on a performance, jumping around the stage for two and a half hours a night, showing a stamina that many performers Pollack might consider “relevant” have yet to demonstrate.

Pollack’s attacks on the Stones’ music might have a higher degree of merit, if one were to merely look at the argument on the surface. In his article, he writes about the classic “Let It Bleed” album from 1969, talking about the power that music held for him when he first heard it. He goes on to say that no post-80s Stones album has had that fresh, raw, vibrant energy, and even the Rolling Stones themselves would have to agree with him. “Voodoo Lounge” certainly isn’t at that caliber, nor is “Bridges To Babylon.” But Pollack veers off into subjective nonsense, declaring that all of the Stones’ new music is boring. While they have not made a truly classic album since the late 1970s, there is no denying the beauty of some of the songs the Stones have recorded for their more recent albums. Songs like “Slipping Away,” “The Worst,” “You Don’t Have To Mean It,” or “Out Of Control” are examples of the strong craftsmanship that these musicians are still capable of producing, and while the songs might not be on the singles charts, they nonetheless have value, and sit comfortably in the Stones catalogue.

Where Pollack really strays is in recalling how, after deciding that the Rolling Stones were no longer relevant (and, might I add, just who decides what is considered relevant or irrelevant? What does the term mean, if taken out of a subjective context?), he gave away his albums, including the classic “Let It Bleed” which he had initially enjoyed. This simply makes no sense. Must a song be current in order to be relevent? Must the band be playing to young kids in the clubs, making music that addresses, in literal terms, the current events? While this might be Pollack’s view, one must wonder where this argument would lead if taken to its logical conclusion. Should we, essentially, toss out all music made before 1995? Is it now innappropriate to blare “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” on the car stereo, because, as Pollack asserts, there’s probably a new, young group that’s making music just as exciting at this very moment, and I should be listening to them instead? Does this attitude only apply to Rock, or does it mean that we should toss out Mozart, as well? Surely there are composers that are making beautiful music today, in 2002, and they are more relevant than someone who has been dead for ages. And what shall we do about soul music--no one seems to making music like Stax-Volt today, so is it safe to pull out the old Otis Redding sides, or must we be listening only to Maxwell?

Ulitmately, Neal Pollack has forgotten one of the sayings that have followed the Rolling Stones since they first appeared on Hollywood Palace in the 1960s: If you don’t like them, turn them off. No one is forcing Pollack, or anyone else, to listen to “Let It Bleed” if they don’t want to. No one is forcing Pollack to shell out the admitedly astonomical sums to see the Stones perform. And, yes, Pollack is correct in asserting that there are plenty of younger bands today that do have their finger on the pulse of contemporary society, and they are making exciting new music. But why should we have to choose either/or in this scenario? One can easily dismiss the Rolling Stones as past their prime--they are, after all--but to dismiss their classic body of work just because they are old men is simply ignorant.

The “Ya-Yas” CD in my stereo is winding down now, with the grand finale of “Street Fighting Man” blaring out, full of charging guitars from Richards and Mick Taylor, crisp drumming from Charlie Watts, and some fine bass work from Bill Wyman. Thirty-three years old or not, this still seems pretty damn relevent to me.