The Cavern
Rock & Words
BEGGAR´S BANQUET (The Rolling Stones, 1968)
Artist: The Rolling Stones (A)
Date of Recording: Mar 17 – Jul 25 ‘68
Date of Release: December 6th, 1968. UK
Record Label London / Decca
Producer: Jimmy Miller
Rating: 10 (MUST HAVE)
Era: Hard Rock (1968-???)
Subgenre: Hard Rock
Best Song: Sympathy for the Devil
Tracklist: 1) Sympathy for the Devil; 2) No Expectations; 3) Dear Doctor; 4) Parachute Woman; 5) Jig-Saw Puzzle; 6) Street Fighting Man; 7) Prodigal Son; 8) Stray Cat Blues; 9) Factory Girl; 10) Salt of the Earth.
Bonus Track: Jumpin’ Jack Flash
Wow! What an album! A musical banquet! The Rolling Stones leave behind that psychedelic phase they explored with varying degrees of success to fully embrace a different sound, a kind of return to their R&B roots in the sense that the guitar sound and classic lineup once again predominate. But it's also a more mature style, with a stronger country influence, and they don't abandon the sonic experimentation with unusual instruments that Brian used in '66 and '67. For many, this is the Stones' first album fully realizing their potential, and the beginning of their classic era, which includes their next three studio albums. For me, it's simply one of my three favorite albums by the band, along with Aftermath and Let It Bleed, which I consider a kind of twin album.
Beggar's Banquet marked the Stones' return to the big leagues after a very difficult 1967. In some ways, it continued the curse of being compared to everything the Beatles did. But I think comparisons should be positive, not negative. Well, there's the matter of the white cover, but that was circumstantial, due to the censorship of the original (which is the one circulating today) of the defaced toilet with which the title is resized. But a comparison with the White Album can certainly be made.
First of all, I should say that it's not like the Stones were waiting to see what the Beatles were doing to do something similar. In fact, their shift towards a more rock-oriented and less pop style began in May with the single "Jumpin' Jack Flash," and the song was such a massive hit that it started pulling bands towards a style further removed from the psychedelia of the Summer of Love. Their distancing from the hippie sound, just like the Beatles, wasn't to follow them, but because psychedelia was exhausted. We'll see later what happened next. My point is that it's a work as brilliant and diverse as the White Album. The difference is that instead of 30 tracks, there are only 10. But in those 10, we have rock, country, blues, gospel, folk, samba, bossa nova, the best guitar solo Keith ever played, country, and more country. The textures are varied; each song has its own charm, but there's not a single filler track. There are calm, almost acoustic songs, and then furious rockers that will knock you off your seat. The band works once again (and for one last time) like a perfectly oiled five-piece machine, although Brian's contribution was clearly less. Mick reaches his lyrical maturity, rebellious but without descending into the crudeness and vulgarity of the '70s, creating powerful imagery (Come on, who talks about the devil in the first person like that?!), and vocally he's also at his peak. Mick is one of those vocalists who will never have a beautiful voice, but they would earn a place in history based on the tremendous personality they infuse into the songs—think Ozzy Osbourne, Robert Plant, Bon Scott, among a select few. Here, Mick delivers that captivating performance, immersing us in the songs with his incredible style. And Keith ends up becoming the Riffmeister and changing the way he plays guitar for a very, very long time.
Following the same pattern as the White Album, this one also took me a while to get into at first. I preferred the more accessible albums from both bands before and after, but little by little the songs seeped in until I realized the magnificence of this work, as well as everything it meant for the band, and as an influence on countless groups who were blown away by the sound, threw their sitars down the toilet, and pulled out their banjos and straw hats.
But how did the Rolling Stones change their sound so drastically overnight? I mean, the Beatles had their excuse with India, but what happened to make the Stones abandon their pop phase and return to a furious, dirty, rootsy rock? Many things. And it's not that Brian lost his prominence. Well, yes, but as I was saying, there are still countless exotic instruments hidden here, including the Mellotron, only used differently, without the extravagance of Satanic Majesties, which Jones himself so detested. While in the Beatles, the momentous events were more or less accidental, as I mentioned in my intro, with the Stones everything was causal. What happened within the quintet during the period surrounding this masterpiece?
1967 ended with Brian in court. Having narrowly escaped a police raid in Redlands, he was under intense scrutiny. Their opportunity arose at a party hosted by his friend Richard Sussex, which Brian attended. Police stormed the party, discovering marijuana, cocaine, methamphetamines, LSD, and other drugs. At the trial, several doctors testified that Brian's mental health was fragile and he would be unable to cope with prison. The judge imposed an exorbitant bail and a three-year suspended sentence, far more severe than in the cases of Keith and Mick, given the presence of harder substances, although Brian swore he wasn't using hard drugs. He wouldn't go to jail, but the sentence prevented him from touring outside of England.
For Christmas '67, the Rolling Stones disbanded for a vacation after the disastrous year. Keith Richards and Anita Pallenberg, now a couple (right under Brian's nose), went to Morocco. Brian Jones, in his attempt to get over someone, went to Ceylon with Linda Keith, Richards' ex-girlfriend. Mick and Marianne Faithfull went to Barbados and then to Brazil. Around that time, they all started listening to Bob Dylan's bootleg album, Great White Wonder, which would later be officially released as Basement Tapes, but everyone was amazed and stunned by Bob's new sound. Marianne was reading Burroughs' Naked Lunch, and Mick would say that reading it put the idea of heroin in her head. At that time, the strongest drug they were taking was LSD. While in Brazil, they had a nasty incident when they got lost in the favelas and stumbled upon a Candomblé tribal ceremony. There were dances and chants, with everyone shouting a mystical and chilling "Woo hooop" in unison. Suddenly, an awkward silence fell, the bongos stopped, and they realized they were the only white people there. The locals hurled threats and chased them away, nearly stoning them. This left a strong impression on Jagger.
Upon returning to England, the first thing Keith did was set up his own studio in Redlands. It was a rather improvised affair, closing off the largest room, which had great acoustics, and installing some small mixing consoles and cassette tapes, which were a novelty at the time. The studio was jokingly called the "Fifth Dimension," as it was more like a bar where groups of friends would gather in the early hours of the morning. Keith would sit on the floor, let the tapes play, and improvise. Then he would play the cassettes, and the sound would come out dirty and with a certain echo due to the size of the room, creating a very cool effect. Using this technique, demos like "Stuck Out All Of You," "Two Trans Running," and "Everybody Pays Their Dues" were born, which would later evolve into "You Can't Always Get What You Want," "Midnight Rambler," and "Street Fighting Man," respectively, retaining the dirty cassette sound.
One day at 6 a.m., after a late night, Mick and Keith were at the Fifth Dimension tinkering with a chord progression, but not getting anywhere. A toothless fellow skipped past the window, and a bewildered Mick asked who it was. Keith replied, “Oh, it’s Jack, Jumpin’ Jack.” It was Jack Dyer, Keith’s gardener, who had lived his whole life in the countryside and possessed a kind of innate countryman’s cunning. Mick began to hum along to Keith’s notes: “Jumping Jack – Jumping Jack – Jumping Jack.” Keith realized there was an extra beat, so he added a “Flash” at the end. And then there was light!
Around that time, another bootleg record was released that had a huge influence. It was an acetate disc with old recordings of Robert Johnson, considered the father of the blues. Richards said to hell with it all and spent a whole week in Fifth Dimension trying to emulate the sounds of the blues father. “It was like I was playing with three guitars,” he said. Keith wanted the next album to sound like that: raw, dry, with a strong blues influence and without the psychedelic overproduction of previous albums. By reworking “Love In Vain,” they ended up slightly modifying the lyrics and the riff, and “No Expectations” was born.
In March, they felt they had enough material to attempt a new album, so they hired Jimmy Miller as producer. Miller had worked with The Family and was producing a Traffic album. Fortunately, the Stones realized they were incapable of self-producing after the excesses of Satanic Majesties, and Miller proved to be a wise choice, as he was a drummer and sought the same direct, raw sound the band desired. Miller would go on to produce what are considered the Stones' four greatest albums.
After the first rehearsals, the songs began to flow magically, and they moved to Olympic Studio in London. In less than 15 days, they had "No Expectations," "Parachute Woman," and "Child of the Moon" ready. But one song in particular stood out, harking back to the band's tremendous cohesion of the old days. They soon realized it was too good to be on the album. It was released as a single on May 24th and was a massive hit. "Jumping Jack Flash" marked the Stones' triumphant return, holding the number one spot in the UK for several weeks (their first number one in two years!) and reaching number three in the US. It's a perfect, well-rounded work, with that Stones-esque darkness, a massive coda, tremendous guitar work, a killer bass line, hypnotic, mantra-like choruses, and lyrics that placed Mick in a new role—more aggressive, wild, provocative—embodying that wicked Jack who symbolized the late 60s. It was, in fact, the perfect soundtrack for that turbulent 1968. After a year of failures and no chart successes, it represented a breath of fresh air and gave the band the encouragement to stay in the studio, sticking to the album plan. The single isn't on the album, nor is it a bonus track on any edition I know of, but I'll delve into it since it's one of my three favorite songs by the band, and it would be a crime never to say a word about this gem. Even so, I should clarify that it doesn't affect the rating, haha.
On March 16, Brian returned to his apartment after a late-night session to find that the police had broken down his door to rescue Linda Keith from an overdose. Linda went to the hospital and recovered, but when she returned, the landlord had thrown all of Brian's belongings out onto the street and moved into a hotel. This incident would be considered in the subsequent trial. On the 17th, there was a peaceful demonstration against the Vietnam War, starting in Trafalgar Square. Mick attended the demonstration, but things turned ugly in Grosvenor Square where riot police were waiting and charged the crowd. He saw hippies being beaten indiscriminately and miraculously escaped unharmed. That night, he would rewrite the lyrics to "Everybody Pays Their Dues" with lines like, "'Cause in sleepy London town, there's just no place for a street fighting man."
In May, after going on another break for vacation, the Rolling Stones made a surprise appearance at the New Musical Express awards ceremony, performing “Jumpin' Jack Flash” and “Satisfaction,” nearly bringing the house down. It would be Brian's last live performance. But it also reminded the others how good it felt to be on stage. They returned to the Olympic and within a week recorded “Street Fighting Man” in its final form, along with “Stray Cat Blues,” “Love in Vain,” “Factory Girl,” and “Stray Cat Blues.”
On May 21st, the police entered Brian's new house through the garbage chutes. Brian heard them and managed to flush everything down the toilet, since the day before they had been watching Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey, tripping on acid. But the police found a ball of yarn with hashish inside. Brian flew into a rage, claiming it wasn't his and that the hashish made him dizzy and aggravated his asthma. He was crying when they handcuffed him: "Just when we were getting back to normal."
Continuing with the influences... Bob Dylan released his John Wesley Harding and blew everyone away. The Hawks, Dylan's backing band, became The Band and released Music From Big Pink. It's said to have been so influential that Eric Clapton, fed up with dealing with Bruce and Baker's tantrums, disbanded Cream and flew to Woodstock hoping to join The Band. In August, another album was released that would definitively change the Stones. It was The Byrds' "Sweetheart of the Rodeo." The novelty was that the Byrds had added Gram Parsons to the lineup. Parsons was a pioneer of country rock, having formed the first band of the genre, the International Submarine Band. Upon joining the Byrds, he completely changed their folk sound to a country sound with Nashville roots. Gram was going to sing on the Byrds' album (it was practically his album), but due to legal issues with his previous record label, he couldn't, and Roger McGuinn sang instead. This album is considered the pioneer of Country Rock. When the Byrds were touring England, Gram, always troubled and a known cocaine user, had a falling out with the rest of the Byrds and told them to get lost. Richard met Gram around this time. A mutual acquaintance took him to Redlands, and he and Keith immediately hit it off. Despite being only 22, Keith said that Gram was the only true teacher he ever had. Parsons taught him the secrets of the Nashville sound, and most importantly, he taught him open G tuning. Until then, Keith had always played in the traditional E tuning, which is characteristic of Rock & Roll. Open G tuning doesn't use the sixth string and replaces the last three with higher-pitched strings tuned an octave lower, achieving a completely different sound. In Keith's words: "I realized that you only need 5 strings, 3 chords, 2 fingers and one motherfucker to create magic." The open tuning in G would be pivotal in the sound of the next four or five Stones albums. Oh, and one more thing. During these formative nights, the troubled Gram introduced Keith to his first lines of cocaine. He quickly became part of the Stones' inner circle and officially left the Byrds when they flew to South Africa for a series of concerts.
Around that time, Mick finished reading Mikhail Bulgakov's novel, The Master and Margarita. The novel tells the story of the devil's arrival in 1930s Moscow, where he exerts a terrible influence on the decadent society. Only a writer known as The Master is immune to his power. On June 4th, Mick arrived at the studio with a demo called "The Devil Is My Name," with lyrics inspired by the novel and music based on the voodoo terror he experienced in Candomblé in Brazil.
That week, Jean-Luc Godard, the avant-garde film director, arrived. He was interested in filming the Beatles or the Stones. He said it jokingly, but things worked out so he could film the Rolling Stones for a week. He arrived looking tired on May 30th, just after the May riots in Paris, which he had recorded live. The Stones never understood what the film was about—it was supposed to include clips of the Black Panthers and cartoons ridiculing the political class—but in the end, it documented their progress on the demo of "Sympathy for the Devil." The song wasn't flowing until Bill picked up the maracas, and the song took on a samba rhythm. After that, it was finished in two hours, and then they just added the bongos and percussion. Keith laid down what, in my opinion, is his best guitar solo to date. The film One Plus One would eventually be retitled “The Making of Sympathy for the Devil,” and although it was ignored worldwide, at least they can boast that they took this step before the Beatles with their film Let It Be. Although the world would also overlook this.
On June 11th, a judge opened a new case against Brian. Since he was still on probation, this could land him in jail for years, and rumors began circulating that Jones was no longer part of the band. Mick completely abandoned him and treated him with hostility. Everyone wanted to tour, but Brian's situation prevented it. Keith tried to appear friendly, though more out of guilt for having stolen his girlfriend. He would say that Jagger treated him so badly because Brian was living the life Mick was merely pretending to live.
On June 26th, they met for an informal recording session (the album was already finished), with the novelty that Jack Nietzsche had brought along a young guitarist named Ry Cooder. Ry began playing "Sister Morphine," a song written and recorded by Marianne Faithfull. Cooder was to the blues what Parsons was to country. He also mastered open G tuning and finished teaching Keith the techniques. That day they re-recorded "Sister Morphine" with Ry Cooder's steel guitar, although the track remained unreleased for several years. With the second conviction against Brian, he was legally prevented from leaving the country. When Cooder left, Parsons returned from the United States with an amount of cocaine equivalent to half of Colombia's GDP. Marianne and Anita were already involved with the drug as well, and they said that Gram Parsons was buying Keith a permanent place in the Stones. Around that time, with Beggars Banquet finished and in the mixing stage, Parsons and Richards spent countless nights in Redlands. Gram would play, and Keith would follow along, tape recorder running. Those Gram Parsons riffs were used by Keith on the next four or five Rolling Stones albums, without any credit. Parsons would try to claim royalties, but he was so deep in drug addiction that he kept putting it off, until he died of an overdose in 1973 and ceased to pose a threat.
The album opens with “Sympathy for the Devil”, undoubtedly one of the band's signature songs. The track begins with a tribal rhythm, with percussion attempting to recreate the voodoo atmosphere that terrified Jagger in Brazil. Bongos, congas, drums, and maracas combine to create a samba-like groove, into which the bouncy bass line is incorporated, imbued with a certain darkness. In fact, the entire song rests on the bass, only this time it's played by Richards. The lineup is once again unusual: Keith plays electric guitar and bass, Brian the acoustic guitar (though it's barely audible), Bill the maracas, Charlie some percussion, and Nicky Hopkins the piano, which becomes increasingly prominent. And all of them together, along with Anita Pallenberg and Marianne Faithfull, deliver the formidable “Woo Hooop” that kicks in at the two-minute mark and serves as one of the most spectacular and memorable hooks in history. In fact, it's one of the few songs that, just by repeating it, you immediately recognize. Otherwise, it's very simple: 3 chords. I've played it, and I swear it's 3 CHORDS! And barely a slight variation for the incredibly catchy chorus. At 2:50, we have Keith's first guitar solo, which enters somewhat timidly, but gradually gains confidence, becoming sharp and with a touch of malevolence. Incredible. I truly still think it's the best solo of his life, and he'll play a similar one towards the extended coda, while Mick murmurs and then starts screaming like a madman. Jagger, for his part, blows everyone away. First, because of his vocal performance, which is perhaps also the best of his life. The melody is incredibly powerful, so much so that despite being a cyclical sequence, it never becomes repetitive. All based on the personality he brings to it, singing with a conviction as if he were the devil himself, and driving the tremendous crescendo with just his lungs. And then there are the lyrics. I haven't read the book, *The Master and Margarita*, but it must be a gem. It begins with that legendary line, "Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste..." impersonating the devil in the first person, and recounts the violence of the last century, from the Romanovs to World War II. For the part about the Kennedys, they changed the lyrics because Robert was killed during the recording process, so the line became: "I shouted out, Who killed the Kennedys? When after all It was you and me." Could there be any more perfect lyrics? And the choruses are as catchy as bubblegum: "Pleased to meet you, Hope you guessed my name, oh yeah, But what's confusing you Is just the nature of my game." A perfect song, one of the best, that should be in the band's top ten, and undoubtedly the strongest track on this album. If you listen to this song and it doesn't stir something within you, you're not human.
We continue with the sweet calm of “No Expectations”, an acoustic country-blues with beautiful slide guitar work. This ballad emerged from playing Robert Johnson’s “Love In Vain” (in fact, the working title was “Meet Me at the Station”) and does share certain similarities. Mick sings beautifully, completely shifting the role from the previous song to that of a lover watching his beloved leave, and he sings with an almost heartwarming sincerity: “Our love was like the water, That splashes on a stone, Our love is like our music, It’s here, and then it’s gone.” Keith plays the acoustic guitar with a rhythm as tranquil as a slow dawn (which he would reuse in “You Can’t Always Get”), while Brian makes one of his last truly significant contributions, with an unforgettable slide guitar solo, more emotive than Jagger himself. Jimmy Miller would say that this was the song Brian was most involved in, completely immersed, offering his opinion on the finished tracks and repeating takes until he was satisfied. It's as if Jones himself were singing that song to Anita through his guitar, with a bittersweet desperation that sometimes brings tears to my eyes. A beautiful, painful, and very underrated song.
After the tears comes the laughter. “Dear Doctor”, a kind of joke, in a country style and with a waltz time signature! The song is entirely acoustic, trying to recreate a true country atmosphere: Spanish and 12-string guitars, harmonica played by Brian, tambourines, and double bass. The lyrics are hilarious, about a guy who's scared to death because it's his wedding day, and he goes to the doctor to get a prescription. He's so paralyzed that even his mother has to dress and comb his hair for him. Finally, he finds a note from his fiancée (which Mick recites in a hilarious falsetto) telling him she's run off to Virginia with her cousin Lou. In the end, the guy ends up crying… with relief! Only the Stones could come up with something like this. It will never be a classic, but they manage to own Nashville country with a mastery that no other English band will ever match.
“Parachute Woman” is an aggressive blues track with a much rawer sound, and it's supposed to be a kind of tribute to Muddy Waters, with Mick trying to emulate his style. This is one of the recordings where Keith recorded the guitar part in Fifth Dimension on a cassette for that cavernous, rusty, and cool effect. Brian plays the harmonica well, also with a strong echo effect, while the bass (again, double bass) and drums are simple and practical. The lyrics use a lot of sexual metaphors, the kind that were common in Delta Blues, although a bit too direct. All in all, it still avoids the vulgarity that would come later in the 70s. A good track, short, direct, recreating the atmosphere and sound of the bluesmen who inspired them to form the band.
"Jigsaw Puzzle" is the second longest song on the album, closing out side A. It's another hidden gem, starting with a mini-drum roll from Watts that introduces a country-blues rhythm, followed by Wyman's great bass line, which again anchors the track. Keith takes over the slide guitar this time, adding tremendous flourishes, since Brian wasn't present for this session. Nicky Hopkins does a fine job on piano, alternating notes with the guitar's howl. Mick delivers a great, catchy melody that blends melancholy with a touch of aggression. Lyrically, he seems to be trying to imitate Dylan's style, achieving anecdotal sequences of images with sometimes unusual phrasing (in fact, I could imagine the great Bob Dylan singing it). Lines like: "He's a walking clothesline, And here comes the bishop's daughter" or "Standing looking on, And the queen is bravely shouting, What the hell is going on?" They're undeniably funny, cynical, and subtly critical. A slap in the face with a velvet glove. Together, they create an incisive atmosphere that builds to a crescendo and seems to be emulating the sound of Bob Dylan and The Band. Another great song, somewhat underrated in my opinion.
“Street Fighting Man” is a very unusual rocker. Unusual because, apart from the electric bass, it's entirely acoustic, yet it's still more aggressive than many modern metal songs. I must admit that I didn't like it much at first. It's one of the first tracks I heard on a Stones singles album (the first one I owned, a compilation called “16 Golden Hits, The London Years,” which I still treasure). Without a doubt, this was the weakest track. But it has grown on me. In fact, I think (with all due respect) that it's the equivalent of The Beatles' “Revolution.” It's one of the Stones' most political songs, and contrary to what many think, it's not a call to arms, but a call to think before resorting to violence: “Well, then what can a poor boy do, Except to sing for a rock n roll band, Cause in sleepy London Town, There's no place for a street fighting maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan.” Mick rewrote it after the police crackdown following the anti-Vietnam War march on March 17th, and it seems he would never again write in such a mature and focused way, but the instrumentation is much more aggressive than the lyrics, and many interpreted it as an incitement to street violence in a year characterized precisely by it. Keith's acoustic guitar has that buzzing effect, again caused by the cassette recording. Nicky Hopkins plays piano, Brian plays sitar, giving a stellar effect in the background, and Charlie plays drums. Originally, they played it on drums, and the song wasn't working on the early demos. One day, Charlie arrived with some almost toy-like drums he'd bought for his newborn daughter. Keith was playing around with the riff, and Charlie started playing the drums, and Keith finally smiled. At the end, you hear something like an exotic trumpet, which is actually an Indian Shenai played by Dave Manson of Traffic, who was helping out during the sessions. And it's Bill Wyman who once again steals the show with his superb bass line. A simple descending scale is what makes this song so memorable.
“Prodigal Son” is a country blues song more in the New Orleans style. This is perhaps the weakest moment on the album, and although it's credited to Jagger-Ricchards, they blatantly stole it from the bluesman Reverend Robert Wilkins, who played Christian blues. Charlie plays the brushes for the first time, and Mick repeats that monotonous biblical phrasing in which he recounts the parable of the prodigal son. The band creates a great atmosphere—rural, old-fashioned, acoustic. But it's not a great song. Its saving grace is that it's not even their own. On the other hand, it's plagiarism, and Reverend Wilkins was still alive in 1968 (something they were unaware of), so they received a hefty lawsuit that ended up improving a church. Currently, it's properly credited to its author.
Then we have “Stray Cat Blues”, which I'd say should also be considered among the band's great tracks. The most powerful and rock-oriented song on the album, with its shuffle rhythm, eighth notes, and almost obscene language, it's the most direct on the record, but it's still fun. Mick sings about groupies, and more than talking about the ones who chased him, it's a kind of mockery of Bill, who couldn't say no, and who is the Stone (and perhaps the human) with the biggest record of… well, you know. Mick compares groupies to seductive kittens and throws in lines like, “I bet your mama don't know that you scatch like that, I bet she don't know you can bite like that.” Hopkins plays the superb piano, which ends up being essential as a backdrop. Brian plays the Mellotron, creating the background tones of VU's “Heroin.” But Keith's guitars are the stars, resonating and completely stealing the show. At minute 3, there's a kind of fade-out where only the bass remains, holding the song together in a super cool way, before the full instrumentation gradually returns for a spectacular crescendo and a sort of chaotic guitar solo. Now comes the twist: the girl in question was only 15 years old! Hence Jagger's almost furious vocals: "You see another friend, now she's wilder than you, why don't you bring her upstairs?" Or "It's no hanging matter, it's no capital criiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiime." Mick wouldn't be so direct until Sticky Fingers. What a drummer Charlie is!
Then we have “Factory Girl”, a minor but charming track, in which Mick sings about… a girl who works in a factory. What a surprise. It's actually about a girl from a lower-middle-class background, and all the clichés, from the broken zipper to the back. A simple song, but with a great melody. Musically, they try to blend country and Indian influences, combining Rich Grech's violin with Brian's Mellotron with a mandolin effect, and decently played tabla by Charlie. Indian-Country???????? Tell me the song is bad and I'll give it a blue rating.
We close with “Salt of the Earth”, a song initially sung by Keith, though Jagger joins in after a minute. It's sung in a gospel style, without the spectacular backing vocals, of course. Wait, there are some! At 2:40! It's Mick's attempt at a universal anthem, with cynical lyrics full of anarchist irony, trying to eliminate all human barriers, past and present. It's not bad in itself; we have good slide guitar from Richards (again, Brian didn't participate in the sessions), great drumming from Charlie, spectacular gospel backing vocals in the coda, good piano from Hopkins… it's just that, well, it's not “Imagine,” but it tries to be.
The album ends here, but I can't leave without talking about "Jumpin' Jack Flash". This track opens the compilation 16 Golden Hits, released in 1983, I believe only in Mexico, which includes the Stones' singles from their London era, that is, with Brian. Imagine the effect it had on a 12-year-old boy, who was just discovering the band. The Stones went straight to my second favorite spot forever and ever, and they haven't been able to dislodge it to this day, and they won't be as long as I continue to delve deeper and deeper into this band. When I first heard it, I thought two things: that it was rock perfection from the most cohesive group in the universe, and that it must be one of their early songs, since it opened the album. I won't repeat its origins. I simply still think that the Stones at that time must have been the best band on the planet to make a song like that. Forgive me, Beatles and the White Album! The tremendous riff, the incredibly powerful bass line played by Keith (Bill is on keyboards here), the lyrics that unintentionally represent the subversion that would engulf Paris, Czechoslovakia, Mexico, and to a lesser extent London and many US cities during that chaotic year of 1968. The coda with those spectacular, dark, mantra-like choruses, the perfect refrain with its sharp, powerful guitar, the maracas… I had the privilege of singing and playing it back in my Moby Dick days, and it remains one of my most incredible memories of that period. I don't know if it's my favorite Rolling Stones song, but it's definitely in the top three, along with "Shelter" and "Black." And I still think, this is rock perfection. The best song of 1968. Period. And I insist that it doesn't affect the album's rating or its must-have status.
And well. I don't know what else to say. Beggars Banquet doesn't grab you on the first listen. Initially, it sounds simple, too country, barely a departure from Satanic. But as it begins to envelop you, you can't escape its magnificence, its perfection, the almost brutal teamwork, the balance between tranquil tracks and furious rockers, Jagger's more mature lyrics and that singing style that still keeps him at the top, Keith's riffs (truly Keith's), and Brian's final effort with the band, which, frankly, deserves applause, given the circumstances. I think we all know about the circumstances surrounding the cover. Mick and Keith wanted Barry Feinstein's photograph of a graffiti-covered toilet, but the Decca executives didn't even consider it and vetoed it. If it hadn't been censored, the album would have been released even before the White Album. But Lennon's "brilliant" idea of a cover featuring him and Yoko naked was also censored by EMI, so they both ended up with the white cover, only the Stones put the title in italics. The rest is history. If you let the liner notes filter through and don't let the marketing influence you, you'll realize, as I did, that this album is more brilliant and authentic than "Sticky" and "Exile." A MUST HAVE. Yes, in all caps.
By Corvan
Sep/29/2012
