Its not that the kids were all wrong, but Its Only RocknRoll proved there was life in the old dog yet.
![]() Theres nothing smart or tidy about the record the vocals were literally recorded in a broom cupboard but its fraughtness is part of the allure. Its the kind of fuck-it-all logic that probably explains their longevity. Viewed by some as a Be Here Now-style creative crash, Goats Head Soup is ballad-heavy but filler-free, setting the tone for the groups next decade and even inventing a kind of psych-infused proto-disco in 100 Years Ago. The first all-originals Stones album, its so classic-packed their reputation as sub-Beatles hopefuls never recovered. Calling out Under My Thumb for misogyny is almost as old as misogyny itself, but its true the songs either rank sexism or unearned satire; still, its hip-waggling, lip-licking playfulness mean that, one way or another, that song, and this album, endure as classics. After veering progressively further from dumb rocknroll (and into dumb whatever-else-they-were-listening-to), Some Girls was at once wiser and simpler than its recent predecessors, blazing through bona fide hell-raisers like When the Whip Comes Down with irrepressible lust. Sympathy for the Devil opens up with jingle-catchy woo-woos and samba drums that cant contain their excitement, and their exuberance is justified, even as the album that follows explores late-60s disillusionment and resignation. Let It Bleed, their darkest album of the period, unleashes a maelstrom of apocalyptic noise to usher in the new decade, with the towering Gimme Shelter launching its manifesto on a decidedly demonic note. Jaggers smacked-out drawl sets the tone on Rocks Off, but its celebratory horns and jittery, euphoric riffs lead into a rocknroll record as adventurous as any since. As its makers pushed 30, Exile is the sound of master songwriters deciding their times far from up. Every coursing vein screams with the forms vitality: Sway rockets from chugging sleaze into space-blues hysteria, with scorching fretwork by 21-year-old guitarist Mick Taylor; the Latin-inflected Cant You Hear Me Knocking rocks harder than most death metal; Brown Sugar is, put simply, raunch personified.
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