(12th in a series of) Stepping Stones: "It's Just a Tray Away"

Song: Monkey Man

Album: Let it Bleed

Released: April, 1969

With the exception of ‘newspaper deliverer’, my first job description was that of busboy.  I worked in this capacity for several years at Welick’s Restaurant in my hometown of Franklin until I left for college in the fall of 1980.  At the time, Welick’s was the busiest restaurant in the region by a long shot:  A weekend dinner date would typically begin with a 2 hour wait in the lounge area.  When a party would finally hear their name called out over the intercom (“Jones, party of 2…. Jones party of…..2”), the well-lubricated patrons would then proceed into the dining area for a fantastic choice of surf and turf meals offered up by the restaurant’s secret weapon, Kammy, the head chef.

In those days, I suppose I was a bit on the gangly side.  And I’m pretty certain I looked the part, even when compared to others kids my age including the other busboys.  In all likelihood I was not much heavier than the large silver oval trays we would have to carry from dining area to dish room, stacked high with piles of dirty plates, silverware, and glassware.  To be most agile, you needed to learn to carry the trays at shoulder level, one handed, as you negotiated your way through the crowded areas in the dining room, prep room, and kitchen (the swinging doors from the prep room to the kitchen and back were a particularly tricky area to weave through).  This took some getting used to, and my first weeks on the job had a couple of highlight-reel moments, all eyes on me and my tray, as it came crashing down in resounding manner, instantly transitioning the tableware and leftovers into a pile of rubble.  After more experience though, this rarely if ever happened again.

It was a great job, and I got plenty out of it besides the pay.  I learned a lot about the adult world for example:  Adults under stress (owners, most of the management, the cooks, and some of the waitresses) and adults relaxing (diners); frugal adults (waitresses that gave us the minimum in tips) and generous ones (those who gave us extra).  I also learned to work hard and get good at something I got paid for.  The evenings were a whirlwind of activity, and by the end I was pretty well spent.  Yet there was a sense of shared accomplishment with most everyone else who clocked in on any given night.

On one of my last nights, after giving my two week notice, hostess extraordinaire Elaine approached me to let me in on something.  Elaine was the daughter of the owners and wife of Kammy, the chef.  I had gained a lot of respect for Elaine during my stint at Welick’s Restaurant for many reasons, not the least of which being her calm-under-pressure mannerisms.  What Elaine had to tell me was that I came within a whisker of losing my job after those massive tray drops years before, but that she had convinced her Mom, Dad and brothers (a tough bunch) to give me time.  Elaine also told me that she saw something in me early on that she thought would play out in a good way.  Then Elaine looked me directly in the eye and said that I proved her to be right.  It was such a great thing to hear, particularly from someone as reserved as Elaine was, and I’ve never forgotten it. 

Since I insist on staying positive when reflecting on my own life experiences for these weekly entries, I start off with this story.  There have been episodes in my life though where I experienced the opposite of what Elaine did for me… people who gave up way too early or never even bothered to try to get to know what I had to offer in the first place.  I choose to forget that stuff, and thankfully for me none of it was ever even close to being life-altering.  But this week’s Stepping Stone is just what the doctor orders when any of those feelings of rejection percolate back to the surface, because for the Rolling Stones, rejection was something they, and many of their contemporaries, had to face frequently. 

And they did this head on.

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Twenty years: That’s a rough guess on how long it’s been since I last listened to ‘Let it Bleed’ from beginning to end.  Consequently, popping this all-time-classic into the car’s cd player for the first of many-a play-through earlier this week, I knew things were eventually going to get interesting.  That’s because if there is anything that’s been consistent in this musical-recollection process, it’s that I gain inspiration through listening to entire studio albums, not just the individual chosen songs.  I already had a great song in mind for this week, Monkey Man, but not much to work with.  Listening to ‘Let it Bleed’ changed all that.

So, to be a bit more specific, my goal, as always, was to work my way up to the Stepping Stone patiently, not just jump right to it and surf around from there.  Yes indeed, there was an order of business in place for me to try and reconnect with Monkey Man, 8^th song on the track list for ‘Let it Bleed’.  Accordingly, I let it all play out, not just once, but often: First Gimme Shelter, then Love in Vain, followed by Country Honk, Live with Me, Let it Bleed, Midnight Rambler, You Got the Silver ….. and finally, Monkey Man, which I would then allow myself to play over and over (9^th and final track, You Can’t Always Get What You Want, suffered all week from this repetitive process, but I did manage to fit it in a handful of times).  As usual, I was bombarded with a suite of thoughts related to numerous topics including Rolling Stones history; my history; the time period of the album’s release; my first memories of the album; my favorite memories of the song; the meaning of the song; and so on.  Could I again build something on top of that menagerie? 

I once read a journalist’s observation, and I would have to agree, that the year of ‘Let it Bleed’s release, 1969, was more in line with the Rolling Stones musical sensibilities than earlier periods.  If any one word could be used to define the year, it would be ‘tumultuous’.  I’ve touched on this before.  After three assassinations and an increasingly unpopular and expanding war, the good vibes were steadily being replaced by bad ones, which were partially fuelled by a once-promising youth movement’s growing substance abuse problem.  The Stones worked well within this environment, but how and of equal importance, why?

With the Beatles in the process of disbanding and Dylan somewhat out of commission for a spell (motorcycle accident and retreat from the limelight), the Stones would find themselves thrust into a leadership role of sorts in 1969 (in hindsight, I believe the individual Beatles ended up being more influential as solo artists than they likely would have been if they continued as a band during this period, but this took a year or two to fully develop).  It is fascinating that the Stones would have to step into this vacuum at this particular time, since for years they had been branded as poster children by the establishment for what was wrong with the younger crowd.  In other words, at the very moment when it was all coming to a head, this band was caught in the crosshairs.

One of the biggest factors in the tumultuous nature of the time period was a clash of 2 strong-minded generations.  In this corner weighing in as having overcome hardship (The Depression) and tyranny (World War II) was the “Greatest Generation”.  And in this corner, weighing in as trying (and ultimately succeeding) to make a stamp of their own was the “Counter Culture”, likely the first youth movement in recorded history willing to make a stand for its own unique beliefs.  It was a serious heavy weight battle for many years, with both sides ultimately pointing fingers at the other one as the reason for all the tumultuousness.

It did not have to be that way. 

When I watch early TV footage of Rock n’ Roll musicians, say any time before 1968, one of the first things that strikes me is the respect those musicians appear to have for the host and audience.  There’s a ‘yes sir, no sir’ feel about it all.  The host was usually someone from the Greatest Generation, including Ed Sullivan, Jackie Gleason, Perry Como and Bob Hope, and the audience was for the most part the host’s peers.  Certainly a part of the respect was self-preservation driven, simply to keep doors open for future air time, but I believe there was something else there as well:  There was a respect for their elders in general and the sacrifices they made.  There had to be.  These new up-and-comers had parents who were part of that generation.  Most of them knew what they had all been through.

This respect was not always reciprocated, however.  And though it could be argued that respect had not yet been earned, there is a fine line between lack of respect and flat out rejection.  The Greatest Generation crossed that line early and often, which likely lead to an eventual erosion of respect in the other direction.  Certainly blame can go all around for the atmosphere, but this was a big part of it (and besides, weren’t these 30, 40, and 50 something’s supposed to be the adults after all?)  A perfect example of how this played out was Dean Martin’s treatment of the Rolling Stones on his TV show in the mid-60s ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qOr2a9oEzGQ ), particularly in regards to his closing remarks and body language.  Dean Martin was not alone and should not be signaled out.  His attitude was emblematic of many in his generation toward a counter culture movement they just did not understand, and probably feared.

If you have a chance to read the opening chapter to Keith Richard’s “Life” you will get a sense for this tension.  You can also hear it in the lyrics of Bob Seger’s Turn the Page, or read about it in any number of Tom Petty interviews when he reflects on being in a long-haired fledging rock band in Gainesville Florida in the early 70s.  Sure there was an ‘image to keep up’, but living this life was not for the faint of heart.  Given what the armed forces look for in a person, those sergeants, generals and admirals should have had some admiration for this crowd, since unlike those who could not change the color of their skin, or their accent, these folks had a choice on how they looked.  And they chose to stick out like a sore thumb.

By 1969 the rejection and all its negative ramifications had reached a boiling point.  Riots were breaking out in cities across the USA and Europe.  The Rolling Stones took an interesting tact at this point:  They exaggerated their image even more than before, playing with it all, like a cat plays with a mouse.  Most of this was done through the music, but in Keith Richards’ case, it would all play out in his life as well…. A kind of “oh, so this is what you see in me. Ok, I’ll give you it tenfold” type of attitude that would nearly kill him on numerous occasions. 

Allegorically, Monkey Man represents the tipping point, the point of no return.  For the Rolling Stones, We Love You and Dandelion were out; Gimmee Shelter and Monkey Man were in.   The song starts out so intensely; it’s a wonder to me that any reviewer would suggest it as a throwaway (and a few did).  First there are the opening ominous piano notes and the bass, and then the angry guitar, and finally Mick Jagger kicks in, his singing fitting precisely with the mood of the song:  Oh, so I’m a monkey ehh?  Ok, I’m a monkey:

I’m a flea bit peanut monkey

All my friends are junkies

It’s a great song.  Jagger appears to be having fun with it all (to a degree) while Richards seems to be taking it very seriously in his guitar playing (this contrasting juxtaposition may generally be why the Rolling Stones have been so successful).  Then, at the 2:34 mark of the attached video of the song ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GcB-JTAZQow) the bottom falls out.  I got to see the Stones perform this moment live.  It was intense, the feel of a giant vacuum being swept into the stadium.  At the end of the song (3:13), Jagger sounds almost intentionally obnoxious (predating Robert Plant and Steve Tyler in this paradox-like singing style).  I guess the monkey transformation is complete at this point: Images of those flying monkeys in the Wizard of Oz dance in my head.

Let’s face it, despite all the good that the Greatest Generation brought to the table (and let there be no doubt, I believe they did earn this distinction), there was quite a bit of prejudice mixed in there as well.  For some it may have had to do with facing an enemy of a different ethnic background in a horrible war.  Whatever the reason, this prejudice was not just geared to people of different races or religions, but also people who thought differently from the way they thought you were supposed to think.  But I know this generalization is an over simplification of reality.  It could also be argued that the Greatest Generation nurtured the questioning spirit behind the counter culture, allowing these folks to think for themselves, and be strong in their own beliefs.

For me, I was too young to feel that full brunt of rejection from the older generation, who eventually came around for the most part, but I did get the occasional wise crack growing up.  Hey, what the heck, I suppose it builds character.  It seems to have done so with the Stones.  The flip side approach is much more rewarding though, not only for the one receiving the support, but also the one offering it, as I believe was the case for Elaine who stood by me, willing to go a bit out on a limb with her family.  In my High School Year Book, I jokingly stated that I aspired to be a busman.  From Elaine’s perspective, I guess I did just that. 

-          Pete

(11th in a series of) Stepping Stones: "Spotlight on Brain Jones: The Effects of Longstanding Connections"

Song: Ruby Tuesday

Album: Between the Buttons (US version)

Released: February, 1967

Spotlight on: Brian Jones

Of all the lasting insights and interests I’ve garnered over my lifetime, most have been jump started via longstanding connections with family and friends.  I believe this is the case for most of us.  Sure, we can on occasion pick up a tip-that-lasts through other avenues, for example an acquaintance or professional.  But there’s something about personal ties that can set the best of wheels in motion, often resulting in the deepest, most enduring and creative of preoccupations.  Call it insider trading.  Call it an inside job.  Call it your inner circle. Call it whatever.  It works.

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Fred and I benefited greatly from the family move to Park Road during the spring of ’73.  First and foremost, we each got our own bedrooms (the room we were leaving behind on Martin Ave can best be described as a bevy of bunk beds).  That alone would have been good enough, but these rooms came with a few other perks.  There was an easy-access back staircase ***used by me one evening to sneak out of home at midnight for an hour or so while in my mid-teen years, tobacco-packed corncob pipe in hand, to hook up with Jeff (aka Popeye), John and others in the crew, several of whom had even more creative ways of sneaking out of their homes, including the use of windows, trees and deck pillars***.  There was a small bathroom between our rooms (whose porcelain bowl may have been loudly worshipped once or twice).  Most importantly, though, there was space:  Space for posters, stereo systems, and hobbies.  The space also came in handy for noise: The type of noise that a smaller, multi-generational home could not put up with….Rock ‘n Roll noise.

At the onset of our interest in Rock music, Fred and I each cobbled together small but diverse album collections.  Between us there was some Neil Young (including ‘Decade’), some Cars, Joe Jackson and the Kinks (‘Kronikles’), and lots of Beatles.  Later, our collections would expand to include The Who, Elvis Costello, The Clash, Mink Deville, The Jam, and others.  We dabbled into each other’s selections regularly.

Another of Fred’s earliest records was ‘Hot Rocks’, a classic double album he purchased in slightly used (but cheap!) quality at a flea market.  Arguably one of the greatest compilations of all time, ‘Hot Rocks’ opened me up to the world of the Rolling Stones.  There was the cover, with 5 faces, one inserted inside another, that initially had me thinking it was all one person.  There was the back cover, The Stones decked out in medieval regalia, Mick, Brian, Keith and Bill on the 2^nd ledge of a decaying castle, Charlie standing in the front (likely scared of heights?).  And of course, there was the music, which covered some of the Stones best material over their first decade.

A brief overview is needed at this point.  Rolling Stones history can be broken up into 3 main time-periods, each of which can be defined by the 2^nd guitarist.  The first of these 2^nd guitarists was founding member Brian Jones, who was released by the Stones in 1969 due to his fading contributions to the band (driven at least partially by substance abuse), and who died soon after, drowning in his own swimming pool (remaining the only Rolling Stone to have passed on at the time of this writing, excepting if you include Ian Stewart).  The Brian Jones years, however, can really be broken up into an A and B period.  Period A would be about 1962-65, when Jones faithfully stuck with his traditional instrument, the rhythm guitar.  Period B would be about 1966-69.  This was when Jones had virtually lost all interest in the guitar (to Keith Richards despair, who loves dueling with a partner), and ended up instead plucking, blowing into, and fingering just about any other instrument within reach.  These instruments Jones would learn to play with aplomb.

It was a three song stretch on side 2 of ‘Hot Rocks’ that initiated the transition for me from casual listener to aficionado with The Rolling Stones, and all three have Brian Jones as the key cog, playing an exotic instrument like a sage in each.  First there was his mood-setting sitar playing on Paint it Black; second his nimble handling of the marimba on Under My Thumb; and finally there was his beautiful use of the recorder on Ruby Tuesday, this week’s Stepping Stone.  It was all classy sounding.  It gave the Stones an edge over other bands.  It convinced me that this band was for real.

Brian Jones contributions to Stones songs in the last years of his short life would reveal his multi-faceted abilities playing out yet again and again, as he would include in his repertoire of instruments the grand piano, harmonica, slide guitar, accordion, organ, dulcimer, harpsichord, oboe, mellotron, saxophone, autoharp, and more.  This was all very interesting to me, and in hindsight, I now can pretty much say it was Brian Jones, not Mick Jagger (and certainly not the much-harder-to-connect-with Keith Richards) who opened the Stones doors for me. 

Which brings me back to that inside-job concept:  I truly believe that Brian Jones’ brilliant contributions on those 3 songs would have been impossible to have been performed similarly by a hired gun.  This is the fascinating concept behind long-term bonds:  They bring out a passion and creativity that cannot be artificially inseminated.  There was something going on within his band’s ranks, and only through years of being immersed in this atmosphere, as Jones was, could these musical superlatives be drawn out. I’m convinced of it, as this has happened often enough in my circles to recognize it in other ones.  And it’s these long-term bonds that are actually what lead me to The Rolling Stones in the first place, after poking through Fred’s collection all those years ago and pulling out ‘Hot Rocks’ for the first time.  Fred was curious enough in this band to purchase their album, and that was good enough for me.  It may not have played out as definitively for me as it did with the Stones.  But make no mistake about it:  It did play out, in equally extraordinary ways, and for this I am truly grateful.

Listening to Ruby Tuesday (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6DVCgKsqn30) numerous times this week, I was reminded of so many reasons why I enjoy this song.  There are the lyrics, with several poignant lines: “She would never say where she came from” to start it out; “She just can’t be chained to a life where nothings gained and nothings lost” in the second stanza; “Lose your dreams and you will lose your mind” in the third.  There’s the unique bass sound, which was orchestrated by Bill Wyman holding tight on the strings while Keith Richards plucked.  And of course, there’s Brian Jones recorder playing; which hits highlights throughout (with two moments in particular standing out for me at the 2:16 and 2:23 marks of the attached url). 

Brian Jones was a fragile soul… one of the most fragile in the history of Rock (Kurt Cobain also comes to mind).  His iconic image, that of the lone blond in a gang of British hooligans (he was not exempt) remains front and center for many Rolling Stones fans when conjuring up a snapshot of the band, despite 40 years of Stones history since his death.  Though eccentric and tough to deal with, the Stones were still very lucky to have this element in their circle for that relatively brief period of time in their long saga.

One other note:  The Beatles roots are in Rock but the Stones roots are in Blues, which made it harder for a suburban Caucasian kid like myself to connect to them right off.  ‘Hot Rocks’ was needed to initiate the process.  It collected together some of the Stones best early stuff together, the earliest of which were scattered among many blues cover songs on their first 3 or 4 albums.  I needed time and familiarity to break into that Blues sound.  With enough persistence, I eventually did.  But it was the music they first painted on top of the Blues, songs like Paint it Black, Under My Thumb, and Ruby Tuesday that started me down that path.  Keith Richards should have been grateful:  Though he lost a buddy to weave guitar notes with (he would eventually get this back with Ron Wood after several more Stones permutations, but these are stories for other times), he gained a much broader audience, and I’ve never heard of him complaining about the quality of those songs.  On the contrary, I believe he was inspired by them.  That creative spirit, spurred on by long-term bonds, would bite him deeply soon enough:  For as Jones faded, the Richards-prolific years kicked into high gear, carrying through at least the middle part of the following decade.

The Rolling Stones performed Ruby Tuesday very admirably, without Mr. Jones, on their Steel Wheels tour in 1989, although one of those aforementioned hired guns was needed to fill the void.  Those wheels grind on still, but for me it was Brian Jones, and my brother Fred, that set them to rolling in the first place.

-          Pete

(10th in a series of) Stepping Stones: "Lost and Found"

Song: Anybody Seen My Baby

Album: Bridges to Babylon

Released: September, 1997

Ain’t it a shame when you have some supposed great insightful thought, and then poof it’s gone, be it an idea you get while on the run which you can’t jot down at the time; a dream you think you’ll remember in the morning when it wakes you up in the middle of the night; or…(hmmm, I had one other example but I forget what it was because the phone just rang and the Bruins just scored). 

This memory slip also happened to me at least twice after concert events.  In each case I had momentarily gained vivid insight into the deeper meaning to several songs as they were being performed, and then just like that, lost it again.  One of these songs was The Rolling Stones 1997 semi-hit, Anybody Seen My Baby off “Bridges to Babylon”.  And while the insight was not all that mind-boggling (nor likely all that accurate), it was fun to dream up, and I was bummed that it slipped away.  Just this week, however, while listening to this song yet again, I finally gained that insight back, which gives me the opportunity to share the whole bizarre thought process here.  Side note:  The other post-concert memory slip was not long after listening to The Who perform You Better You Bet, but that discussion will have to wait for several reasons, not the least of which being that I still haven’t figured a way to reconnect those synapses.

Now, despite all the superlatives I’ve tossed their way these past months, The Rolling Stones are not what I would call a deep thinkers band.  I usually value this trait in musicians, and hope in a future series to explain some of the deep thoughts Bob Dylan has teased out of me over the years.  Leonard Cohen, Pink Floyd, and even Steely Dan also come to mind when the thinking cap needs to be turned up a few notches.  In the case of the Stones, however, they are forgiven of this seeming limitation because of everything else they bring to the table.  And in actuality, the more thought the Stones appear to put into a song or album the more it feels contrived.  Their regular formula works, and for the most part they stick to it. 

Occasionally, however, this band can surprise you. 

Knowing a tour was in the works, I purchased “Bridges to Babylon” not long after its release.  The album immediately sounded balanced to me, which is something you can’t always bank on with Stones albums (or any musician’s albums for that matter), particularly those that are rushed out to precede an extended tour as this one was. Yet Mick Jagger relies on new music to help stir his creative juices while on the road, which can be a blessing or a curse depending on the quality of the new stuff (either way, I have plenty of respect for his attitude, seeing as by the 90s, The Stones could easily have fallen back on tapping into their vast catalog for a successful tour). 

One song on the new album did stand out, however:  Anybody Seen My Baby.  I loved it.  The song had an eerie sounding chorus (introduced through a single ominous bass note) that reminded me a bit of the band’s 1969 signature sensation Gimme Shelter.  I noticed right off in the credits for this tune that k.d. lang was recognized as a co-author, along with Jagger/Richards.  A Rolling Stone (magazine) review and re-listen made the reasoning behind this co-writing credit obvious:  The chorus had strong similarities to lang’s song Constant Craving (though as mentioned before, Anybody Seen My Baby had a more eerie sound).  I later would read that Keith Richards’ daughter was the first to recognize the similarity while listening to a prerelease of “Bridges to Babylon”.  Keith claims to have then scrambled to get k.d. lang recognized, noting in his book ‘Life’ that Mick Jagger’s then habit of picking up new music ideas at clubs had finally caught up with him.  I shrugged it all off:  The Stones had been inspirations to many for well over 30 years by this time, so this slip on their part was not going to have much effect on me (as for k.d. lang, she was quoted as having been both surprised and honored to be a rare co-writer with the Glimmer Twins)

My first thought that there was a bit more to Anybody Seen My Baby than meets the eye was in listening to and reading the lyrics (on the album sleeve) which didn’t quite fit the song’s mood.  At face value, the storyline was too simple, and I felt (I suppose more subconsciously than consciously) that this disconnect was intentional.  The official video, starring a young Angelina Jolie, was not much of a help: An abstract short of an exotic dancer escaping from a broken relationship in the big city.  Yet the more I listened to the song, the more my curiosity into a deeper meaning persisted.

These inklings of suspicion finally played out when I attended the Bridges to Babylon tour in Foxboro, which as fortune would have it, included Anybody Seen My Baby in the set list.  And as they launched into the tune I now recall thinking about the vast quantity of shows the Stones and other longstanding bands have done in their lifetimes, though I can’t recall why this thought came to mind at that time. There could have been all sorts of factors that contributed though:  The masterful performance; the order of songs performed (a bit of research revealed that Anybody Seen My Baby was immediately preceded by the Sister Morphine moment discussed in that earlier Stepping Stone); my curiosity into the tune’s meaning leading up to that point;  an aligning of planets.

Whatever it was, the thought process evolved from there.  I believe my next thought was of the longtime fans.  If you go to enough shows, you will hear the longtime fans of any good band saying things like “oh, you should have seen them in ’72”… blah blah blah (actually, I do find many of these stories fascinating, so please don’t take this wrong, Mr. Strause!).  From there, I bounced back to the band’s perspective on the same topic, as in “you should have seen the crowd from ‘72” or whenever.  After all, it’s the bands who are the ones with the most to reflect on; with the deepest and by far most numerous memories of these events. 

Back and forth I went:  Band perspective, fan perspective.  What it all came down to in my mind that evening while listening to this song, was that inspiration goes both ways: The performer can draw from the ticket holder in similar fashion to how the ticket holder draws from the performer.  I’m sure this has been the case for many musicians, as evidenced in those bands that continue to tour well into their elder-statesman years; rock stars who already have enough money to retire 10-times over.  And I’m also sure that the crowds on certain tours have been more endearing to bands than others.  Has anybody seen my baby?  Well Mick, Keith, and crew, apparently we have a lot to live up to in this massive 1997 crowd, but we’ll do the best we can.

Ok, so what’s the big deal here?  Nothing in particular, but the memory recovery was very timely in relation to having something to write about for this week’s Stepping Stone.  The recovery happened through a set of lyrics that I never could fully interpret before and which were not included on the album sleeve with the rest of the song’s words:  While leafing through several YouTube links of the video several days ago, I came upon this one, which included the following stretch of semi-decipherable rap-like lyrics scrolled across the screen at the 2:50 mark ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hze4NCmmMnk ):

“We came to rock for Brooklyn
And Queens, And Manhattan
And The Bronx, And Staten Island
I can't forget New Jersey, and Long Island
And all over the world, we came to rock for everybody like this..”

I did a double take at the last part of the last line: “we came to rock for everybody like this”.  Almost immediately, it all came back to me:  Puzzle pieces of thought that finally got some closure. It also helped when I re-read the last 2 lines of the album sleeves’ printed lyrics: “She’s just in my imagination” and “Lost in the crowd”.  Nice touch, gents.  I didn’t know you were the sentimental types.

A few other loose related thoughts:

Ø  Songs selected to tour on by well established-bands can be divided into three camps: 1) the classics that everyone wants to hear, particularly the casual listeners (“Free Bird!”); 2) the deep cuts that aficionados want to hear (“so don’t overdo it with the classics, please”) and; 3) the new stuff that zealots want to hear (“the walrus was Paul”).  It’s this 3^rd category of songs that is most risky for a band to mix into a show, and it was this category that Anybody Seen My Baby fell into on that October night.  Though I thoroughly enjoyed it, I put myself more in the aficionado category with The Stones.

Ø  When my memory first came back earlier this week, I thought of writing this Stepping Stone up as a fictional story:  Somehow getting backstage after the show and pointing out my insights to the band.  The one line I typed up was a hypothetical response by Charlie Watts, along with a side note: “ ‘Oh, hadn’t thought of that, but yes, it does make sense’, he stated, while making gestures to the security guard behind me.”

Ø  It must be grueling at times for colleagues to be around each other as frequently as band members are while on tour.  It’s been hinted by those in The Rolling Stones’ circles that this lead to their classically titled song “Oh No, Not You Again” off 2005’s “Bigger Bang”. 

Ø  Brian Jones supposedly wrote a song called Anybody Seen My Baby in the short period of time between his release from the band in 1969 and his death.  Interesting, but I have no time to read into this song any further.

Have a great weekend

-          Pete

(9th in a series of) Stepping Stones: "Gone but not Forgotten"

Song: The Last Time

Album: Out of Our Heads (US version)

Released: July, 1965

I can still conjure up an image of the place as if I were there just yesterday.  When you spend hundreds of hours at a naturally impressive and seemingly clandestine location, as a crew of us did over many years, it’s not too difficult to get instant recall.   Such was the case with “The Mountain” of my youth:  A mere fifteen minute walk from home, yet for all intents and purposes, a world away.  It’s been gone for decades now, and I’ll talk about how that all came about in short order; including a brief period of time when we knew its days were numbered. 

First, let me try to bring it back.

The approach was from the west along an old logging road, a handful of downed trees and large well-placed boulders impeding progress and revealing this passage as having seen more useful days.  Looming up ahead was our destination, The Mountain, a sizable expanse of rocky outcrop with a number of intriguing features, including the Inner Bowl.  This bowl was where we would spend most of our time, and the far side of it was visible at several vantage points along the logging road.  As you got closer though, you lost view of it, as the road angled slightly to the right backside of the bowl. 

Here a trailhead began its ascent.  This was a fairly steep, narrow, scraggly path consisting of both stretches of loose stone and smooth, solid rock.  You had to be careful hiking up it on wet and icy days, although there were two small trees for support at several critical junctures (one of which broke off at its roots after years of overuse).  Most of this entry trail was concealed from the Inner Bowl, but about half way up it, you could cut off to the left around a knob and sneak your way inside the bowl via a long thin ridge line.   Not everyone dared this route, but good friend Bruce would walk it as if he were strolling through the park.  More often however we would all stick to the main trail all the way to the top.

Ahhh, The Summit.  Now, I’ve hiked up many a geologically-designated mountain in my day and in the process gained a feel for what to expect when emerging onto higher ground:  That transition from a sheltered canopy to an exposed one.  Amazingly, this relatively low-lying crest had the feel of one of those true summits:  The pitch pines and scrub oaks were scraggly and stunted, with a windblown look to them.  Tucked inside this grove of trees was a small clearing with an old abandoned fire pit in the middle (which we would use in the latter years of our journeys there), and on the far side of this clearing was a final vertical heave of outcrop, jutting just high enough to declare itself The Pinnacle (though no official benchmark by the USGS to distinguish it as such).  Here, along with a few other locations in the general area of The Summit, were far ranging views in most directions.  Looking back, I believe we were instinctively correct in dubbing this grand place “The Mountain” (despite good friend John’s attempts to keep our grasp on reality in check by regularly reminding us it was just a hill). 

Following the trail a tad further, it then looped back from The Summit grove to the upper ridge of the Inner Bowl, the heart of The Mountain.  There was not much space between the tree line and the cliff edge, but there were a few ledges to step out onto.  One of these overhanging ledges hovered over a mid-upper level ridge, which itself was above the long thin ridge line mentioned earlier.  This mid-upper level ridge was where I would spend countless hours with good friend Phil during our middle-school years, chipping ceaselessly away at the granite with any number of tools from crowbar to hammer, grooving out a wider and wider platform for us to hang out on (and making a cave beneath the overhang above us in the process).   Several more ridges scattered about the bowl would be occupied by Fred, Joe, Bruce, Jeff (aka “the Piz”), and occasionally other friends; they themselves also chipping away with an assortment of tools.  Together, I suppose we were unknowingly creating our own version of Mount Rushmore, or at the very least we were excavating; exposing rock (and fossils?... quite often we were convinced) that had not seen the light of day since at least the last ice age. 

The bottom of the Inner Bowl was littered with rubble, including one very large boulder that we would use to prop targets on top of, picking them off with rocks thrown from our ledges (these targets included glass bottles which we would collect at a reliable party location for driving-age teens on the way).  Bruce was always an extremely accurate hurler, but we all had our fair share of highlight-reel moments.  We would take turns to go down to the bottom to set more targets up.  

After chipping away at The Mountain off and on for a few years and hurling the rocks below, we had pretty much doubled the amount of debris at the bottom.  This new debris included one particularly humongous chunk-o-pried-out ledge which took out a 20-foot tree on its way down, where it rested permanently next to the other large boulder and soon got used as a backup for more target-practice items.

Back to the trail which, after continuing beyond the top of the Inner Bowl, approached the most distinctive feature on the entire escarpment:  An almost square ledge which had the appearance of “Frankenstein’s Head”.  This feature jutted out just beyond the Inner Bowl, perfectly defining the bowl:  Hidden entry trail on the southwest side to the right and Frankenstein’s Head on the northeast side to the left (looking up).  Franks Head gave the entire location a Wild Wild West feel about it.  And it was the one part of The Mountain you really could not climb without rope and carabiners.  God know we tried though, and I believe Bruce (again) figured it out once or twice. 

Just beyond Frankenstein’s Head was a nice stretch of climbing rock where you could practice your finger and toe holds, getting really good at it with repetition.  There was an area to rest and regroup which was tucked in the middle of that vertical challenge.  I believe some of this zone survives to this day.  After this stretch, the exposed rock petered out, to the great woods beyond.   We ultimately discovered that woods in equally intense fashion, but that’s a story for another time.

This was a world all to our selves.  On the rare occasion when we were visited by strangers, they would usually get the hint that they may be intruding.  The hint was delivered not so much by us as by our dogs, Nicky and Whiskers, who maintained constant vigilance on The Summit.  Inevitably, folks would either turn around or saunter on by (and if they had read “Lord of the Flies” at any time in their lives, they may have sauntered a bit quicker).

Many great times were had on The Mountain, be they related to climbing, chipping, exploring, hurling, hiking, chilling, biking, or later, midnight fire stoking.  It was a magical place; a natural fun house.  What we did not realize in our earliest years there, though, but which would become more obvious to us over time, was that this land was actually owned by someone, deed and all. That entity was the Franklin Lumber Company, and their developed piece of property was adjacent, through a small patch of woods beyond the trailhead on the southwest side.  Unbeknown to us, they were apparently becoming increasingly aware of our activities and increasingly interested in this piece of land for their own uses.

I believe it was Bruce who first got wind of the lumber company’s initial wave of encroachment onto The Mountain:  The more gradually sloping hillside leading up to it from the east had been stripped bare of trees.  Our world was still fully intact, but the space between this wonderland and the real world next door had narrowed considerably.  And rumor that this was just a first step was now turning into inevitability:  For reasons that have never been fully explained to me, the Franklin Lumber Company was intent on wiping out The Mountain.  Perhaps it was a liability issue.  Perhaps others who came later had squandered the privilege of enjoying this land as there were reports of theft and vandalism in the lumber yard.

Squatters Rights were not in the cards.  Each visit now had the feel of being the last:

“Well, this could be the last time

This could be the last time

May be the last time

I don’t know”

The Last Time (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZ32lL4R970 ) was a song I never really appreciated until I saw it played live.  The guitars are crude in the studio version (understanding this was 1965 and a great production for a Rock and Roll album was rare then), but what I really needed was a connection with the song on a different plane than where the simple lyrics can draw you.  All good songs have the potential for multiple meanings, and hearing The Last Time played live by a band that was well past the expected expiration date of any band did this for me.  I’m absolutely certain this was the case for most all who would benefit from hearing The Rolling Stones play it in large stadiums during the 90s and 00s, including the band members themselves.  You could not but help being drawn into the serendipity. Yes, this could be The Last Time.  Enjoy the moment.  Sing it loud and in unison.

The Franklin Lumber Company did indeed plow The Mountain asunder, actually managing to get their heavy equipment on top of The Summit from behind, wiping it and the entire Inner Bowl out.  The one saving grace was being able to see this coming and the last few times we went down to The Mountain, we savored those moments, much like savoring the moment at those Stones shows.  I can think of at least a dozen other situations in my life where “This could be the last time” played out in my mind as it was happening. 

Hopefully, for any potentially fleeting situation, we have the luxury to ponder these thoughts while still in that moment.

- Pete

(8th in a series of) Stepping Stones: "Partners for 'Life' "

Song: She’s So Cold

Album: Emotional Rescue

Released: June, 1980

Partnerships can be risky business.  The variables to take into consideration are multiplied when two or more are involved in the decision making process, and over the long term the relationship typically must deal with an ever expanding set of dynamics.  Deciding to go into a partnership is ultimately a choice between success and failure, winning and losing, good times and bad.  Some remove themselves from the concept whenever they can, choosing to go solo in most ventures:  Hockey and football are abandoned at a young age for wrestling and swimming.  Charades is abandoned for chess.  The assembly line is abandoned for the work bench.  Big projects needing multiple skill sets are abandoned for smaller, more manageable go-it-alone ones.  

Being the safer bet, the solo route is still plenty gratifying when it pans out.  I’d argue however that a successful partnership has the potential to be far more gratifying.  Maybe it’s relating to someone else during the highs and lows.   Maybe it’s the ability to look back at a common experience.  Maybe it’s the triumph of a moment.  More likely, it’s all the above.  This week’s Stepping Stone is all about partnerships, along with the book that inspired the focus on this topic, and the boycott that had to be hurdled first.

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When I first mentioned to everyone that I was starting a new series centered on 50 years of Rolling Stones music, I was well into a personal boycott; that being a refusal to purchase and read Keith Richards’ 2010 autobiography “Life”.  This played out in the potential gift-receiving realm as well:  Nancy had hinted several times at buying the book for me, but my ambivalence gave her hesitation. 

My reason for the blackballing was simple:  Keith Richards has always refused to recognize his peers, and after leafing through the index of “Life” at a book store, my suspicions that his stance would continue were confirmed:  Little to no recognition of Pete Townshend and The Who; nothing on Ray Davies and The Kinks; no Syd Barrett, Roger Waters and Pink Floyd, no Van Morrison, and no Neil Young.  Absolutely nothing about much of the music that came soon after: Led Zeppelin, The Allman Brothers, and later Elvis Costello, the Clash, U2, Springsteen and R.E.M.  There was some content on the Beatles, but then again a Rolling Stones book would be impossible without saying something about the Beatles.  There was some content on Bob Dylan, but it’s impossible to write any music story that starts in the 60s without discussing Dylan.

On the contrary, however, there was plenty of reference to Keith’s early influences, the Bluesmen from the deep South mentioned in earlier Stepping Stones, as well the first wave of Rock ‘n Rollers that came before the Stones, including Chuck Berry, Elvis Presley, Little Richard, Fats Domino, Aretha Franklin, Jerry Lee Lewis, and the Everly Brothers.  But the fact of the matter is and has always been that if the music came along any time after the Stones, Keith Richards refuses to recognize it… unless he has some affiliation (for example his ties with the Rastafarian musicians of Jamaica).  It all reeked of a twisted need to build up his legacy (as if he needs it).  And if Richards was not going to recognize his peers, I was not going to recognize his book. 

So was the case two months back when the family and I headed down to the Citarell’s to join in the celebration of Dad’s birthday.  While there, fellow Stones aficionados, Amy and Paul, independently insisted that my first order of business in starting up the new series, should be to read KRs book:  They were unaware of my bias, and surprised that I had not yet picked it up.  Having read it themselves, they were both sure I would enjoy it.

Deep inside, I knew they were right. 

Upon its release in the fall of 2010, the aptly named “Life” was received by both fans and critics alike as a well written, open, and honest account of a true Rock n’ Roll rebel; the poster boy in fact. In the ensuing year, the reputation of the book had only grown, to the point where it was being talked about as an all-time, upper tier retrospective of the life of a pop-culture icon.  I had over that time already read several excerpts and reviews, as well as paged through copies in bookstores.  Just about everything I’d taken in confirmed it as a must read.  Amy and Paul’s recommendations were the last straw.  After thinking about it a bit more, I realized that Keith Richards is simply an anomaly:  His musical interests a bit out of the box compared with many in his circles.  I decided to put an end to my boycott.

I’m glad I did.  There are numerous reasons to read “Life” for anyone interested in the Rolling Stones, their music, and their times.  First, despite his appearance, and demeanor, Keith Richards has one helluva memory.  And he remembers interesting stuff, not overly factual or self-centered fluff (which was how Bill Wyman came across in his autobiography “Stone Alone”), but fascinating tidbits, like describing in passionate ways how he writes and plays music; his nomadic years (most all of them); the truths behind the myths regarding his Dad’s ashes, blood transfusions, and his tree falling episode; and his views on being a life-long member of many-a top-ten-deathwatch lists (often ranking at number 1).

Second, despite his 9-lives, self abusive history, Richards has become quite the family man over the past several decades.  I credit his wife Patti Hansen for this, but I also credit Richards for knowing a good thing when he saw it.  One of the more moving stories in the book was how Hansen’s father and brothers slowly, begrudgingly accepted Keith as part of the family.  It had the feel of the movie “The Quiet Man”, with Keith as John Wayne’s character, the ex-boxer Sean Thornton going up against Red Danaher to gain Red’s approval for his sister’s hand in marriage.  In Richards’ case, several of Hansen’s brothers are very Christian, and, well, it was just hard for them to accept this wiry, ex-heroin addict into the fold.  But they eventually do, in a big way, and its how Richards handles himself in the face of the adversity that ultimately wins them over.

Thirdly, as stated in a review I read, this is not a confessional, 12-step recovery type of story.  For someone who has been through as much as he has, Keith Richards has no regrets.  This is oddly refreshing.  But he does not hold back on discussing the low points.  He reveals the sad story of his friendship with fellow addict Gram Parsons and his hard-to-read relationship with Anita Pallenberg.  He does not recommend any of it, but he does not deny any of it either.  Again, it works.

Fourth, Richards comes across as a true friend to many.  On any given tour, you find him chumming with roadies, support musicians (particularly Bobby Keys), fans, or relatives touring with the band.  He does not come across as elitist or money-driven in the least.  And there does not appear to be a prejudice bone in Richards’ body, be this in regards to age, race, sexual orientation or even gender.  This last one may be hard to believe with the reputation the Stones have gained through their music and related exploits as a chauvinistic band.   But I finished this book last week with no sense that Keith Richards has ever had a disparaging slant in his views on woman.  You have to read between the lines, but that’s what I concluded.  If anything, he “puts them on a pedestal”.

Fifth, his “Life” is truly amazing to read about.  The opening chapter says it all; his arrest in a rural southern town in the early 70’s (“Why did we stop at the 4-Dice Restaurant in Fordyce, Arkansas, for lunch on Independence Day weekend?  On any weekend?” is how he starts the book) and how he got out of it (sorry, you will have to read it to get the details).  Few of us could be so charmed.  Also, how he lived for months on end in the South of France during the “Exile on Main Street” sessions:  Open house; music blasting at all hours; people constantly roaming in and out; neighbors being driven to the brink and beyond; days without sleep; sporadic, intense and unpredictable moments of musical inspiration.  This is the story of a true bohemian.  I can connect with bits and pieces of it, but when adding this period up with many others in his “Life”, it’s all hard to fathom.

Now all this being said, Keith Richards can be nasty, and very much so. There are moments reading this book when I cringed at some of the things he says about others.  His nastiness is aimed in surprising directions though, including at fellow band members, the late Brian Jones and more daringly, Mick Jagger.  Despite the vitriol though, I’m surprised that I did not come away thinking any less of Jones or Jagger (well, maybe a little of Jones).  I suppose it’s because the writing was too good: Cutting while not permanently damaging.  And there was plenty of praise mixed in as well.

One of the biggest reasons for most folks to read this book was to hear KRs slant on his 50 year connection with Mick Jagger.  He does not disappoint.  Which brings me back to the main theme of this week’s Stepping Stone:  Partnerships.  Such a long period to spend as a business partner with someone is not unprecedented, but it is rare.  In fact, setting aside longevity for a moment, there are only a handful of successful songwriting tandems that even compare with Jagger/Richards:  Lennon/McCartney, Rodgers/Hammerstein, Plant/Page, Bacharach/David, and Taupin/John all come to mind.  Again, none were nearly as sustained. 

With such a long stretch of being a tandem, there were bound to be down periods for Jagger/Richards.  One pivotal stretch in their relationship was the late 70s/early 80s.  Keith Richards was just getting over a long period of addiction, and ready to get more involved in the business side of things, as well as the future direction of the band.  According to Richards in his book, his partner would have none of it.  Jagger had gotten used to making the big decisions by this time, and one of them was taking the band in a new music direction. The front man was sick of being a jack hammer on stage.  He wanted to start grooving, and began to introduce a more poppy, dare I say, disco sound.

What do you get when one strong willed partner’s impulse is to morph (Jagger) regardless of the implications, when the other strong willed partner’s impulse is to stay the course (Richards)?  In just about every case, it leads to a band breakup.  In the Rolling Stones case, the world instead got songs like She’s so Cold, this week’s Stepping Stone.

To many critics the new sound was viewed as an over compromise.  Fair enough.  But when seen through the eyes of Richards, and anyone who appreciates what can happen when people defy the odds, it was much more than that.  One thing that comes across in “Life” is how much KR values his band and that only an act of God should allow it to dissolve.  This philosophy is what distinguished the Stones from most all other bands, including The Beatles:  Artistic differences were not going to do them in and Richards was the man behind this attitude.

Seeing Keith Richards making the types of music changes he made during this time is akin to seeing Frank Sinatra roll out a rap record, or Madonna going punk, or General George Patton carrying a peace sign.  I believe Keith’s attitude was, “if this is what is going to motivate Mick (basically, how it’s going to be) then I need to Stones-ify the sound”.   He did it as best he could, and I’m certain that a song like She’s so Cold would not have survived as a Jagger solo effort (and speaking of Jagger solo projects, Richards gets into those too > “Have I listened to Mick’s solo albums?  Who has?”). 

The official pre-MTV video of She’s so Cold ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrRSEVRgqVY

) is over the top (as many Stones videos are), but I do find it interesting.  First, it’s likely one of the best “Jagger in the Mirror” videos out there (SNL with Jimmy Fallon: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i9_Z0-fRB54 ).  In other words, if you are going to attempt to imitate Moves like Jagger, this is a good place to start (“But she’s beau-ti-ful though” at 1:46 of the video is a perfect example).  Secondly, I noted Jagger stepping up on to the raised drum stage during the bass-driven bridge (2:15) to join the rhythm section.  Mick had unlikely allies during this musical transition in Watts and Wyman,(who’s bass playing on disco pop hits like Miss You, Emotional Rescue, and She’s So Cold are some of his best), and he appears to show his appreciation here.  Thirdly, it’s clear that the Glimmer Twins (Jagger/Richards) are not connecting in this video, as most of Mick’s goofing is with Ronnie Wood instead.

A few more personal thoughts on partnerships:  After making the challenging transition from listening to Sister Morphine (last week’s Stepping Stone) to listening to She’s so Cold and focusing on “Life”, I began thinking of my own personal partnerships.  Three of them came to mind.  The first is my marriage to Nancy, which I’d already elucidated on in several Gem Videos (particularly #’s 14 & 65), and which I’ll be certain to discuss more if I’m lucky enough.  The second is a team of five that I have been honored to be associated with for many years at USGS, the StreamStats team (http://water.usgs.gov/osw/streamstats/), which has been an amazing experience for me.  But, jeez, I’d be boring the daylights out of everyone with that one. 

The third partnership that came to mind was a much shorter one:  3 months to be exact.  This was a partnership of adventure, taking place in Europe during the spring/summer of 1986.  My partner in this case was my great friend Bob Mainguy (included here as always), and I call our trip a partnership because we were dependent on each other for a good stretch of time, in numerous countries, and we needed to make many decisions together, often under duress.  I hope to at one time do it all justice, but I’ll just say for now that there was no one who could have made that experience any more fascinating than Bob did.  She’s So Cold is actually a personal memory of that trip:  Singing it with several other friends we had made on the streets of Pamplona during the Running of the Bulls.  Great memories never die.

Ok, I’m going to wrap up, but not before adding a few more loose ends to this borderline bombast.  First, Keith Richards not recognizing his peers can be humorous at times.  Case in point: Often the Stones have guest appearances during their shows, and one show I was watching on pay-per-view had Axl Rose from Guns and Roses, duet-ing with Mick Jagger for a rendition of Salt of the Earth.  At the end of the song, Axl is bowing to the crowd and Keith, from behind, points at him and then gestures “thumbs off”.  That was funny.

Second, Richards had a number of folks chime in for his book to help illuminate parts of his story.  One of them was his best buddy, Bobby Keys, a Texas boy and longtime backing saxophonist for the Stones.  One of my favorite lines in the book was Keys explaining what Keith Richards said when they both discovered that they were born within hours of each other (12/18/43):  “Bobby you know what that means?  We’re half man and half horse, and we got a license to shit in the streets”.  According to Keys “Well, that’s just one of the greatest pieces of information I’d ever received in my life!”

Finally, though the album “Emotional Rescue” (on which She’s So Cold is on) makes few fans lists of best Rolling Stones albums, it does hold one higher distinction (as revealed by Richards):  It is the only Stones album where the original tapes were actually blessed by the Pope.  I’ve spent parts of this week trying to grasp the effects of this distinction. 

It will take more time:  Maybe a “Life” time.

(7th in a series of) Stepping Stones: "Showmanship and Spectacle"

Song: Sister Morphine

Album: Sticky Fingers

Released: April, 1971

A while back, longtime friend Kurt asked me, if I could choose a singular event to have been at over our lifetimes, which one would it have been?  Kurt should have said “sporting event”, which was his real intention with the question.  He had in mind big sports moments:  Bobby Orr’s OT Stanley Cup winning goal in 1970; Carleton Fisk’s foul-pole homer vs. the Big Red Machine in 1975; the Patriots “squishing the fish” in 1986; Larry Bird stealing the ball against the Detroit Pistons in 1987 (note: this question was posed before the great Boston sports moments of this past decade).

Since Kurt’s question was not specific enough, though, my thoughts went elsewhere:  More specifically, the music world.  I believe my responses included the Beatles at the Cavern Club in 1962; Woodstock in 1969; the Who “Live at Leeds” in 1970; the Watkins Glen Festival in 1973; Bob Dylan on his Rolling Thunder Revue tour in 1975; and Neil Young’s Rust Never Sleeps tour in 1976.  Kurt looked at me for a moment a bit quizzically, and then finally stated something along the lines of “good answer”.

Given a great sport event and a great concert event, I’ll choose the concert every time.  I’ve gone to my fair share of tremendous shows over the years, and wrote about some of the best several years back for Gem Music Video of the Week # 83 (“Night School”).  The song for that Gem entry was Memory Motel by the Rolling Stones (one of two Gem Videos featuring songs by the Stones).  The theme was great concerts, with a focus on large stadium shows.  And when it comes to the big stage, the Stones have mastered it better than anyone. 

So, having discussed the broad brush topic already, I’ll instead zero in here and relive a great concert moment.  I define a great concert moment as a transitional stretch in a concert, when the event evolves from solid show to Spectacle. These are the moments you always hope to see but rarely do.  In sports, they usually come at the end of a game, as did Bobby’s goal, Larry’s steal and Carleton Fisk’s homerun.  Not so with a concert moment.  These are much more unpredictable as to when they will happen.  I’ve seen a few that have had a lasting impact, and I hope to write about them all at one time or another. 

Here’s the first.

In October, 1997, the Rolling Stones arrived in Foxboro, Massachusetts (the old Foxboro Stadium) on their Bridges to Babylon Tour.  This was the tour that included a smaller “B”-stage near the center of the stadium, which core members of the band (sans support musicians) would hike out to about half way through the show to perform 3-4 songs (the Stones gained access to the smaller stage via a 150 foot long cantilever bridge, which extended out over the crowd, and contracted back after the mini-set was over). 

Brother Pat, Brother-in-law, Paul, and I attended that misty fall evening.  Sheryl Crow opened with a nice set.  The Stones then emerged in typical explosive fashion:  Keith Richards leading the band out to the stage through a burst of fireworks, playing the opening rifts to Satisfaction. This was followed by 3 more songs under bright lights (reviewing the set list on line, these songs included It’s Only Rock n’ Roll, Let’s Spend the Night Together and Flip the Switch).  Often it takes a while for a band to get it’s rhythm down, but on this night the Stones were already in fine form, and most of us in attendance sensed it. 

They could have kept it at cruise control from here, but the Stones then decided to up the ante, as it was at this point where a solid show began to transition into a Spectacle.  It started with Gimme Shelter, as the lights dimmed, and the stage began to take on a more eerie glow.  Many, including myself, were brought back to 1969, violence in the streets at home, and war overseas in Vietnam:

“Oh, a storm is threat’ning

My very life today

If I don’t get some shelter

Oh, yeah, I’m gonna fade away”

I recall being amazed at how closely Lisa Fishser’s backing vocals resembled the original Merry Clayton recording:  “It’s just a shot away.  It’s just a shot away”.  The crowd roared at the songs conclusion.  A new tone had been set for the evening.  Could they keep it up? 

The band then launched into Sister Morphine as the lights remained way low.  It was a song I had always hoped to hear live, but had never really expected.  Too deep of a cut and rarely played live, but here it was, the opening notes unmistakable.  Written in the same tumultuous period as Gimme Shelter, Sister Morphine (which is now recognized as having been co-written by Marianne Faithfull) has an ominous feel to it, the lyrics describing the protagonist on a hospital deathbed and in an altered state, ambulance sirens still ringing in the victim’s ears from the tragedy that lead to this moment:

“Here I lie in my hospital bed
Tell me, sister morphine, when are you coming round again?
Oh, I don't think I can wait that long
Oh, you see that I’m not that strong”

Then after several more verses (including the classic line “Why does the doctor have no face”), the guitar bridge kicked in:  The bottleneck guitar bridge that is.  Could Woody pull it off, since it had originally been played on the studio version by Ry Cooder?  No problem there.  It was a perfect rendition.  In fact, the entire song up to this point had been a perfect rendition of the studio album.  The atmosphere was thick.  You could hear a pin drop between notes.  But the intensity level had not peaked just yet.  At the tail end of the bottleneck guitar bridge, Charlie Watts kicked in perfectly with the drum beat that sent the song into overdrive (2:41 of the attached video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gtz8qZz6s8s ). 

This is when Mick Jagger took over, while taking on the appearance of a much younger version of his self.

With all 60,000 or so pairs of eyes now fixed on him, Jagger slowly turned and glided in our direction.  He then looked directly at us in a way that a hypnotist would look when putting his patient under a spell.  But instead of saying “watch the crystal ball”, the master performer of his time uttered the next set of lines in the familiar lower octave previously heard verbatim on the studio version of the song:

“Well it just goes to showwwwwwww

Things are not what they seeeeeeeeeem

Tell me, Sister Morphine

Turn my nightmares into dreams

Oh, can’t you see I’m fading fast

And that this shot…… will be my laaaaaaaaaaaaast”

It was bone chilling.  It was jaw dropping.  

The Spectacle was complete.

The rest of the show was brilliant (including a magnificent rendition of 19^th Nervous Breakdown, and of course the B-stage set).  But it was all icing on a cake that had already been perfectly baked 6 songs in. 

What is it about Spectacle that has such a powerful effect throughout life?  Is it a connection to childhood fascination, be it a long-ago visit to a circus, zoo, or carnival (Jolly Chollys!); or the faded memory of what it felt like to first successfully build a complex model or puzzle; or an early exploration into the woods with your Dad?  Whatever it is, it’s amazing when it all comes sweeping back.  Hey, there’s nothing wrong with feeling like a kid again.  I think we all strive for it whether we acknowledge it or not.

“Sticky Fingers” is my favorite Rolling Stones album.  It’s loaded with Stepping Stones, including the 3 extremely diverse atmospheric songs that close the album (starting with Sister Morphine).  I hope to get to all the others at one time or another.

Epilogue:  After writing the meat of this Stepping Stone Wednesday evening (the Sister Morphine concert experience), I pulled out Keith Richards’ book “Life” one last time, since I could not keep my eyes open to finish the concluding pages the nite before.  At the very end of the story, Keith talks about the passing of his Mom, Doris, several years back and how he spent time at her bedside playing some of the earliest songs he learned on the guitar (including “Malaguena”) while still living with her.  Between songs, Keith asks his Mom how she’s doing.  One of the last things she says to him: “This morphine’s not bad”.

I’ll be talking more about “Life” next week.

Until then