Had it appeared at any other time, ‘Sticky Fingers‘ the ninth set from the most celebrated rock band on the planet, would have easily secured ‘best album of the year‘ laurels – duly following on from the Rolling Stones securing end of term accolades with their two prior studio releases ‘Beggars Banquet‘ (1968) and ‘Let it Bleed‘ (1969) in those particular years.
But on being released in 1971, ‘Sticky Fingers‘ found itself a masterpiece among many during the most extraordinary 12 months rock music had so far witnessed – titles such as ‘What’s Going On‘ (Marvin Gaye), ‘Blue‘ (Joni Mitchell), ‘Who’s Next‘ (The Who), ‘Every Picture Tells a Story‘ (Rod Stewart) and ‘Tapestry‘ (Carole King), not just vying for pole position in that year, but soon fueling discussions in regard to the greatest album ever made.
Determining which was the superior among this remarkable clutch of records often came down to a hairs breath, but nevertheless the Stones had completed their own brilliant hat-trick – ‘Sticky Fingers‘ was assured, accomplished and arrived with so much attitude and antagonism, no other rock act could have carried off an album bearing that level of panache and self-assurance.
In climbing to number one on the British and U.S. charts it amassed huge sales, helped in no small way by ‘Brown Sugar‘ becoming a worldwide hit single. Indeed, on the face of it the group were in redoubtable form, yet away from the concert stage and recording studio things had suddenly become less certain, their immediate prospects thrown into confusion on receiving a hefty bill from the taxman in their U.K. homeland.
In response they decamped to the South of France in order to escape demands of the Inland Revenue, the Rolling Stones, already renowned for their high living and hedonistic ways, opting for tax exile status.
The decision was taken mainly at the behest of charismatic 28-year-old front man/vocalist Mick Jagger and languid guitarist Keith Richards (29), whose wealth from their partnership as songwriters was far higher than that of drummer Charlie Watts (30) and bassist Bill Wyman (35) – neither of whom, were struck on the idea of moving to the continent.
Also in the content-to-stay-put camp was guitarist Mick Taylor (23), who was barely into his third year as fully-fledged Stone (having replaced Brian Jones in 1969, founder member Jones drowning in a swimming pool accident six weeks later), Taylor having not yet accumulated sufficient earning for top tax bracket status anyway.
But misgivings among members of the cast is almost a side issue in the mythology that would come to surround their next album. At a villa rented by Richards named Nellcote overlooking the Mediterranean on the Cote d’Azur, they began cutting a record that would become a by-word from decadence and jet-set debauchery.
Yet the ensuing 18-track double-set ‘EXILE ON MAIN ST.‘ (May 1972) also stands as a work of breathtaking magnificence and despite a scarcely believable backstory, the triumph is so fulsome it extended their purple patch to a fourth monumental release on the trot – the Rolling Stones thus establishing the most essential four-album run popular music has ever produced.
As absorbing as most of the tracks are, there is almost as much enthrallment to be found in exploring the shadowland between the myths and actual mechanics of the four sides. Nellcote without question was haven of hedonism, the drink and drug excesses having an effect on most who crossed the threshold, Watts, Wyman and Jagger (who in May 1971 had married first wife, Nicaraguan-born fashion model Bianca Pérez-Mora Macías, in nearby Saint-Tropez), all finding alternative accommodation, due to the high level of licentiousness.
Those who remained ensconced, Richards, partner Anita Pallenberg, long-time Stones producer Jimmy Miller, guitarist Mick Taylor, engineer Andy Johns, saxophonist Bobby Keys, house guest and former Flying Burrito Brother Gram Parsons were all no strangers to substance abuse – the intake of Richards a determining factor in when recording could proceed.
In other words when Keith was awake, or at least compos enough to play, the tapes would roll.
There was also the issue of capturing the music being put down, which for those involved meant trooping down to the basement in order to play, the space so confined a mobile studio was parked outside and connected by countless cables. When it was discovered Nellcote had insufficient power supply for the task in hand, it has been alleged electricity was sourced from the generator at a nearby railway station, the French National Railway Company apparently unaware of the service they were providing.
As it transpired roughly half of the album was recorded at their rumbustious Riviera retreat, the eight or nine songs to have origins at the location cut during an early autumn heatwave in 1971. The sauna-like conditions of the Nellcote cellar infuse the material captured on the premises, the sound and feel so atmospheric it requires no great leap of imagination to see sweat running down the walls when tracks such as ”Rocks Off‘, ‘Rip This Joint’ ‘Happy‘, ‘Ventilator Blues‘ and ‘Soul Survivors‘ burst forth into your living room.
Such is an imagined scenario. In truth, however, Nellcote only forms part of the narrative. The actual scope of ‘Exile on Main St.‘ reaches back to late-60s sessions at Stargroves, the country pile of Mick Jagger, activity at Olympic Studios London during the summer of 1970, then forward to Sunset Sound, Los Angeles in the spring of 1972, where finishing touches were applied, mainly by Jagger with support from an array of sessioneers and backing vocalists.
But no matter from where the content emanates, the broad sweep, stretching from country to R & B, through to gospel and delta blues, still remains – the four sides of ‘Exile on Main St.’ containing some of the most diverse, not to say daring rock music ever produced.
Legend has it as the riotous record Richards created during notorious days and nights at Nellcote, yet there is an equal case to be made in regarding ‘Exile’ as a Jagger-made creation in L.A. – the whole a dazzling proposition from either perspective.
The clanging electric guitars and glorious shunt from the drums (Watts, when he appears, in majestic form throughout), that announce opening track ‘Rocks Off‘ set out the stall for the uptempo tracks that ensue. The band, augmented by blaring horns and sprightly piano work of Nicky Hopkins, are as emphatic in purpose as Jagger sounds in delivering a lyric that reflects upon how little peace of mind there is during waking hours (‘I only get my rocks off while I’m sleeping’), his restlessness at life on the French Riviera best summed up in the couplet:
‘The sunshine bores the daylights out of me/Chasing shadows moonlight mystery.’
Through an uproarious first side the pace barely slackens, the breathless ‘Rip This Joint’ serving as the most boisterous performance they have ever generated for an album cut. Ruminating on issues with customs officials at airports in Southern states during a U.S. tour (‘Wham, bam, Birmingham/Alabama don’t give a damn/Little Rock fit to drop’), the fast-as-you-like freneticism reminiscent of late ’50s rock and roll.
One moment the Stones are evoking Little Richard but in the next cook up a tasty run through of ‘Shake Your Hips‘ by now deceased Louisiana bluesman Slim Harpo, the piece made even more effective by the vocal and guitars being answered by the sax breaks of Keys.
By his own admission the lyrics to ‘Casino Boogie’ are an abstract affair, Jagger later admitting to coming up with a selection of random phrases (some vague, others sexually explicit), to fit a swinging blues vibe conjured by Richards. Decoration comes in the form of gritty saxophone blasts and expressive slide guitar from Taylor, the track while cut in Los Angeles not without lyrical reference to time spent at Nellcote, Mick making no secret of his pleasure on a visit to Cannes………
Originally attempted as a track named ‘Good Time Women‘ at the ‘Sticky Fingers‘ rehearsals the previous year, in revisiting the track Jagger revised the words to formulate the shuffle-along splendour of ‘Tumbling Dice.’
Depicting the fortunes of a promiscuous gambler (‘It’s about gambling and love, two old blues themes‘ he later reflected), it captures the band at their most louche – most of them anyway, Taylor filling in on bass for the absent Wyman along with contributing some striking lead guitar work.
With Clydie King doing a stellar turn on backing vocals, the Stones manage to sound rumbustious and relaxed at the same time. Amid the wins and losses of the main character (‘Honey, got no money/I’m all sixes and sevens and nines/Say now, baby, I’m the rank outsider/You can be my partner in crime‘), ‘Tumbling Dice‘ becomes the ultimate celebration of where the Rolling Stones stood two years into the 1970s.
In simple terms, despite the tax, drugs and inter-personnel issues, when it came to the nitty-gritty of producing fundamentally great rock music, they still did things that were superior to what anybody else was doing – the track, when released as a single, becoming a hit on both sides of the Atlantic.
Side two opener ‘Sweet Virginia‘ reflected the influence of country rock pioneer Gram Parsons, who through his friendship with Richards spent a month at Nellcote (a consequence of which was a heroin habit he would never fully overcome, leading to his death at the age of just 26 in September 1973).
This evocative, melancholic song that by way of sad irony charts the descent of a young man into drug use (‘Tryin’ to stop the waves behind your eyeballs/Drop your reds, drop your greens and blues’), first saw the light of day at the 1970 Olympic Studio dates, was resurrected at Nellcote, where Parsons made an uncredited appearance as a background singer.
The plaintive harmonica work from Jagger, ringing acoustic guitars and honky-tonk styled piano (played with great aplomb by ‘sixth’ Stone Ian Stewart), accentuate the atmosphere of the old west. The piece receives an intriguing twist when the sax lines of Keys moves it close to country swing, this superb ensemble effort rounded off with support vocals giving the impression they were recorded around a camp fire.
There is plenty to suggest Richards took his lead from Parsons with the melody for ‘Torn and Frayed‘ for which Jagger pens a wistful lyric depicting an overlooked musician (possibly Parsons, due to his now defunct Flying Burrito Brothers troupe having gained critical acclaim but no long-term chart success), who is now reduced to playing dives:
‘Well the ballrooms and smelly bordellos/And dressing rooms filled with parasites/On stage the band has got problems/They’re a bag of nerves on first nights.‘
The track takes on greater resonance when the protagonist is revealed to be in the grip of addictions, (‘Doctor prescribes, drug store supplies/Who’s gonna help him to kick it?), the country inflections re-enforced by smart pedal steel work from top-notch picker Al Perkins, currently a member of Manassas, an acclaimed outfit fronted by Stephen Stills. When the Stones assembled at Sunset Sound in December 1971, it has been alleged Jagger declared Parsons (for whom Richards had reportedly agreed to produce a solo album), persona non grata at the studio door, this to avoid Keith having more pharmaceutical distraction than he already had.
Jagger keeps the harmonica to hand for ‘Sweet Black Angel‘ a sincere tribute to civil rights activist Angela Davis who at the time was imprisoned pending a trial for firearm offences and conspiracy to murder allegations, Davis (28) subsequently found not guilty on all charges.
While the music has a gentle calypso lilt, the lyrics show Jagger has been suitably roused to make a rare foray into the world of politics, (‘She’s a sweet black angel/Not a gun toting teacher/Not a Red lovin’ school mom/Ain’t someone gonna free her‘), all parties served well by the sentiment, acoustic guitar interplay and subtle percussion.
Recognised for the most part as a Richards composition, to which Jagger donated a couple of lines for the lyric, ‘Loving Cup‘, under the title ‘Pour Me a Drink’, had first been aired at the 1969 ‘Let it Bleed‘ sessions.
With the framework provided by typically fluent piano chords from Hopkins, the words are an ode to the redemptive power of love, Richards baring his soul by virtue of a stirring Jagger vocal:
‘I feel so humble with you tonight/Just sitting in front of the fire/See your face dancing in the flame/Feel your mouth kissing me again.’
While room is found for Miller to add percussion there is no role here or on side three opener ‘Happy‘ for Taylor. On the latter he is not alone in absentia, the circumstances of which typified the unstructured nature of work undertaken at Nellcote, which as a general rule meant operating in a state of chaos or spontaneity – although in this case both applied.
Having written himself a lyrical memo in regard to finding sustenance through love rather than material possessions, (‘Never want to be like papa/Working for the boss ev’ry night and day/I need a love to keep me happy’), Richards apparently took the unusual step of appearing downstairs before midday, only to find the villa empty – Wyman and Watts rumoured to have arrived mid-morning only to leave again after an inactive hour spent waiting on their own.
On summoning up Keys and Miller, Richards caroled them down into the basement where they cut the basic track – Miller (drums) Keys (baritone sax), Richards (acoustic guitar and vocal) – that received only slight embellishment from Jagger at the final mixing stage in Los Angeles.
An engaging slice of country-pop ‘Happy‘ (released as the second single from the album, although to only moderate success), it is tempting to suggest, showed they could muster magic out of mayhem – or as Richards himself reflected:
‘At noon it was an idea and by four o’clock the basic track was down on tape – simple as that.’
The working day ambience of Nellcote comes to the fore on ‘Ventilator Blues‘. The claustrophobic circumstances of the cellar are encapsulated in a sweaty guitar riff by Taylor, who for the only time in his five year tenure as a Rolling Stone receives a co-write credit, persistence that he was due several more cited when time came for him to leave two years later. Jagger meanwhile comes up with a suitably feverish lyric, (‘Ain’t nobody slowing down no way/Everybody’s stepping on their accelerator/Don’t matter where you are/Everybody’s gonna need a ventilator‘), in capturing the hothouse humidity.
If ‘Ventilator Blues‘ could be deemed a shade over long in giving way to repetition, then the track that precedes it ‘Turd on the Run‘ could have been flushed out, so to speak, by another 60 seconds.
Some scathing remarks (‘Grabbed hold of your coat tail but it come off in my hand/I reached for your lapel but it weren’t sewn on so grand/Begged, promised anything if only you would stay/Well, I lost a lot of love over you’), directed at a woman who has wronged him are wrapped in a rowdy showcase. Between barbed comments Mick weighs in with some shrill harmonica blasts, the track while excellent as a frantic thrash taking no chances with outstaying its welcome.
Arising from a Nellcote jam between Taylor (playing bass) and Watts – neither of whom receive a writing credit – the funk motifs of ‘I Just Want To See His Face‘ were expanded in L.A. with input from Richards (electric piano) and Eric Clapton sideman Bobby Whitlock (piano).
Infused with gospel harmonies, the protagonist seeks spiritual guidance which is closer to hand than he may have realised, (‘Sometimes you feel like trouble/Sometimes you feel down/Let this music relax your mind‘). This resonant track, that apparently underwent several changes in structure on the journey from the South of France to Southern California, is that rarest of rock artefacts being a Rolling Stones song without a guitar lick, Taylor performing the role of bassist with Keith contenting himself on keyboards.
At almost five and a half minutes, making it the longest cut on the album, side three closer ‘Let it Loose’ finds the narrator offering cautionary words to a friend embroiled in a relationship others view to be doomed.
Generally acknowledged as a Richards composition, (which raised suspicion it was about Bianca), the Stones present themselves as a soul revue (and top notch one at that), the horns used sparingly as out front Mick conveys a series of concerns:
‘Who’s that woman on your arm/All dressed up to do you harm?/And I’m hip to what she’ll do/Give her just about a month or two.’
Not that further proof was required, but the deft, yet expressive piano work of Hopkins reaffirmed why he was the most sought after keyboard player in the business (twice turning down overtures to work exclusively for the Stones), instrument and voice combining to superb effect for the rueful line, ‘Bit off more than I can chew/And I knew yeah, I know what it was leading to.’
Built upon a riff Richards first put forward at the time of recording ‘Let it Bleed’, parts of which were then used in ‘Brown Sugar’, Jagger uses railroad imagery in ‘All Down the Line‘ (‘We’re gonna open up the throttle yeah/(All down the line)/We’re gonna bust another bottle, yeah/I need a shot of salvation/Once, in a while/Hear the whistle blowing/Hear it for a thousand miles‘), as a metaphor for a life being lived at speed.
Through an exuberant piece where the horns blare out and Hopkins adapts his style to play in frantic fashion, this and closing track ‘Soul Survivor’ represent authentic early-70s Rolling Stones rock. The sound at this point was totally unfiltered, the purity becoming diluted as the years unfolded not only by their countless imitators but the chief instigators themselves – the Stones not slow to revisit this territory at regular intervals thereafter.
Side four also comprises of an agreeable cover of the late-1930s Robert Johnson song, ‘Stop Breaking Down‘ the blues connotations emphasised by the shrill harmonica of Jagger, who in the absence of Richards also exchanges guitar lines with Taylor. Neither are they at a full complement on the magnificent ‘Shine A Light’, the only Stones to appear on this moving eulogy to deceased, former comrade Jones being Taylor (bass/guitars) and Jagger (vocals).
Previously attempted as a track entitled ‘Cant’ Get a Line on You’ in the weeks after Brian’s death almost three years before, in returning to the song when recording at Sunset Sound, Jagger enlisted Billy Preston for the keyboard work. Absorbing his background in gospel music into a deeply poignant hymn-like tribute, the soaring harmony vocals add to the emotional gravitas.
For all his on-stage posturing, Jagger has few equals when it comes to projecting a heartfelt lyric, memories of his former bandmate eloquently expressed and delivered:
‘Saw you stretched out in Room Ten O Nine/With a smile on your face and a tear right in your eye/Oh, couldn’t see to get a line on you.’
With Miller keeping the drum work uncomplicated, the way is left for Mick, his vocal support and Preston to carry things home, Jones the subject of a plea to on high:
‘May the good Lord shine a light on you/Make every song (you sing) your favorite tune/May the good Lord shine a light on you/Warm like the evening sun.’
On release ‘Exile on Main St.’ quickly established itself as a best-seller in topping the U.K. and U.S. charts, but for an album held in such contemporary reverence (14th on the 2020 Rolling Stone list of the 500 Greatest Albums of All Time, a drop of seven places from its 2010 position), the initial reaction was decidedly mixed.
In London, Melody Maker were of the opinion ‘(It) gives the distinct impression they are anxious to align themselves with the no-nonsense approach of younger bands,’ although Sounds (‘The Stones are satisfying their own egos’), were far less complimentary.
Stateside notices were also of a conflicting nature, noted New York rock scribe Robert Christgau declared it a ‘masterpiece‘ and bestowed an unprecedented A+ mark on his renowned A-D rating system, although Rolling Stone were slightly less enthusiastic in their appraisal:
‘Too much of ‘Exile’ is simply forgettable, though the best of what’s there is essential Stones music, which is rock at its most essential.’
So in essence, who were these fugitive figures responsible for this occasionally scurrilous, often sardonic work of wonder?
Were they bourgeois buccaneers fleeing their tax obligations? Or were they merely giving authority the finger? Did it even matter when they could reach such peaks as ‘Tumbling Dice‘ ‘Happy‘, ‘Loving Cup‘ or ‘Shine a Light‘.
The last truly great Rolling Stones album, ‘Exile on Main St.’ was also the last record of its kind – nobody since having the sheer bloody-mindedness to create so much glory out of such chaotic, behind the scenes fragmentation. Beyond 1972 they would go on to make several worthwhile albums where even the least likeable included a couple of affirming tracks, but never again would the Stones sound quite so intense or as willing to take chances in the quest to be vital and exciting.
After ‘Exile on Main St.’ it was, simply, only rock and roll.
ROLLING STONES – EXILE ON MAIN ST. (Released 12 May 1972):
Rocks off/Rip This Joint/Shake Your Hips/Casino Boogie/Tumbling Dice/Sweet Virginia/Torn and Frayed/Sweet Black Angel/Loving Cup/Happy/Turd on the Run/Ventilator Blues/I Just Want to See His Face/Let It Loose/All Down the Line/Stop Breaking Down/Shine a Light/Soul Survivor;
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