When I first read–sometime in either 2020 or 2021–that the Stones were working on a NEW studio album there was worst-wonderment. How can that be, I thought. Of all the elite geriatric rockers which of them needs to bring a NEW studio album? How bout re-record something? Cover something Jazzy? Tour with someone younger?
The thing is, dear worst-reader, I‘ve paid twice in the last twenty years to see the Stones. I would pay again to see them in wheelchairs. Oh what a sucker I am for a live version of Sympathy For The Devil. Then I thought. How the heck can they bring a NEW album in the middle of covid? Turns out a NEW studio album wasn’t cut short by covid but instead by the loss of Charlie Watts. Sadness there, eh. Besides. Considering their chemical induced history, covid had nothing to offer these old guys.
Charlie Watts was the glue of The Rolling Stones, dear worst-reader. The utility of the Stones is Keith and, perhaps, Wood. Oh how I love Keith‘s guitar style. His ability to be clinically yet rhythmically late (or is it early) has mesmerised worst-moi for decades. Sometimes I listen to them to hear his uniqueness. Which brings me to the aesthetics of this band.
I remember when I was kid in the 70s and listening to the Stones for the first time, which wasn‘t easy by-the-buy on account I wasn‘t allowed to listen to that type of music. With that in mind, I managed to get my hands on a battery powered RadioShack radio that had FM. That‘s right, dear worst-reader. My previous portable radio at the time had AM. Both were small and portable enough to hide from the parental powers-that-be, don’t you know. But FM was/is the bomb. Anywho. I would sneak away into the woods behind my parent’s house and tune into any rock radio station I could receive. There were two or three stations where I could get good reception but only one of them would play what I wanted to hear. Blasphemous, vile, vulgar… rock music.
I have no memory of what the first Stones song is that I heard. There is only the memory of listening to an interview with Mick Jagger when I was eleven or twelve. After the interview was over the station probably played Brown Sugar or Angie or whatever. But here‘s the thing, dear worst-reader. Having grown up with a German accented mother and precariously religious stepfather I couldn’t help but wonder how the heck does Mick Jagger have such a heavy British accent when being interviewed but when he sings he sounds almost American and the song I loved (still love) the most is about the devil? Ok. As frivolous as that worst-thought is, or before having to get-on with explaining Mockney or the ills of #Americant albeit misplaced religious vehemence, let‘s get on with this worst-post.
Hackney Diamonds has been in my ears almost every day since its release. I haven‘t listened to a new album like that since Midnight Sun (GOASTT) a few years back. And. Although at a day or three before turning sixty and having come to terms with rediscovering Bowie in my early forties–the most played album I‘ve ever put in my ears is Reality–I’m tickled to death that Hackney Diamonds has stirred me. With that in worst-mind, I don‘t usually get attached to music anymore. Reason? Most music these days, more than ever before, is too produced, manufactured, formatted, etc. But let me not get too far off subject.
Hackney Diamonds is f’n brilliant. The reason I say that isn’t so much due to the Stones ability to make music. That’s a given. I say it because, well, holy krapp, these guys are f’n old. How did they pull this off? In fact, right after hearing Angry, that was an early release of the album, I happened across a internet vid of Robert Plant singing, live, Stairway To Heaven for the first time in seventeen years. What struck me about this unexpected but welcome comparison, especially after I was able to ear Hackney Diamnd in full, was the fact that Plant can’t bring it anymore with a song like Stairway To Heaven. Don’t get me wrong. I have been listening to Plant for decades post Led Zepplin. Mighty ReArranger is, on my list of lists, as one of the top five all-time greatest rock albums. That said–again. Plant can’t bring it like he once could. But you know who can bring it–like he once could? Mick f’n Jagger. Holy krapp!
Hackney Diamonds brought this old rocker to tears–twice. The first tears started with Live By The Sword. What a behind the wheel of a ’73 Nova kinda song it is. The second tears came with The Sweet Sound Of Heaven. OMG, dear worst-reader. I haven’t heard an epic blues, rock, soul, gospel song like that since One or Pride In The Name Of Love (U2), Candy (Iggy), Hereos (Bowie), in years–it’s that f’n good. Oh! What I would give to hear the Stones play it live in Madison Square Garden with an orchestra. Yeah. I would give The Big Lebowski one of my toes to hear it live.
By-the buy. The album ends with a cover of Muddy Waters. The song sung, according to Mick and that interview I heard forty-five years ago, contains lyrics that gave the Rolling Stones their name.
Rant on.
-T
worstwriter 