Shine a light. Well, it aint no euphemism.
At first I thought it was saved by Buddy Guy’s vocals, Richards’ face, Jagger’s gob iron (that means harmonica baby) and the rock steady, self effacing solidity of Charlie Watts combined with the amazing Woody. That’s Ronnie Wood of course, who, proves exactly why he was stolen from the Faces and given an offer that was probably impossible to refuse. That was aeons ago but he can certainly paint: with a guitar too. It’s a paintbrush of gargantuan proportions though with these fellers – they’ve been to the moon and back.
Bill Clinton introduces the band and a member of the crowd gives it the cigar treatment. It smacks of big-business but 45 odd years in any business has got to make it big. And initially seems a loose performance, a bunch of scruffy, ragamuffin, raven like millionaires; taking them back to Richmond in ’63 (my old man said they were terrible); suffering from the usual all-star guitar-jam over subscription and self indulgence as a dark circled Jack White is wheeled out for the ‘yoof’ (he was so incredible with Jeff Beck in London; though far less ‘Hackneyed’!). Oh yeah…what’s happening? It looks as though the hot chicks in the front 5 rows have been hired from Models One – by Bill Wyman, because he isn’t playing. But the backing band, including the stellar Bobby Keys are on form. I saw the Stones in 91? at Wembley and they blew the f**king sky clean off. The truth is it just gets better and better. Hotter and Hotter. Seeming far too well lit at the beginning, especially for a giant boudoir (is that a film thing?). Ron Wood sounds so damn good, especially on that reverse head Firebird and the old strat’ – it’s a slow burner of a gig and ultimately it’s still pretty f**king brilliant – despite being RUINED by a ridiculous audio mix that makes very little sense of Richards’ guitar, overexposing it in places. There isn’t much Guinness about which is odd, cause I met Ronnies’ driver in the nineties and he was made of that stuff…and more…
They’re a clever bunch, don’t ever think it was any other way dude, and they know exactly what they’re doing despite the swagger. These cats are too smart to die.
An absolutely stunning array of guitars, and clothes, are borne across the gig as an almost emaciated Sir Mick Jagger, ermine absconded in fear, but telecaster ahoy, preens, poses, perennial vanity perpetuate, prances and oscillates his way through the set: “You made the goat man cry” he wails. Poor Satan – he might have the best tunes but he can’t dance half as well Mick. He’s the xxxx ghost of Spike Milligan in Michael Jackson’s body.
Richards sings and it’s an ode to joy, hilarious but brilliant, beautiful too, in an almost self reflexive parody of decay, a carbon copy of my old man’s ancient south London bricklayer, just as comical, humble, track marks (I mean warts) and all, he delivers some stellar moments in rhythm guitar whilst smirking behind the evil twin. Thank God for Christina Aguilera – what an arse (ask Keith); apologies again, I meant voice.
But Jagger is great – the whole thing is all a bit tongue in cheek, and Keith even looks like he’s trying to remember which song he’s going to sing at one point, ‘cause strangely it ain’t “Happy”. He is however, amazing: like Max Miller, like Chaplin. They were once but they aren’t ordinary people anymore, these Rolling Stones.
I listened to it through a mono guitar amp which gave the whole thing a very honest, up close and dirty, directional sound, unlike it should sound in the cinema, as though Keith were right here in the room – you’ve got to wonder what the onstage monitor mix is really like.
The film should have really been called “Million Dollar Smile” because you can see it in their Faces: “I love this!” Richards seems to effortlessly convey, as he always does – and there goes another 500k or so. That’s what makes them Greatest Rock and Roll Band in the world, and the most downright real and honest. It’s great to see the Union Jack flying in the big Apple (“I hope THEY don’t get back together”) because understandably God might bless the Americas and although their greatest gift to the world was ‘the blues’ (not FREEDOM); he actually lives in the South East Surrey Delta.
And he owns a bloody great library.
The “extra” material is absolutely magnificent and it is worth seeing the film for this alone; I’m not a director – why is it an extra? Especially Paint it Black featuring Brian Jones’ ghost on guitar and Undercover of the Night. Rock the Hell On. Get the film out. Break out the vino, and rip a string off the tele’, but just don’t get yaself arrested in Toronto. Very Awesome and if you get to a chance to see them – go.
