Shine a Light by The Rolling Stones
Over the course of their nearly 45-year recording career, the Rolling Stones have released eight official live albums and five theatrical feature films. Add to that the many live home video releases (including two four-disc box sets of latter-day tours) along with countless unofficial live releases, and there's simply an avalanche of live Rolling Stones material out on the market -- so how does 2008's Shine a Light stand apart from the pack? That's simple: it is a prestige project, thanks to the collaboration of director Martin Scorsese. The very presence of the Academy Award-winning director, who has mined many memorable movie moments from the Stones (often involving "Gimme Shelter," which is conspicuous in its absence from this film and soundtrack), elevates Shine a Light far above the status of just another concert film. But Scorsese isn't merely just the director -- he's part of the film and the soundtrack, turning himself into a cheerful caricature of his quick-talking reputation, reminding the audience that's he's part of this project (he also gets co-billing on the cover and spine of the CD!). And by sending himself up, he helps to build the band up, showing that he's powerless to compete with the force of the Stones and thereby illustrating that they're still a rock & roll force. To a large extent, the music on Shine a Light confirms this to be true, proving that the band retains a remarkable alchemy that has deepened over the years. It's useless to compare Shine a Light to such early landmarks as Get Yer Ya-Ya's Out!, as this is a different band than the roving band of marauders from 1969. This is a band that has, in Keith Richards' estimation, turned into a rock & roll equivalent of the Duke Ellington or Count Basie orchestras, players that keep on playing because that's what they do. Shine a Light bears this out, as the group has an easy interplay that avoids being lazy, even on the worn-out warhorses that close the album. There's not much that the group can do to make "Brown Sugar," "Start Me Up," or "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" (one of seven songs only available on the soundtrack's double-disc edition, which contains every song used in the film) new, but they hardly go through the motions on them; they do tight, muscular versions, versions that hardly sound like the work of 60-year-olds. But the real reason to get Shine a Light is to hear the band tighten up the rhythms on "All Down the Line" and then do the opposite with "Tumbling Dice," turning it into something that's looser than the original, and it's also great to hear them find a groove so smoothly funky on "Just My Imagination" that they top their original 1978 studio version. the Stones seem especially invigorated by playing with guests, letting Jack White indulge in some Gram Parsons fantasies on a good version of "Loving Cup," playing some tough, authentic Chicago blues with Buddy Guy on "Champagne & Reefer," and surprisingly getting a ferocious performance from Christina Aguilera, who navigates Mick's complicated, nasty lyrics with ease in "Live with Me." These may not be major moments but they are minor pleasures, and they're the reason why it's all right to add a ninth live album to the Rolling Stones' bulging live discography.
Part of loving 1976’s <i>Black and Blue</i>—and there’s a lot to love—is letting go of what you expect from The Rolling Stones. They were still a rock band, if rock was what you wanted: “Hand of Fate” could’ve been on <i>Beggars Banquet</i> and “Crazy Mama” on <i>Exile on Main St.</i> But where <i>Goats Head Soup</i> and <i>It’s Only Rock ’n’ Roll</i> worked to keep continuity with the sound they developed in the late ’60s, <i>Black and Blue</i> didn’t bother trying.<br /> Jagger had moved to New York and fallen in love with funk and disco (“Hot Stuff”, “Hey Negrita”); Keith Richards with reggae (“Cherry Oh Baby”). Mick Taylor left the band and Ron Wood joined, stripping out the guitar solos and moving back towards pure rhythm. The songs were short, the grooves were long, and the performances—Jaggers’s, especially—combined sex and humour in ways they never had before. That “Hot Stuff” was the band’s first song to make the R&B charts since “19th Nervous Breakdown” 10 years earlier made sense: Not since their early albums had they sounded so connected to Black music, or so joyfully indebted to it.<br /> The critic Lester Bangs called it the “first meaningless Rolling Stones album”. An insult, of course—but it could’ve just as well been a compliment. After the relentless significance of the band’s late-’60s and early-’70s run—the politics, the violence, the cultural referenda—<i>Black and Blue</i> felt like a liberation, like fresh air. They sounded funny, weird and alive. And when they downshifted for the ballads (“Memory Motel” and the classic “Fool to Cry”), they did so with a softness that penetrated deeper than any heavy-handed approach might.
