Upon casual listening, a magnificent spontaneity seems to permeate The Rolling Stones’ Exile on Main Street (released 5/12/72). A closer perusal of the sixty-seven some minutes, however, reveals an unnerving sense of psychic dislocation. But then, that’s not in the least surprising given the circumstances of the album’s recording: although began in 1969, most of the work took place outside the iconic group’s native England. The imposition of burdensome tax laws prompted the group’s move to France in 1971 and an impending tour commitment compelled vocals and overdubs completed in the United States late that year and early next. Yet, as a direct result of their disenfranchisement, the double album is arguably the Rolling Stones’ most personal work.
This is despite the fact the performances are generally superior to the material. Without a truly great composition like “Gimme Shelter” among the sixteen Jagger/Richards originals–”Stop Breaking Down” and “Shake Your Hips” are covers—the group traded the erratic nature of latter-day records Beggars’ Banquet and Let It Bleed for a more homogeneous but nonetheless authentic mix of material exhibiting their primary musical influences including soul, R&B, gospel and country. In addition, there is no grand finale as distinguished by those previous two long-players: the former’s “Salt of the Earth” or the latter’s “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” (both of which are eclipsed by the lush production applied to one of Jagger/Richards’ finest ballads, “Moonlight Mile” on the prior LP Sticky Fingers).
As an explosive opening though,”Rocks Off,” approaches classic status. The rousing kickoff to a string of arresting performances also earmarked by the high-velocity and partially tongue-in-cheek travelogue called “Rip This Joint,’ the close of that run, “Tumbling Dice,” also just misses universal profundity. Other cuts over the course of the album also come close to that hallowed classification, but even as “Soul Survivor” and “Loving Cup” ultimately miss truly stellar level–albeit just barely–they do otherwise reaffirm how consistent this collection is.
Although Jagger was careful to postulate the intended dynamics of the four sides of the album (as it was originally issued), there’s little question that the remainder of this set planes off almost imperceptibly. Still, there are inescapable high points in the form of the ensemble playing on “Stop Breaking Down” and “Loving Cup;” the latter in particular highlights the rippling piano of the late Nicky Hopkins plus the salty braying of trumpet and saxophone by Jim Price and the late Bobby Keys respectively.
In the end, the general uniformity of mood throughout Exile on Main Street may be its greatest strength. It’s best described as a pervasive sense of disoriented ennui, well-summarized in the song title “Torn and Frayed” or, even more to the point, when Mick early on yawps ‘…the sunshine bores the daylights out of me…’. Likewise, the assemblage of a melange of black and white images on its cover (and the postcards within the package) is a reflection of a cloudy audio quality where neither vocal or instrumental tracks receive the fully present clarity necessary to drive home the points of the songs.
As with the expanded reissue of 1978’s Some Girls, the remastering of the 2010 expanded remaster sharpens the sound only so much. In this particular case, though, that’s ideal. The mix suits the murky point(s) of view as expressed in the garbled vocals on “I Just Wanna See His Face” and “Ventilator Blues,” while the rhythm section of (now late) drummer Charlie Watts and bassist Bill Wyman has never been felt more firmly–rather than actually literally heard–even if it’s only at a subliminal level.
The knotty guitar interactions of Keith Richards and Mick Taylor may be the greatest influence of the blues here. Just as the former ratified his status as a rhythm guitarist nonpareil—he is the pivot point of the various ensembles captured on tape at all hours by the mobile recording set up in the south of France–so it’s also true the latter, once a Bluesbreaker of John Mayall’s, came into his own here; the earthy elegance of his playing, with and without slide, on numbers such as “Turd on the Run” is a natural extension of a great tradition.
Richards has never truly equaled or surpassed the gusto of his vocal performance on “Happy” (even for 1978’s “Before They Make Me Run”). Still, that aforementioned signature song of his is indicative of a celebratory undercurrent running through this music, a pervasive attitude the Stones uphold almost in defiance of the adversity they were encountering around this time. Certainly, that sense of liberation’s also redolent in the horns, where strains of R&B and jazz authenticate less-than-profound material such as “All Down The Line;” ironically, it’s those very instrumental motifs that certify this tenth Rolling Stones album as the logical culmination of their devotion to the blues as established by the band in its original quintet configuration (including the late Brian Jones).
The double CD reissue of Exile On Main Street only reaffirms the wisdom of the original song selection and tracklisting. Containing just over forty minutes of unreleased tracks and two outtakes, the bonus material might well have been more thought-provoking if it was wholly comprised of alternate versions in the form of “Loving Cup” and “Soul Survivor;.” While “Plundered My Soul” and “Dancing in the Light” have all the earmarks of this album as we now know it (by heart)–bluesy harp, nasty slide guitar, the angelic warble of female background vocals—they, like their counterparts but decidedly unlike the officially-released content, are lacking in both substance and cohesion.
The Rolling Stones staged a massive tour to nurture the commercial success of the album upon its initial release. While the high-profile jaunt represented something of deliverance for the group after the prolonged flurry of assiduously-focused activity, the result was also something of a restoration of their public profile after the Altamont debacle of 1969. All in all, The Rolling Stones’ seeming entrance into mainstream society garnered all the attention they could’ve hoped for, including extensive coverage in the counter-culture publication named (in part) for the band. And that’s not to mention more than a little exposure to high-profile hangers-on including author Truman Capote and Margaret Trudeau, then-spouse of then Canadian prime minister Pierre.
Still, in more pragmatic musical terms, no official live album was subsequently issued from the extensive road work in support of Exile On Main Street. The bootleg Philadelphia Special fills that bill to some extent, but more to the point is the movie comprised of footage from four shows filmed in Texas during the North American trek: Ladies and Gentlemen: The Rolling Stones captures the group in all it breathless, perspiration-soaked abandon (even if not in all the salacious glory of filmmaker Robert Frank’s unreleased documentary Cocksucker Blues). As such, it rivals if not supersedes The Last Waltz as the greatest of all such pieces of concert cinema.
In the same way, the five decades since its release have only further reaffirmed this deceptively revelatory effort as one of the landmark works of the Rolling Stones, if not the definitive one. It is, after all, the maturation point of the group’s absorbing and processing of their musical roots into a distinctive sound all their own. Thus, its ascension in stature over the course of time is wholly and completely deserved, so much so it is, along with Revolver, Highway 61 Revisited and Who’s Next, plus Layla And Other Assorted Love Songs, an absolutely essential entry in the most esteemed canon of contemporary rock.
