Watts What

Ten times his beats beat them all, by Mark Blake.

Get Off Of My Cloud (SINGLE, 1965)

Watts marshals the rest of the Stones with a machine-gun snare fill. It suggests a conductor rat-a-tat tapping his baton on the music stand to get an orchestra’s attention. He’s an immovable force for the remainder of the song, the authority behind Jagger’s snotty command that we stop invading his space.

Paint It, Black (SINGLE, 1966)

The original mono single showcases the power on the Stones’ throne. Watts sounds like 10 bombs going off a split second apart in the intro. Galloping rolls and splashes drive this brilliantly bleak tale of mental anguish. Later live versions confirm that Charlie still played everyone else off the stage on this one.

Monkey Man (FROM LET IT BLEED, 1969)

You know he’s there, but he waits 20 seconds before his bass drum kicks the door in. Almost two minutes later, the song pulls back and Watts’s booming floor tom punctuates the guitar fills and Jagger’s vocal scatting, before heaving and pushing the whole thing over the finishing line.

Honky Tonk Women (FROM GET YER YA-YA’S OUT!, 1970)

Jagger delivers his tribute – “Charlie’s good tonight, innee” – before the Stones ease into their recent Number 1 hit at New York’s Madison Square Garden. Watts swings like a human metronome. Lips pursed inscrutably, newly-cultivated hippy hair dangling over his forehead, as reassuringly tight as the rest of the band are loose.

Can’t You Hear Me Knocking (FROM STICKY FINGERS, 1971)

The encapsulation of Watts’s unerring ability to combine heart and soul with robotic precision. Its freewheeling mid-section showcases Mick Taylor’s guitar and hired guns Rocky Dijon on congas and saxophonist Bobby Keys, but it’s Watts who grounds them all, swooping in at the denouement with a final controlled cymbal splash.

Rip This Joint (FROM EXILE ON MAIN ST., 1972)

From the Stones’ mythologically-decadent early ’70s, Rip This Joint flashes back to the previous decade. Recorded in a dank cellar at Keith Richards’ French riviera mansion, Watts’s rockabilly beat evokes their Crawdaddy Club days. He’s beyond reliable here: a stoic presence amid the chaos of ’70s Stones life.

Tumbling Dice (FROM EXILE ON MAIN ST., 1972)

Keith Richards was once asked if he thought Tumbling Dice was “too slow”. Presumably ‘Keef’ pulled the fabled ratchet knife on his interviewer. In a rare moment of studio trickery, Watts overdubbed a second drum part on top of the original, giving the world two Charlies on the Stones’ most exultant, soulful pop song. And it was never too slow.

Miss You (FROM SOME GIRLS, 1978)

Watts once told MOJO that his wife, “my Shirley”, reckoned Miss You and its parent long- player Some Girls was “one of our better ones”. Watts’s drumming always swung, but this foray into disco gave him the chance to shine: by just being Charlie, The Rolling Stones’ greatest dancer.

Slave (FROM TATTOO YOU, 1981)

The first sound heard is the drums, and Watts and Bill Wyman’s pulse-like bass dominate this limber jam exhumed from the mid-’70s. Watts is the sun around which the rest of the Stones and their acolytes, including pianist Billy Preston, revolve. He throws in some fills around the 4:30-minute mark, but that’s as fancy as it gets.

Cool Blues (FROM CHARLIE WATTS QUINTET, A TRIBUTE TO CHARLIE PARKER WITH STRINGS, 1992)

“He blew from his heart,” says narrator/vocalist Bernard Fowler on this live tribute to Watts’s hero Charlie Parker. Fowler could easily have been talking about Watts and his playing, though. The star turn here is alto saxophonist Peter King, but as with the Stones, Watts’s rhythm is the glue binding it all together.