The Stones at 60 are loose, fresh and utterly alive as ever
Rolling Stones
‘How ya feelin’, awlright?” crowed Mick Jagger in that inimitable drawl. “In 1962, we met a drummer called Charlie Watts and this is our first tour without him. We’d like to dedicate this show to Charlie.”
Their rock solid sticksman may have left us, but the Stones are still rolling, opening their 60th anniversary British tour in Liverpool’s Anfield Stadium. It is the city of their one-time rivals The Beatles. In tribute to the Fab Four, the old road warriors dusted down I Wanna Be Your Man, the song Lennon and Mccartney gave them in 1963. “We decided to do a cover version by some local lads,” teased Jagger, but he really seemed to enjoy their messy romp through their first big hit, muttering afterwards to Keith Richards: “We should do that every night.”
They may have started out as
London’s answer to Merseybeat but the Stones rose to be acclaimed as the Greatest Rock and Roll Band in the World. It has been 60 years of guitar voodoo, ludicrously camp dance moves and attacking every concert as if it was a celebration and a coronation. And on this evidence, they are not ready to give up their title just yet.
The septuagenarian Stones hit the stage with a raw blast of energy, grinning and colliding with each other as they charged through a set of absolute rock classics. Once they were the surly, scruffy boy rebels, keeping alive the blues of an old and neglected generation, giving America’s black roots music a shot of British youth and electricity. Now it is the Stones themselves who are the old masters of a dying art form, older even than most of their heroes were when they started out. They may be gaunt, wrinkled and jowelly, yet they remain forcefully animated by the spirit of the music.
Of the original line-up, only Jagger and Richards are still standing, albeit one rarely stands still and the other can barely stand up straight. The dynamic duo are both 78 now. Richards has retained an aura of ineffable gipsy jetset cool even as he has crumpled into a kind of rocking garden gnome, twisted around his guitar. “It’s great to see you,” chuckled Richards. “Hey, its great to see anybody.” But though the fingers may be gnarly they still glide up the fretboard with supernatural ease. He plays slashing chords but conjures a sound that pushes he music, all rhythm, groove and glorious riffs.
By contrast, Jagger moves like a man half his old schoolmate’s age. He may have had a heart bypass but Jagger still approaches shows as if they were an endurance test, racing up runways, dancing and spinning, jiggling, shaking, clapping, leading the band with nods and winks, embodying the spirit of the music itself.
Eternal new boy Ronnie Wood (a mere stripling of 75), has been with the Stones 46 years. He looks comparatively sprightly after two bouts with cancer, and has taken on more of the heavy guitar lifting, firing off bright, exciting if wildly sloppy lead solos over Richards gritty open chords.
American session player Steve Jordan, 65, occupied the drum stool with Wattsian economy. The line-up is augmented by backing singers, percussionists, keyboards and horns, creating a magical miasma that swells and drives. Even their 2019 lockdown reggae anthem sounded like an old classic with Jagger blowing a fierce, soulful harmonica solo. There was an unsurpassable run of songs in the second half, after Richards’ solo vocal spot, that took in Miss You, a sinuous and supercharged Midnight Rambler, blasting Start Me Up, fierce Paint It Black, epic Sympathy For The Devil,
raucous Jumpin’ Jack Flash, magnificent Gimme Shelter and thrilling Satisfaction. They were serenaded off with a huge Kop roar of You’ll Never Walk Alone.
How much longer can this go on? The truth is, 60 years on the Stones still feel loose, fresh and utterly alive to the moment and the music, as thrilling and relevant as any contemporary band. Long may they keep on Rolling.