At first I was a little bent out of shape when I read this claim made by New York Times reporter Ben Ratliff: “A lesser known version of the Rolling Stones‘ ‘Loving Cup’, found on the bonus disc of the new reissue of the band’s 1972 album Exile on Main Street, seems to me the best thing the Stones ever did,” he wrote in the paper’s May 23rd edition. Say what? Based on that personal assessment, dyed-in-indigo-denim rock fans like myself may’ve found themselves wondering what records Ratliff’s been listening to all these years. The tastemaker’s taste betrays not only his limited devotion to rock and the Rolling Stones, but to the sacred cow that is Exile on Main Street. What? No time for “I Just Want to See His Face”, “Torn and Frayed”, “Sweet Virginia”, “Happy”, “Ventilator Blues”, or “All Down the Line” from Exile? Not a whole lotta love for “Child of the Moon”, “Dead Flowers”, “Sway”, “You Got the Silver”, or, like, the 100 or so other titles that have earned their stripes and rights as cult favorites of Stones’ fans through the years?
And yet, the criticman, he don’t lie when he pulls “Loving Cup” off the shelf as a contender for possible bests: Pointing toward the space—the place where all involved feel their way through the parts—in the alternate take of “Loving Cup”, Ratliff once again connects the values of jazz (his area of expertise) and the way each member of the band owns his part, contributing to the whole song and album’s genius. But in the case of “Loving Cup”, the Stones had a lot to work with: Bringing more than innate feel and a decent melody to the session, they loaded up their song with deep blues origins, the kind they’ve always been known for favoring but some of which have gone undetected ‘til now (which is where I come in). There’s a whole wide world of blues and rock stashed in “Loving Cup”’s crazy backwards lick and drunk on love invitation to come on up.
This is where things get a little complicated so you’ll have to bear with me here: If it’s possible to isolate what makes “Loving Cup” (studio version) all that, it is probably its rhythms, especially the way the guitar—sometimes dueling, other times singular—falls in, as do the other instruments, to its own beat. It’s the chinka chinka chink (gimme-little-drink) sound of Jesse Ed Davis’ guitar on Taj Mahal’s version of “Leaving Trunk” that you can partially thank for that. And just to further backtrack, without the Sleepy John Estes song “Milk Cow Blues”, Mahal’s “Leaving Trunk” would not exist. Now, “Milk Cow Blues” is a song that’s proven so irresistible to musicians that’s it’s been covered almost as many times as “Hey Joe” has. Though when I say “Milk Cow”, you may think the Elvis Presley version of “Milk Cow Blues Boogie” by Kokomo Arnold—a song covered by artists from here to eternity (like Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys, Doc Watson and Willie Nelson, and Eddie Cochran). And yes, some of that song carries over, but by the time the Kinks, Aerosmith, and the Flamin’ Groovies got to tearing it up, all references to milk and butter products were gone, leaving the emphasis on things that happen, when that evening sun goes down. It’s the loving, the cheating, and the leaving that results from it that are the elements that rise to the top of the Sleepy John Estes’ version of “Milk Cow Blues”, which also exchanges the dairy for an emphasis on packing up a leavin’ trunk and getting drunk in the face of all the mean mistreating and dirty blues dealing going down.
Now, I went upstairs to pack my leavin’ trunk
I never saw no whiskey
The blues done made me, sloppy drunk
These are the matters that rang through for Mahal, as well as for the Stones who had come to know love, the blues, and drunkenness in their day, too. Performing it on his 1967 solo debut and at the Stones’ Rock and Roll Circus in 1968, Taj likely pointed the way for the Rolling Stones’ own riffing around the lines,
Gimme little drink from your loving cup
Just one drink, and I’ll fall down drunk
That rhythmic guitar pattern which first shows up for the Stones on 1971’s “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking”, and again in ‘72 for “Loving Cup”, is part of what we recognize as the gizmo that runs the Rolling Stones, part of the funky and loose apparatus that makes them roll. So when Taj sings “my main man, catch you here” around Jesse Ed’s riff, you can almost fill in “Can’t you hear me knockin’ (at your window)” and that’s that. Or not. Dig further and there’s no denying the influence of Mahal’s previous running mate and Stones’ friend Ry Cooder, who brought his style to Let It Bleed as well as to Jagger’s solo performance in the film Performance (particularly to its dance scene set to the tune of “Poor White Hound Dog”, a kind of twist on “Memo From Turner”). I know that was a lot of information in a long sentence, but we’re coming to a close here…
With all that weight to “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking” and “Loving Cup”, in the end they were songs that were left pretty much ignored by the Stones themselves in the live arena for 30 years ‘til they were unearthed for the 40 Licks Tour in 2002. Neither song went down particularly well, and the band had to be coaxed into bringing them out for an airing. As for “Loving Cup”: “Lo and behold, we went out and started the song and they all started applauding,” recollects Jagger in According to the Rolling Stones. “Which just proves how over time, some of these songs acquire a certain existence, or value, that they never had when they first came out. People will say what a wonderful song that was when it was virtually ignored at the time it was released.”
“Loving Cup” worked its magic on celluloid again in the Scorsese/Stones collab Shine a Light; when sharing a mic with Mick, Jack White seemed very pleased to be playing the ploughman in the valley to Jagger’s man on the mountain. This year, Phish, in that way Phish does when they take on a covers project, went 3D and got the job done (with Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings in tow). Holy mackerel. The Black Crowes have been known to turn in a respectable “Loving Cup”, too. (Hello, Glimmer Twins, Goodbye, Mr. Crowe’s Garden.)
Today, when I say “Leaving Trunk” hopefully you say the Black Keys and Derek Trucks, the rightful revivalists of the down-home sound that combines real blues with rock ‘n’ soul. All right, all right, I’ll concede there’s something irresistible about all this “Leaving Trunk”/”Loving Cup” stuff, especially to musicians and apparently to our friend at the New York Times, Mr. Ratliff. But while “Loving Cup” holds a particular place in the Stones canon, the claim that the alternate take should earn its namesake trophy for best thing they’ve ever done is one about which I’m still not so sure, though I liked the reminder of “Dear Mr. Fantasy” hidden inside the alternate version a few times (first instance at 0:28-29). Beyond that, how about you love drunks and Stones punks decide on this one?
ROCKMAN