Takes a while to read, but worth it...

JR

When you get a chance read this. The guy talks alot, but he's pretty much
dead on in his review.



Sometimes the deities give rise to a religious experience and sometimes it
is the faithful themselves. Philly part II is a story of how the pilgrims
saved a rock and roll show. We all head off into the unknown, trusting that
something good will happen. None of us want nothing to happen.

It's 4:30 AM, I'm walking the dogs. In some hours I will be in another city,
the City of Brotherly Love, the most inappropriately nicknamed city in
America. We've all heard the Santa Claus story. It's Stones Day, again. Part
of the magic is what happens at the concert. The bigger part of the magic is
what you bring to the concert.

The Stones attract skeptics and curiosity seekers. But they also attract
pilgrims. Make no mistake, this is a pilgrimage. Each pilgrim's journey is
different. This one is easy for me. Say goodbye to loved ones, hop in the
car, skip work, jump on the Interstate and off at Broad Street. It was not
always so easy and it will not be so easy for everyone. Once it took a
thumb, the logo album liner from Sticky Fingers and persistence. It
sometimes required riding with people who found all longhairs a stench in
the nostrils of God. Or guys who wanted to know if you knew of any raunchy
bars, "you know like where they piss on the floor." I was a long hair and I
didn't now any such bars. But this is part of the personal history I bring
with me to the Stones in Philly. Everyone else brought their own.

The weather was gray, blustery, spitting showers and threatening to do more.
Just enough to chase the tailgating rituals indoors. There is little
indication of any buzz on the parking lots. Two-by-two, three-by-three, and
four-by-four the faithful pilgrims speed through the lots to the arena. Half
price t-shirts pulled surreptitiously from beneath hooded sweatshirts by
young black men seem to tempt no one enroute to this service.

Proud ticket holders stand, backed up in a light drizzle for the VIP
entrance. Fifty feet further on no one is waiting to get into the general
admission entrance. We sail through and watch dampened VIP's slowly enter
the same arena. We all want to be a little special.

The backdrop on stage belongs to the Stones, not the arena. Oddly enough, it
shows the faithful by the thousands, sitting, standing and leaning on their
seats. See through blouses, miniskirts, lotharios, drag queens, halter tops,
people from every background. They begin as real people and fade to faces to
faceless to a dark sea of humanity and finally to black on the backdrop.

At 7:32 the lights go down, the John Mayer Trio trots out and reappear in
blue lights. John has the jimmy legs and Ray Charles feet. His set is
shorter than the last time I saw him. No one complains despite his obvious
talent.

There are Stones logos in abundance. Before me are three men nattily attired
in their button down black shirts festooned with hundreds of tongues. Stones
Nation. There are bald men, men with do-rags who are probably balding and a
sprinkling of pilgrims who look like extras from the set of Easy Rider. I
see ten Neil Young look-a-likes, if one just needs thinning long hair and a
dour countenance to qualify. The blonde babes of Philly are in abundance, in
all senses of that word. This is easily the best looking crowd I have seen,
is it any coincidence it is younger? The Ameriquest blimp still looks like
an accident in waiting as it once again circles the arena in an arrogant
display of technology waiting to go bad.

It is now show number 20, word is out that the Stones will not appear before
9 PM to be sure. Neither will many of the faithful who circle the concourse
in thick numbers. I see anticipation on faces, pilgrims thrilled to make
their rock and roll hadj, some for the first time, and some for an uncounted
number of times. I am in the latter group.

Like an over-agitated child the assembled throng of pilgrims must explode
every few moments, just to bleed off the pressure that is building. Let it
bleed. A change in lighting brought on by new advertisements flashed on the
arena perimeter is enough to evoke a response. Many times the faithful loose
their minds and just cheer, as if wishing hard enough will make their gods
appear. That is not the purpose of any religion. Religion does not give you
what you want, but you get what you need. It is the buzz of the faithful
waiting for the service to begin.

If you sit quietly and look across the arena at tongues, beers, babes and
balding pates you can also see a crackle in the air. All through the night I
occasionally close my eyes and see that the sounds have colors, the songs
have colors. Sometimes the lighting gurus on stage get the match right,
sometimes they miss it. Synesthesia is the name of this phenomenon that
blends the senses. Next time you go, check out the show in your own head,
you may be pleasantly surprised. Do not worry, the Stones will be there when
you open your eyes again.

A man in a nice suit and tie sits below me. I am first row of the first
raised concourse, dead center stage. Fine seats that will get so much better
when the Stones come to me. Before the night is over for the suited man his
jacket and tie are off and he is clapping and two-stepping with the two
generations of women he brought-a daughter and granddaughter or a third
place trophy wife and daughter. It doesn't matter. Every pilgrim will be
healed tonight.

The floor fills first, then the top, followed by the middle. This is the
first miracle of the evening. Nothing in the real world fills bottom, top,
then middle. People with phones stand and smile and wave to a place
elsewhere in the arena. Then they turn and repeat this ritual. They have no
idea where their friends are. Then the look of a prayer answered spreads
across their faces as they are spotted. We all want a little something to
happen.

Martha Reeves sings Going to a Go-Go, a comely woman seems to have some
trouble keeping her pants up. At 9:07 the joint is jammed. And ready to go.
People are excited, politely so as befits a faithful nation of true
believers. People chant for Mick, they clap, whistle and cheer. The woman
next to me keeps flipping her long black hair. I receive a penitential
flogging, it cleanses me.

The lights go down, Philly explodes but softly, it turns out. Because this
crowd draws energy from a workman like performance that threatens to
superheat and implode to the center of the planet before the show is over.
This crowd made this show. It was good and got better as the night grew
long. It picked the Stones right off of the stage and carried them to a
place the gods could not have reached on their own tonight.

The starburst appears. The beginning has changed slightly. What works, what
doesn't? Instead of the silly debris flying through an urban canyon a red
screen appears near lift off and lift off we do.

Keith fires the opening salvo of a rock and roll attack. Start Me Up sets
the spark, but it is not magic, it is workman like. I have heard Start Me Up
set a charge and this does not, it is just damn fine rock and roll that has
not risen to magic yet. But Keith is the world's best working class guitar
player and he is saying something with this tune, "You need to listen to
what follows." The Stones have something to say to us all. We are ready to
listen. And to believe.

The Stones absolutely own the most recognizable opening notes in rock and
roll. They do not even need riffs, just a few notes. Try it. I can name that
tune in three notes--Satisfaction? Sympathy? Jumping Jack Flash? Brown
Sugar?

The first truth in tonight's service is a simple one, a repetition of the
fundaments of our assembled faith. Rock is the energy and attitude; roll is
the melody and the musical expression. The Beatles were great, but they were
all roll. Metallica is all rock; they do not know how to roll. And
goddamn--can I say that during a service?--the Stones are rock and roll.
There are better bands, there are bigger sellers. Here is a secret; Stones
fans have always liked that. We could have chosen the Beatles, we chose the
Stones. We are part Stones, the Stones are part us.

The opening notes of IORR are warning shots fired across your bow. This is
the Stones' Manifesto. This is their open secret laid bare for you right
here. It ain't but rock and roll and they like it. There is no mystery of
the universe here. So do we. But the boys are not gods yet tonight, they are
still mere mortals. The music is good, damn good, but it is not energized.
They seem a little slow, their first exhaustion on a long tour? Something is
just not there. But the faithful in rows that have turned to pews see it and
they believe it. And they will show it to the Stones.

Shattered is Mick's warm up, he gets to work his shoulders, up and down,
back and forth, in that fey dance the Hells' Angels so resented more than 35
years ago. It falls short for me but it has managed to energize this
assembly and this Philly crowd is going to go nuts tonight and they will
take everyone in the place with them, including the band. This show belonged
to the crowd more than any Stones appearance I can recall.

By Bitch Ronnie and Keith have already hit their connection and are weaving
in and out of each other as only twin deities can do. The horns first appear
on this number and will play from offstage more than once tonight. This
stage is an altar and only the anointed are allowed here for long.

The horns narrate the Stones' show. Often they are in the background filling
their voice over on rock and roll. They are occasionally given the floor, so
they can explain this mystery to us all. Sometimes sexy, they move like
studs in and out of the songs.

The Stones brass provides the emotional logistics of the rock attack. The
Stones guitars provide the overall energy, Charlie brings the launch pad.
The brass fill in the emotional spaces. Don't believe me? See the trombone
solo as the wanting of YCAGWYW begins. Or ask Bobby Keys' sax solo in Brown
Sugar. They thicken the roll and goose the rock all night long. Hats off to
these gents.

It is official, the tour is on. This is show 20. We are four songs in and
the band sounds great. They are not kicking ass yet but tonight we know no
one is going to get a bad show, because the real Stones have not yet
appeared. We first glimpse them on Rough Justice. Ronnie kicks ass on his
slide guitar pieces and the video screen goes from color to black and white
and it works. This is rock and roll in black and white. It is rock and roll
stripped down to its basic elements so the gathered assembly of faithful
pilgrims can understand and bring it into our wretched lives, my friend. Can
I have an amen?

The four essential tenants of the Stones are framed on screen even more than
ever. Here they are world. Have a look.

Throughout the night Ronnie and Keith, sometimes joined by Darryl, stand
sentry in front of the world's greatest rock and roll band's drummer. The
Oracle of Wembley, Charlie Watts.

When Ronnie falls in line behind Keith or when the vice is versa you've got
yourself a rock phenomenon that has become a Stones' tradition. You got it,
I'll take it. Like two experienced outfielders. One signals, "I've got it,"
the other instinctively plays a backup position and lets him take it,
knowing the next time it'll go the other way. And these two guys rule the
stage with notes played and not played. In fact it is Keith's workmanship
that carries this show until RJ when the rest of the band finds one another
and their throng. This crowd provided an energy no one could have ignored
and the Stones knew exactly what to do with it, they seized it and worked a
miracle as this show began to really take off.

Back of My Hand is so Stones. Mick's slide work is good. And to see him and
Ronnie stand and playing slide-by-slide was pure heaven for any blues Stones
fans. Mick snarled like I don't know how in this song. While Keith took
position as first gargoyle, sitting on Charlie's set. Later he was joined by
second gargoyle Ronnie. Keith got up to join Mick on guitar to punctuate the
blues with a blazing lead riff then returned to his perch. It was pure time
travel; 1960's here we come.

The brief notes of Mick clearing his harp. It's gotta be Midnight Rambler.
You want to talk time travel, let's talk. This is the song to study if
you've come for the cultural phenomenon that is the Stones. And this is the
song that opens the door on the rest of the night. Check that, this is the
song that kicks down the door on the rest of the night.

The unsung heroes of this tour are the lighting crew. These folks make those
lights work and the reds and the reverse negative shots on MR give the
faithful a vision of hell to raise goose bumps. Mick's hand clapping energy
reaches beyond frenetic on this number. And visually it is one of the best
ways to see the classic Stones. This is a hot number, folks.

Doing this, the Stones pilgrimages, will kill me faster. But not doing this
will be a much slower and more painful death. Some folks have slipped
through the time warp, the smell of pot hangs heavy in the air as the
temperature rises in the arena. A young man below me has fallen for the
third time. Exhale, dude.
Okay, let me say it. I don't care for Night Time Is the Right Time. I was
hoping for Bob Marley or Driving Too Fast. But it is too soon for such
hopes; one must spend time as a member of the faithful before asking for
personal miracles. It is a good number but uncomfortably placed on this
night when a reappearance of the Boston Strangler has just kicked down the
door. Lisa is great on this, what did you expect?
But it is about pacing. And these guys know pacing. You Can't Always Get
What You Want drives the crowd into a frenzy, which is well short of the
phrenzy they are going to reach tonight. A good song to get this audience
primed.
Charlie got the longest applause and Keith the loudest, who can argue with
that. It somehow captures their contributions on most nights. Charlie's good
tonight, isn't he?
I am ready for Keith to do some new numbers. Not because these are not good,
they are. The video graphics capture Keith's out-of-time nature and his duet
with Bernard is stronger each time, more Bernard, less Keith. Infamy works
so well. But This Place Is Empty is one I want to hear our whiskey voiced
warbler warble before this tour is done.
With the energy dropped a little-three of the last four songs were not the
all-Stones rockers-Miss You has to reconnect with the audience and it does
as the set moves to the B stage. This may be their best gimmick since the B
stage first appeared.

When the band hits the B stage halleluiah heaven has been achieved and no
one is coming back unchanged. Here is my best advice to anyone who wants to
see the Stones. Forget the first row, Keith's side, Woody's side. Get as
close to Stage B as you can. The Stones in a club is what you get for the
better part of four songs.

Oh No Not You Again is now part of the Stones' Canon. One wonders if other
knights comported themselves so? Sir Lancelot having had too much mead? The
moon is yellow, he feels like jello staring down Guinevere's tits? One does
not wonder long. The boys are rocking and rolling all over this little stage
and the crowd is in a phrenzy that is not going to stop again tonight. Oh No
is the point of no return for all of us. We do believe, we do believe. The
Stones are the greatest rock and roll band in the world. Past and present
are merged at this worship.

You Got Me Rocking needs to be in the B set. It has been number two a few
times but Mick pushed Woody aside several times to hit his mark and Woody
kept on crowd pleasing through this high energy number. Chuck dashes out in
front of Charlie to make sure all begin together on this club set, but this
is it, folks, rock and roll does not ever get better than a good B set for
the Stones. And these guys who started out as working men with a so-so start
have been transformed to rock stars, rock gods. And they are playing it as
the crowd, claps, dances and cheers wildly. You had to be there. All the
while the heat is rising in this place.

Keith begins the open necked plucking of Honky Tonk Women and you know the
superset has arrived. The stage slides back to the mother ship and you
realize Charlie Watts has just given one of the best drumming performances
of your own personal history. He was so on for this set that his own place
in Rock Nirvana was visible to all in attendance.

Sympathy for the Devil is time travel. The crowd begins a rhythmic woo-woo
by the second note. They are bidding the devil to appear. He does. Mick is
badly off tempo on the start of this song. He has missed the beat and he and
the band are audibly struggling to find one another. The crowd finds them
both and reunites them. The faithful have begun to work their own miracles.
The primal percussion in this song has appealed to generations and the
history lesson in the lyrics ads texture, so I doubt few notice. The Maysles
Brothers' Gimme Shelter scenes fire in the proteins of my brain and Keith is
the story teller with his slashing guitar solo. Sit down children, here is a
story about rock and roll, listen carefully.

Paint it Black is a whirling dervish of a song. Perfect for their return to
the main stage. The increasingly frantic pace of the depression in the
singer's words drills you to the ground and holds you there until Tumbling
Dice frees you. The driving beat propels you forward, from now to the new
now. The Stones push you into the next moment while holding you in the last
one. It is magic, magic, magic. Into the sanctuary of the rock trinity we
all charge. Three songs to go. The air is electric. Spotlights sweep the
crowd, the views begin as real people and fade to faces to faceless to a
dark sea of humanity. All smiling inside and out.

Jumping Jack Flash is the electrical charge that could bring Frankenstein's
Monster to life. For my money it is the greatest rock and roll song of all
time. It is the ultimate survivor song and survivors are what the assembled
faithful are, no more, no less. I close my eyes and see the colors of this
song, then jump back into. Keith is prowling again. Ronnie is hitting
highlights and Charlie keeps it all from spinning out of control. The crowd
is rocking and rolling and what not. A moment we want to hold forever?

Satisfaction brings the horns back and it has to satisfy converts and
lifelong believers alike. It is, after all, the National Anthem of rock and
roll. The show comes to a stop with a resounding Brown Sugar, Lisa flounces,
Bobby gets a mid-song ovation that somehow manages to be heard above the din
of this communion of musicians, music and fans. And the Stones hit this one
out of the park.

Now it's a rock and roll tour. Stones Nation. The pilgrims are sated. They
are fulfilled and now they begin to return to their own lives. Until the
next time.

thank you for that long-winded post. I really didnt read any of it b/c it was so long and I am sure nobody else will either.

amen....right on brother... great review..i feel the same way about the 2 shows i saw..
anyway, you could save the $450.00 and just read your review..ha!

great review! it's a good read while on the crapper. i put down war and peace and tackled that novel of a review!

Looks like some people with memories longer than a goldfish can read it!

JR

how much does the hardcover edition cost?



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 2005-10-13 20:13 by Leonard Keringer.

Some people just like to hear themselves write.

-- Keep on rollin'. Keep on. Keep on. Keep on. --

why ya'll be drinkin' so much haterade, yo?

I can't even read it, it's so long. Not to dis the author's sentiments, which are valid, but just to suggest...

There's a limit to how much you can take in when it comes to posts on an internet forum. If something that long were nicely laid out on paper, with photos, headings, etc., yeah, I could read it. But not on a computer screen. Writing in this format should really just get to the point.

Bluespeyer Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Some people just like to hear themselves write.
>
> -- It's no hanging matter --


And some people seem to have to learn themselves more patience.

Everything doesnt have to be snippets & fragments.

It would be much easier to read if it were on paper, laid out in nice columns with breaks and headings; just easier on the eyes that way.

If you have a mouse & Word installed, it´s done in 2 minutes.
If you also got a printer, well: there´s your crap-time literature for ya.

Yeah, it might some good bedtime reading. Thanks for your insight stone-relics.

amen