R2B2 WILL Submit to the Rolling Stones

R2B2 and I are such good friends largely due to the fact that we agree on pretty much everything. We spend hours sharing our mutual enraged indignation about various issues, people, foods, trends, movies - in other words, we spend a lot of time engaging in the satisfying art of preaching to the converted. So it is a rare occasion when we truly disagree about something and one of us must take on the difficult task of convincing the other that they are WRONG, WRONG, WRONG, WRONG, SNOOP WRONGY-WRONG, WRONG MCWRONG, SIR WRONG OF WRONGHAM, THE WRONGIEST WRONG THAT EVER WRONGED, THE WRONG BARON, COUNT VON WRONGENSTEIN, AN ASTRONAUT WITH THE WRONG STUFF, TAKING A WRONG AT THE LIGHT INSTEAD OF A RIGHT, and so on. Case in point: R2B2 claims to HATE, yes, HATE, The Rolling Stones. I know!!!! Crazy!!!! Nuts!!!! And above all else, WRONG!!!!! Further questioning revealed that R2's hatred for the Stones is basically all about Honky-Tonk Woman. To which I say: Fair enough. It's an annoying song. But therein lies the true beauty of the Stones. They can, and often do, kind of bite. They are hands-down my absolute favorite band of all time, and yes I like the Beatles, but don't even be asking me that "Beatles or Stones?" shit. STONES, every time. It will always be that way. But I am the first to admit that they do suck sometimes.

Here's the thing about the Stones: They are a) the world's greatest rock band ever (case in point, Gimme Shelter), b) the world's greatest pop band ever (case in point: Emotional Rescue), c) the world's greatest blues band ever (case in point: Parachute Woman), and d) the world's greatest country band ever (case in point: Sweet Virginia). In their ability to suck, they are also the Martin Amis of music. Like the Stones, Amis is capable of truly sucking, and unabashedly does so on many an occasion. Personally, I find this reassuring. I love the humanity of someone who is so genius yet so flawed. It's comforting. I started reading Martin Amis with Money, London Fields, and The Information, back to back, and thought I might actually kill myself because I felt so fucking inferior as a human being because I could and would never write anything so perfect. I hated Martin! He was so relentlessly brilliant. Then I read Night Train. Ouch! It sucked! Suddenly, I felt spiritually renewed. If Martin Amis could suck AND be genius (and Yellow Dog sucked even worse than Night Train), I could also potenially be genius, but only have sucked up until that point. Maybe there was a great novel or something inside of me and I would stop sucking! I knew I felt something inside of me just waiting to be unleashed on the world (turns out it was poo, but whatever).

It's the same with the Stones. The fact that I can barely watch the Mick Jagger of the last 15 years for even a milisecond as he struts around huge arena stages, with his silk shirt billowing, singing Brown Sugar and looking fucking RIDICULOUS, makes it all the more of an earth-moving experience to lose myself for the 1,000th time in Mick singing No Expectations in 1968 . Shit, even the actual band themselves has always contained extremes of genius and lameness. In the same band, Keith Richards and Bill Wyman. The coolest man ever and the biggest putz ever. Yeah, Bill's a putz. The rest of the Stones all think so too, and often made fun of him in barely coded messages in their songs, casting aspersions on his masculinity and deriding his small hands. Hee hee! Loser!

I digress. This isn't about Bill Wyman's hands. And I don't want to give R2 any more reason to "hate" the Stones, so let's not dwell on Bill at all. My other theory about the Stones is that they are victims of the Chumbawamba syndrome. That is, the songs they are best known for are not their best. Chumbawamba is an extreme example of this, and I plan to blog at some point about the unjust legacy that is Tubthumping (I can barely even type that song's name). Think about it - many of the best-known Stones songs are not the best Stones songs. I reference the aforementioned Honky-Tonk Woman and Brown Sugar. I am also no fan of Jumping Jack Flash, Dead Flowers, most of Exile on Main Street (which is most people's favorite Stones album), a lot of Sticky Fingers (a lot of other people's favorite Stones album), some of Let it Bleed (probably the 2nd or 3rd most often referenced as a favorite Stones album), most of Tattoo You and pretty much everything since. BUT! Beggars Banquet is hands-down the greatest album ever recorded. No question. None! And there are many genius moments among the canon of hits: Angie, Paint it Black, Shattered, Gimme Shelter, Monkey Man, Midnight Rambler, Time is on my Side, Let's Spend the Night Together, Satsfaction, Mother's Little Helper, 19th Nervous Breakdown, You Can't Always Get What You Want, Street Fightin' Man, Sympathy for the Devil, Missin You, Beast of Burden, Wild Horses, Emotional Rescue. I could go on but I won't.

So my self-appointed project is to make R2 at least tolerate and have a modicum of respect for the Stones. Love or even like would be nice, but R2 is a tough crowd. Hence I have made R2 a CD of my favorite Stones songs. I have tried to avoid any popular ones that R2 has probably heard, like all of the above, which I think R2 could at least recognize. I'm going deeper with this. Here is the playlist (with song, album, year) - any input, comments, suggestions are welcome:

1. I'm a King Bee, The Rolling Stones, 1964
2. Play With Fire, Out of Our Heads, 1965
3. Mercy, Mercy, Out of Our Heads, 1965
4. I'm Alright, Out of Our Heads, 1965
5. Complicated, Between the Buttons, 1967
6. She Smiled Sweetly, Between the Buttons, 1967
7. She's a Rainbow, Their Satanic Majesties Request, 1967
8. Stray Cat Blues, Beggars Banquet, 1968
9. Factory Girl, Beggars Banquet, 1968
10. No Expectations, Beggars Banquet, 1968
11. Jigsaw Puzzle, Beggars Banquet, 1968
12. Dear Doctor, Beggars Banquet, 1968
13. Prodigal Son, Beggars Banquet, 1968
14. Parachute Woman, Beggars Banquet, 1968
15. Salt of the Earth, Beggars Banquet, 1968 (Keith sings!!)
16. Love in Vain, Let it Bleed, 1969
17. Moonlight Mile, Sticky Fingers, 1971
18. Sweet Black Angel, Exile on Main Street, 1972
19. Sweet Virgina, Exile on Main Street, 1972
20. Angie, Goat's Head Soup, 1973
21. Fool to Cry, Black & Blue, 1976

I put most of Beggars Banquet on there. And okay, yeah, I put Angie on there. I had to. I love that fucking song, man. It plays a part in a fond memory for me. August 1, 1991. My 16th birthday. I got my driver's license and an awesome red Jetta with balloons tied to the mirrors. The next morning, I got up really early and snuck out and went for a drive all by myself for the first time ever. It was dawn, one of those beautiful Atlanta summer mornings where it's nice until about 9:00 A.M. I drove probably a mile or two, just around the neighborhood, and as I drove, I listened to the classic rock station, which was playing Angie. It was perfect. The beauty of that morning, my feeling of absolute freedom for the first time in my life, combined with the witsful awareness that this day, this freedom, also meant the end of something great. Angie is such a wistful song, and I don't think I would have realized the mixed emotions I had about that moment if that song hadn't been playing. I remember sitting at a stop sign, listening to Mick whispering "Where will it lead us from her?", and I was crying. Appropritae that next line is "Oh Angie don't you weep," which of course only made me cry more.

The shit of the whole thing is that I cued up Angie just as I started typing out this memory, and when I thought about tearing up at the stop sign in my little red car and how happy I was and what a great childhood I had, I teared up, and wouldn't you know that the song was lined up exactly same as it was that day so that the next line was "Angie don't you weep." So yeah, I'm a fucking dork sitting here crying.

R2, to quote Bernie Birnbaum, look into your heart. Look into your heart when you listen to this cd I'm sending you. You may well hate every song on this list but I hope at least you will get something out of Angie, even if it's just the image of 16 year old Russ sitting at a stop sign in her new red Jetta in the neighborhood of Princeton Lakes in Marietta Georgia at 6 A.M. on August 2, 1991, being a huge fucking dork with tears rolling down her unlined 16 year old cheeks and balloons tied to her side mirrors.