… but when The Rolling Stones took the stage last weekend, it was a show to rival the biggest-budget Hollywood movie, writes Shaun de Waal
ARE you going to The Rolling Stones? That was the question everyone seemed to ask everyone else for weeks, and the answer usually seemed to be yes. And when the Stones played their two Ellis Park concerts, everyone — everyone white, that is — was there. For some, it was a nostalgic, perhaps poignant journey; for many, it was simply a big jol. I felt a bit like a devout Catholic in some distant South American country when the pope finally comes to visit.
And the Stones duly dazzled. The Voodoo Lounge concert was a show to rival the most extravagant West End musical or the biggest-budget Hollywood movie. There was the vast set, which looked at first like a futuristic factory complex, and then became a cluttered pagan shrine, finally a twinkling palace. There were the lights, the fireworks, the plumes of flame, the huge video screen and its animation and live relay, sometimes with effects — all choreographed to within an inch of its life. Sometimes one almost had to close one’s eyes, just to recall that this was live, this was happening now, it wasn’t just a fancy video — and there were real people up there on the stage making this staggering noise.
>From the opening of Not Fade Away — virtually a statement of intent — to the closing of Jumping Jack Flash, the Stones thundered out a judicious, well-paced mix of old hits and newer numbers. Strangely, the recent songs from Voodoo Lounge, were, for me, the least impressive in this live context.
Sparks Will Fly, for instance, sounded flatter than on the album, as if its sinuous rhythms had somehow been pounded into something more ordinary, and Mick Jagger’s voice seemed a little too sinusy to really soar on Out of Tears. Perhaps the new songs haven’t yet settled into a good live groove.
But the older tunes — the ones you’d think they had long ago played to death — rang with renewed life. It was fascinating to hear how songs that are now standards could be performed with such freshness. The Stones worked up a monstrous set of propulsive rhythms on Sympathy for the Devil and Midnight Rambler (with Jagger blowing some excellent mouth organ); Brown Sugar, It’s Only Rock’n’Roll, and the indubitable masterpiece Start Me Up possessed an irresistable
Satisfaction, which the Stones have churned out innumerable times, was especially fine. A listen to previous concert recordings made over the years demonstrates that it can outlive a more perfunctory reading, but at Ellis Park it was made new again. It contained one of Keith Richards’ best solos of the concert, and Jagger’s vocal, ever more stylised, has become an almost primaeval echo of the blues, a distillation of the purest rock’n’roll.
And a sharp ear (or a close eye on the video footage) could discern a subtle change, perhaps even accidental, in the chorus toward the end. With what seems like determination born of long experience, Jagger now sings, “I’m gonna have some satisfaction.” The song is no longer a complaint; it is a demand.
There was not much space for subtlety or contemplation, but the two numbers sung by Richards gave an emotional centre to the show. On Friday night, he sang his self- deprecatory The Worst (off Voodoo Lounge) and the charmingly fatalistic Slipping Away (off Steel Wheels); on Saturday, the first was replaced by Happy, a beautifully storming rocker off Exile on Main Street which contains a line that is the perfect Keef credo: “I always took candy from strangers …”
Richards, looking more gnarled than ever, was visibly moved to be there, touched by the crowd’s adulation. “Bless you,” he said, and when he sang “I need a love to keep me happy,” it was as though he were addressing it to his audience. He was getting that love, and he was happy.
The backing singers and the brass section got boisterous applause when Jagger introduced them; Ron Wood, who did some masterful guitar-playing, received his due; Richards got a major ovation. But it was Charlie Watts who got the most rapturous individual response: the cheering and clapping went on so long that even he had to crack a smile eventually.
It was appropriate that, among the gargantuan blow-up props that festooned the stage in the latter half of the concert, stood Elvis. Somewhat unshaven, a little bloated, but certainly Elvis. Appropriate because The Rolling Stones are the rock stars Elvis couldn’t ultimately be; they are in control, they are still rocking, they have survived on their own terms — and, for all the wham-bam special effects, they are real.