The Rolling Stones—Last Night

I’m not known for the power of my memory, but I can tell you that the first time I saw the Rolling Stones (Mick and Keith plus Brian, Bill and Charlie—the original five lads) was 55 and a half years ago. It was easy to remember: Thanksgiving Day, my junior year of college, Madison Square Garden.

Keith was still on the upward slope of his career as an addict then. Mick, to the best of my recollection, was considerably less concerned in 1969 with our feelings as an audience, less likely to inquire, at frequent intervals, as he did last night “are you having a good time”?

The Stones when I saw them that year, had released, within the previous five months, three singles: “Jumping Jack Flash,” “Street Fighting Man” and “Sympathy for the Devil.” The album, “Let It Bleed,” featuring “Gimme Shelter,” would be released the day after that concert. They were, after a brief and awkward sojourn into psychedelic noodling, probably pushing rock ‘n’ roll—“only rock ‘n’ roll”—further, faster than anyone has before or since.

Had Mick asked me then if I was having a good time, I might have said it was complicated: that I was feeling close to the beating heart of the culture, that it all seemed edgy, intense, louche and almost overwhelming. But, yes, also often ecstatic.

Can’t say I experienced any of the above last night. Though, while doing my perpetual and inextinguishable seat dance to those great, old songs, I was indeed having—thanks for asking, Mick—quite a good time.

This version of the Stones played a healthy selection of the hits, including, of course, “Jumping Jack Flash,” “Sympathy for the Devil” and “Gimme Shelter,” but not “Street Fighting Man.” “Paint It Black,” “Get Off My Cloud” and “Heartbreaker” were pleasant surprises.

And they did four songs from their new album, which is—on the off-chance that you still care—quite good, in an understated, underproduced “Between the Buttons” or “Beggar’s Banquet” kind of way.

Do I need to say that Mick and Keith were tiny little stick figures from my cheap—but still two-hundred-plus dollar—seats in this football stadium? So we watched them cavort on the huge TV screens.

Do I need to say that everyone has somehow become very old? The audience slowly and tentatively undertaking the stadium stairs and sitting much more than standing these days. Me, forgoing even a beer. Mick, who finally seems to have surrendered his quick-little foot dance in favor of mere prancing about. Keith, whose arthritic fingers still somehow call forth the signature riffs and even some solId leads. (His weird tunings likely help.)

  And, of course, not only are the Stones now “2000 light years” from the cutting edge; they’re not even—in the age of Beyoncé, not to mention Drake— within paddling distance of the mainstream.

So, no lessons to be drawn last night as to the current state, let alone the future of music. But maybe it’s useful to be reminded that these things follow patterns: You learn to imitate the masters. You get good at it. You write something as original and compelling as “Gimme Shelter.” (I was surprised to learn recently that this was Keith’s song, not Mick’s.)  And then you perform it before as big a crowd as you can find for as long as you can. (Got that Taylor?)

And I’ll probably be there to watch if Mick and Keith manage to perform it again one of these years.