Shine A Light

When The Stones sang “What a drag it is getting old” ('Mother’s Little Helper') they did not achieve the epigrammatic force of The Who’s “Hope I die before I get old” but they did give expression to one of rock n’ roll’s core values – the refusal to “grow up”. The sentiment was no doubt in part a reflection of the vanity of youth believing in its own eternity but it also gave voice to an emotionally-driven rejection of the 9-to-5 world of suburban somnolence. Time, of course, has moved on and 40 years later the once-young Adonises are now as weathered as the craggy effigies of Mt Rushmore (and equally iconic). But on the strength of Martin Scorsese’s excellent concert film you’d have to say that, if time is no longer on their side, Jagger & Co. on stage still embody the spirit of youthful rebellion that long ago made them both pariahs and heroes.

Shine A Light playfully explores these twin themes by juxtaposing archival footage from The Stones’ salad days in the 60s and early 70s that repeatedly explore the question of when they are going to grow up and get real jobs with what is in effect their answer as sexagenarians - their stage performance. The film begins with a short black and white introduction in which we see The Stones meet with ex-Pres. Bill Clinton and family, Marty and Mick express their frustration with what the other is doing interspersed with the standard pre-show set-up activity. This is entertaining enough material with Scorsese, as usual, giving himself plenty of screen time. Then the main event kicks in with Jumpin’ Jack Flash and we’re away with a film that whilst not having the zeitgeist allure of the Maysles’ Gimme Shelter (1970) is a superbly dynamic and as up-close-and-personal a look at The Stones in performance as we’re ever likely to get. Using a team of top-notch cinematographers including Robert Richardson, Albert Maysles, John Toll, Andrew Lesnie , Stuart Dryburgh, Robert Elswit, Emmanuel Lubezki and Ellen Kuras, Scorsese takes us into the action on stage in a way that not even the best seat in the house could do. The result is simultaneously a bravura display of Jagger’s showmanship and a testament to the director’s and no doubt the editor, David Tedeschi’s, skill.

Jagger is, of course, the centre of attention and he does everything to deserve it. His looks may have crumbled but he has the moves and energy that any 20 year old would rightly sell his soul for. Richards is the paradigmatic rock n’roll rebel but, as we see through Scorsese’s probing lenses, it is Magic Mick’s relentless drive that keeps The Rolling Stones Show on the road. The set list is, as we would expect, a roster of greatest hits (which means nothing released by the band after 1982) but it is no perfunctory replay of songs done innumerable times before. Jagger clearly strives to make each show unique and as a result some numbers are more successful than others. The shortcomings of his voice are evident in the slower numbers with his rendition of As Tears Go By more mannered than melodic whilst in the reflective Imagination he is unable to hold the audience on the basis of the vocal alone. It is in the classic rip-it-up numbers like Brown Sugar that he is at his Dionysian best. Keef does a nice version of You Got The Silver and Communication, an atypical pop tune from Between The Buttons, but hands in a god-awful, rambling solo in what is already a not very good version of Sympathy For The Devil. Guests Jack White and Christina Aguilera add nothing but when Buddy Guy steps up to the plate for the only non-Stones number, Champagne & A Reefer, the band, which includes quite a few more musicians than Mick, Keef, Ronnie and Charlie and now-regular bass player Darryl Jones, snaps into line in what is the musical highlight of the film. Keef, who appears to be permanently cocooned in a bemused, vodka-soaked, I-Am-Legend haze is so taken by the experience that he gives Guy his guitar at the close of the number.

One can only wonder what might have happened to The Stones' musical development had they chosen a more adventurous path in 1975 when they replaced Mick Taylor with Ronnie Wood. They opted for a graven image over originality and thereby sealed their fate, although to their credit they have honoured their decision. It is without a trace of apology that they end the show with a rousing rendition of (Can’t Get No) Satisfaction. They may no longer be the Greatest Rock n’ Roll Band In The World but they remain its Greatest Rock n’ Roll Act.

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