We had to wait HOW fucking long for this? What, 38, close to 39 years? Perhaps a little perspective: When The Stones released Exile On Main Street., Richard Fuckface Nixon was still in his first term as President, Angela Davis was my dream girl, the Viet Nam War would slog on for 3 more years (despite Nixon’s 1968 campaign promise of “having a secret plan” to end it.), George W. Bush was still a drunken undergrad (as opposed to the stone sober, born-again douche-bag he would morph into), and cocaine was just a rumor . . . .

Point is, a lot of fucking time has passed, and it has been my experience that that is not necessarily a GOOD THING when it comes to the release of music that one so strongly identifies with a certain time and a certain age. Not very many bands can pull it off. Anybody remember when Sir Paul pulled his head out of his ass and put it into the Beatles’ vaults just long enough to serve up Free As A Bird and Real Love? OFFAH!! Yeah, I don’t remember it either . . .

I’m not saying it’s impossible to release older material and have it bitch-slap you up side da head with its brilliance and timelessness. Hey, Misters Krieger, Densmore, and Manzarek have done a stellar job of milking THEIR vaults!! But then, they DID have the neutron bomb to work with, in the person of Jim Morrison. Christ, I’ve got bootleg recordings of Morrison drunkenly belching into studio mikes that have more credibility and soul than the last 35 years of Paul McCartney’s recording career . . .

Point is, this sort of thing can be risky. So, it was with no small amount of trepidation, that I opened the e-mail containing the link to Plundered My Soul, the first of ten tracks of circa 1972 material being released by the Stones on an updated re-issue of Exile On Main Street, which is due out at the end of this month. Once again, a little perspective: these tracks were cut during what in my humble opinion was the recording of the greatest album ever made. If I were stranded on a desert island with only ten albums, I’d want ten copies of Exile On Main Street, just in case the first nine of them got fucked up. THAT’S how fucking important this album is to me (Ok, maybe nine copies of Exile and one copy of Waiting For Columbus by Little Feat . . .). Though we didn’t know it at the time, the Exile sessions would end the best four year run of booze and drug fueled blues/rock that has ever been made. Starting with the July ’68 release of Beggar’s Banquet, The Stones would churn out in quick order: Beggar’s Banquet, Let It Bleed, Get Yer Ya-Ya’s Out, Sticky Fingers, and Exile On Main Street. Take a moment and consider the weight and heft of THAT accomplishment. I know I did before I clicked on that link . . . Hey, this wasn’t some damn track that Pete Townsend found under his auntie’s china cabinet. This was Exile-era STONES. So, finger poised over the mouse and . . . (click) . . .

. . . . like the first damn time you slam dat spike home, eh wot? Oh my FUCKING god!! Terrific track!! Do yourself a favor: tie off and hit the “play” button below. NOW!

Plundered My Soul

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Bonus Track: This is The Stones doing Let It Rock on March 13th, 1971 at Leed’s University during the Sticky Fingers tour. This track was on the flip side of some imported 45s of Brown Sugar. Also, Let It Rock appeared on all copies of Sticky Fingers sold in the country of Spain in place of the song Sister Morphine. Why? Because at the time of the release of Sticky Fingers, Spain was being ruled by one of the last of the old time Fascist dictators, Generalissimo Francisco Franco, and he and his culture ministers decided that a song with “morphine” in the title wasn’t good for the masses. Therefore, they insisted it be taken off prior to the album’s release in Spain. Apparently Franco and the boys must not have picked up on the fact that the entire album is an ode to the joys of heroin so pure that you want to spike it directly into your eyeballs. Guess they didn’t get that memo . . .

Speaking of heroin addiction, it never sounded as good as it does on this track. Listen at the two minute+ mark when the entire fucking song just about fucking derails, only to have Keith pull it out like a Phoenix rising from ashes with a blast of feed-back addled virtuosity. Guess it kinda helps to have Charlie Watts, Bill Wyman, and Mick Taylor covering your back . . .

Play this thing VERY FUCKING LOUD . . .
-Rance Muhhamitz

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