Record Collecting for Girls: Unleashing Your Inner Music Nerd, One Album at a Time

by Courtney E. Smith

  Beatlemania opened the door for other UK bands to enter the US market. The Stones' manager Andrew Loog Oldham immediately cast them as the evil yin to the Beatles' yang. Their career was launched with Oldham's "Would you let your daughter go with a Rolling Stone?" campaign in 1965, though "go with" was later changed to "marry," because even in London's Swinging '60s, the sexual implications of "go with" were too tawdry for the public. The campaign was successful in making the parents of Britain extremely uncomfortable, and thus, a group of bad-boy teen idols was born. When the Stones started writing songs after their first few albums as a cover band, they got at the heart of hormonal teenage desires and '60s misogyny in songs like "Yesterday's Papers" and "Stupid Girl." Where the Beatles charmed schoolgirls by shaking their mop tops and slyly hinting at the darker side of life, the Stones put it all out there. They painted themselves as the dangerous types your mom had warned you about right from the start.

  The Stones actually started out as a rather innocent bunch of boys, save the slightly older Brian Jones, who really did impregnate girls, run off to do drugs, and live the life of a homeless vagabond musician. Keith Richards and Mick Jagger bonded over a shared love of underground blues records, which accounts for the more overtly sexual nature of their music as compared to the innuendo that was a staple of pop music at the time. Controversial press coverage of the band led to intense police scrutiny and some notable brushes with the law, including the legendary 1967 raid on Keith Richards' house, when Mick Jagger's then-paramour Marianne Faithfull was found wearing nothing but a fur rug. Jagger and Richards were both arrested on drug charges, and their very public trial highlighted the "us vs. them" tension between '60s youth and the Establishment. They were both heavily fined, and Richards was sentenced to a year in jail (later overturned). The rockers had evolved to embody the contrived personas that had been created for them.

  After famously being introduced to marijuana by Bob Dylan, the Beatles too experimented with all sorts of drugs, including LSD, but this was rarely ever mentioned in the press and was virtually ignored by the UK police. The idea that the Fab Four were unimpeachable was so ingrained in popular culture that for years the police were willing to look the other way when the Beatles fell under suspicion. It wasn't until 1968 that Lennon and Harrison were finally busted for possession of cannabis resin.

  Buying into the idea of the Beatles as "good" and the Stones as "bad" is to believe the hype. Oldham could never have contrived the early Stones' bad-boy image without the Beatles' good-boy one to play off. The imagined feud made excellent fodder for the press. Both bands had their share of high-profile soap-opera moments, from John Lennon's desertion of his wife, Cynthia, and son, Julian, to Brian Jones's abuse of his girlfriend Anita Pallenberg, who then left him for Keith Richards. Not to mention their everyday, on-the-road indiscretions. In truth, there are no nice guys or bad guys here, just some images that were marketed for the tabloids and teenage girls.

  WISDOM IN LYRICS

  I have a theory: Women who prefer the Stones to the Beatles aren't slutty, as traditional guy wisdom suggests. They are women who like assholes. It's a phase many girls go through, some of us for longer than others. A whole lot of Stones' lyrics come from a very selfish place that's anti-relationship and anti-woman. (Hello, "Under My Thumb," I'm looking in your direction.) While the Beatles have more than their fair share of sweet love songs, the Stones spend a lot less time singing about being in love and focus more on sex as a weapon.

  Nearly everything about the Stones is designed to make guys think about sex, from the band's ripped-off aggro-blues riffs to the lewd lyrics about spending the night together. Listening to phrases like "cocksucker blues" and "rocks off," guys start to think about all kinds of ways of getting it on. They see the cover of Sticky Fingers with Mick Jagger's exaggerated crotch or the Stones' famous tongue logo and think about blow jobs. Some of them will admit it. Some of them will say they appreciate how the Stones sing about "real" things that they can relate to; that's code for, "This song is about fucking!" Since the Rolling Stones so effectively make men think of their carnal desires, and they assume the band does the same for you.

  When a guy is looking to hook up, he may seek out a girl who prefers the Stones. Then he'll tell her up front that he's only down for sex, on the theory that any girl who's into "Under My Thumb" will be self-loathing enough to go along with it. He's hoping he'll get off scot-free because he told her it wasn't going anywhere from the start. It's a weak assumption, and those guys are wrong. The lyrics to Stones songs like "Under My Thumb" piss me off no end, but the music's so fantastic to dance to that I find myself unable to hate it.

  For a woman, there is a complexity to liking the Stones, and they don't make it easy on you. On one hand, they hit you with a sweet, swoon-worthy ballad like "Wild Horses" that speaks with the voice of a sensitive soul who's been bruised by love. In the other corner, they come at you with a come-fuck-me song like "Rocks Off," whose lyrics read like a barroom challenge of the sexes. The Stones' lyrics cover everything from overthrowing conventional values on "Sympathy for the Devil" to spouting philosophy with a choir of angels for backup on "You Can't Always Get What You Want." This isn't the music for sluts; it's music for a woman who appreciates a complicated man, who may at times send mixed messages but keeps things interesting. Sure, he's a bit of an asshole, but you're never bored because you have no idea what he's going to do next. Being in a relationship with an asshole is like being an adrenaline junkie—the drama is addictive. It's the same reason some guys like crazy girls. And it's part of the overall allure of the Stones. We speculate about which woman Mick Jagger really wrote "Wild Horses" for and accept terrible saccharine ballads like "You Got the Silver" from Keith Richards because he wrote it for his crazy German lover Anita Pallenberg. The songs themselves are good, but so too is the personal drama behind them that has become intertwined with our perception of their music.

  IS IT BETTER TO BURN OUT OR FADE AWAY?

  Even most Stones fans will tell you that there is an expiration date by which the band should have broken up. Few people would argue that their post'"Some Girls (1978) material is necessary. The one thing we can all agree on is that by now the Stones are well beyond the point when they should have given up being an arena rock band. Their touring became a complete affront to rock 'n' roll for two reasons: 1) They're still playing songs in their sixties that they wrote in their twenties and thirties about sex, drugs, and fighting. This is unappealing because most younger people don't care to think about the sexual viability of a man the age of their grandfather who wears eyeliner and wants to be started up. That's gross. 2) The entire raison d'être behind their continued career as a huge touring band has become a series of cash grabs designed to maximize their income with the least amount of taxation on their time and creative efforts. That's selling out.

  I suspect that if any of Mick Jagger's solo albums had been a success, he would have broken up the Stones immediately. But he flopped on his own, and so the Stones as a band and brand live on as a money-making machine. Their whole career followed the flow of the money, as was audaciously illustrated when they fled to France to dodge UK taxes while recording Exile on Main St. Their greed was most recently displayed in their collaboration with Martin Scorsese to create the live-performance documentary Shine a Light, which is arguably one of the worst and most-bloated rock docs ever filmed.

  Even their turn in one of the greatest rock docs ever made, Gimme Shelter—the story of the tragic events of the Stones' free concert at Altamont that became the defining musical statement on the death of '60s counterculture—was ultimately a case of the Stones' trying to make a buck. The now-legendary free concert was organized and headlined by the Stones after the manager of the Grateful Dead suggested a "Woodstock West." (Ultimately, the show would turn out to be such a disaster that the Dead turned around and left instead of playing the festival.) It was marketed to the public as a free holiday concert to cap off the US tour that report
edly earned the Stones over a million dollars—big bucks in 1969. The promoters working on behalf of the Stones and the Dead were unable to obtain the proper permits for their first venue of choice, San Francisco's Golden Gate Park. The owners of a second site, the Sears Point Raceway, wanted the rights to film and distribute the concert, but the Stones were already planning to use footage from the show as the climax of their 1969 tour film and would not agree to the terms. The disagreements and fallouts with venues led to repeated cancellations, followed by announcements that the show was still on. Twenty hours before the show was to begin, it was decided it would be at the Altamont Speedway, a gravel pit thirty minutes away from San Francisco that usually served as a demolition-derby track. The venue was shoddily set up, with no food or water, a dire lack of medical supplies, insufficient bathrooms, poor parking, and no provisions for crowd control beyond the Hells Angels, who were paid $500 in beer to keep people off the stage.

  The Stones were not entirely at fault for the events at Altamont, although their grandstanding during their performance, poor choice of songs, and irresponsible management of the venue have long been thought to have needlessly incited the already explosive mood of the crowd. Over the course of the day, the Hells Angels harassed the performers and crowd ruthlessly. As many as 850 people were injured, including several who were hit by cans of beer the Angels were randomly throwing into the audience, and Jefferson Airplane singer Marty Balin, whom members of the motorcycle gang attacked on stage. Four people died at Altamont. While three of the deaths were ruled accidental, the fourth was a homicide. During the Stones' set, as they played "Under My Thumb," the Angels stabbed and killed an eighteen-year-old black man named Meredith Hunter, who was seen brandishing a gun. Gimme Shelter captures the moment on film, turning what was supposed to be a standard tour documentary into one of the most notorious films of the twentieth century, nudging into first place because the other infamous Stones film, Cocksucker Blues, remains officially unreleased. Cocksucker Blues documents the band's first return to the United States after Altamont, along with some serious sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll. It was not released because the Rolling Stones themselves decided the content was inappropriate.

  I've always found it amazing that the Stones allowed the release of Gimme Shelter, because they come off as completely irresponsible and out of touch. But it was one more way for the band to get deeply in touch with your wallet. By partially financing the film and, some speculate, influencing how they were portrayed to whitewash their involvement, they managed to capitalize on their negligent role in one of the defining disasters of rock history. By extension, both the Stones and the production company behind the movie have profited from exploiting the death of a young man alongside the inevitable demise of the Woodstock generation.

  In the decades since this incident, the Stones have devolved into greedy old men of questionable creative talent. Every world tour, as the audience wonders who might break a hip on stage during this go-round, their legacy as the most dangerous band in rock 'n' roll unravels just a little more. Once you looked to the Stones and found the definitive rock band; look today and you'll find old men who are in it for a paycheck.

  Finances become a problem for many bands, and the Beatles didn't escape such troubles. In the end, their disagreements over money management were a major factor in their breakup. The friction so often attributed to the presence of Yoko Ono had a lot more to do with the battle over who would handle the Beatles' affairs after the unexpected death of their longtime manager, Brian Epstein. Nor was the band's post-breakup asset management entirely without missteps; consider the notable period when they let go of publishing rights for their songs. Sony ATV and Michael Jackson picked them up, which resulted in both a falling-out between McCartney and Jackson and the infamous placement of "Revolution" in a Nike commercial. It could have been so much worse, though, if the Beatles had stayed together or, worse yet, had the opportunity to reunite. Too many bands of the '60s through the '90s are cashing in with reunion tours for nostalgic fans who will pay to see the performers well past their prime. It's embarrassing, and I'm glad the Beatles did not partake. They will remain the 1960s versions of themselves in our minds forever.

  NATURE VS. NURTURE

  For some of you, this entire discussion is moot because you made your choice long before you even reached dating age. It's very likely that you grew up in a Stones or Beatles house. Your parents, TV, or radio introduced you to one of the bands first, and that early exposure greatly influences which one you prefer now. It's called sense memory—you probably identify one band with happy times or time spent listening to the music of a trusted parent or older sibling, and so you'll always be partial to them.

  I grew up in a Beatles house. We listened to the White Album all the time. My personal childhood favorites were "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da" and "Rocky Raccoon." I was also quite obsessed with Abbey Road. On weekends my stepdad and I would make mix tapes together from his record collection. I wasn't allowed to touch the vinyl, but I did get to pick the songs, and the Beatles were a perpetual favorite. Not at all coincidentally, when the time came to buy my own records to play on my Fisher-Price record player, the first thing I saved up my allowance to acquire was Julian Lennon's Valotte. I tried not to buy records my parents already had in their rather extensive collection, but when I moved out of their house, one of the first things I did was get my own copy of Abbey Road.

  I was ten before I started recognizing Stones songs, largely on the radio, where "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" got excessive play on the local classic-rock station. Even at that young age, I thought their songs seemed crass and immature, certainly compared to the more sophisticated Beatles songs I'd grown up listening to. At the time I was more into George Michael's "I Want Your Sex" than the Stones' "Beast of Burden," and Bette Midler's cover of that song didn't help the Stones earn any cred with me. The best Stones' songs do, however, have that magic X-factor that makes them amazing to sing along to while you're driving around with the windows down.

  From age twelve on, I spent more time with current popular music than I did deep-diving in anyone's catalog, and didn't go back to listen to the Stones or the Beatles much until my twenties. Having been weaned on the Beatles, the Stones never stood a chance with me. Then again, if you ask me in five years, I might change my mind entirely and tell you that Let It Bleed is a grossly underrated work of genius. It is my favorite full-length Stones album.

  And so, having spent some serious time contemplating which band I prefer, I leave you with three conclusions:

  Comparing the Beatles and the Stones is stupid, because it's based on an outdated marketing concept from the 1960s.

  Being a woman who likes the Stones is not the same thing as being a man who likes the Stones, and to make such an assumption is folly.

  If you're asking, I prefer the Beatles.

  Should guys try to extrapolate my sexual preferences, intelligence level, or any personality trait from my answer to the Beatles-or-Stones question? Absolutely not. Will asking this question lead to a very interesting conversation, giving two people a great excuse to flirt and talk about themselves? Oh, yes. In fact, I might start using it as my pickup line.

  BEATLES VS. STONES PLAYLIST

  THE BEATLES, "Tomorrow Never Knows"

  THE ROLLING STONES, "Yesterday's Papers"

  THE ROLLING STONES, "Stupid Girl"

  THE BEATLES, "She's Leaving Home"

  THE ROLLING STONES, "Under My Thumb"

  THE ROLLING STONES, "Wild Horses"

  THE ROLLING STONES, "You Got the Silver"

  THE ROLLING STONES, "Rocks Off"

  THE ROLLING STONES, "Sympathy for the Devil"

  THE ROLLING STONES, "You Can't Always Get What You Want"

  THE BEATLES, "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da"

  THE BEATLES, "Rocky Raccoon"

  THE BEATLES, "Dig a Pony"

  THE ROLLING STONES, "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction"

  GEORGE MICHAEL, "I Want Your Sex
"

  BETTE MIDLER, "Beast of Burden"

  FINAL NOTE

  down the music k-hole

  MUSICAL DISCOVERY IS not just about finding brand-new music. It should also consider music that's new to you. A collector of any depth and range—especially one who wants to understand the abstruse reference points of critics who love name-checking other bands in a revolving game of "sounds like"—must know about the artists who influenced their current favorite bands. When I know what I want to hear but am burnt out on the current crop of music, I like to take a trip down the music k-hole.

  If you're not a recreational drug user or a recreational user of drug slang, allow me to loosely define the k-hole: it is the dissociative state of mind one experiences after taking too much Special K. Many claim to have achieved enlightenment after their trip down the k-hole. I think of the musical k-hole as a similarly disorienting experience, where you explore music that you've never even thought about before and become so engrossed that you lose all sense of time and space. This is often a directionless exercise, but for the purposes of this book I offer you a guided tour. Our preferred map today is my Rhapsody subscription and AllRovi.com, the new site intended to replace the All Music Guide (an online depository of biographies and album reviews).