Last week one of my heroes fell from grace, almost certainly revealed as the drug-taking fraud that he was, flying high in a game that has no time or respect for the chemically improved. Another, whose drug input has for years been more openly discussed, if not celebrated, elevated himself back to glory. Keith Richards put a guitar riff in the faces of the mediocre bands and artists who've recently traded under the banner of rock, and it smoked.
The Human Riff and his group of historic rogues are back and it's a shockingly youthful return. Of course, they'll suffer the ageist jokes, but Doom and Gloom is the best Rolling Stones single for years, if not ever. From its opening chords, thrashed out with all the presumptuous swagger and chutzpah of a new kid on the block, to its screaming impassioned vocal, it's everything that I'd fantasized it could be. No triple-tracked horn section or keyboard filler, and quite obviously no hours spent doodling in a mansion full of hangers-on to achieve this balls-out product. It revels in its own scruffy musicality, its low-rent recording. This is a lean, five-piece double-guitar rock track, more akin to something the New York Dolls or the Stooges would have done than anything you'd expect from some of the richest and oldest men in the music business.
Nothing of course is ever not thought out and considered by the far-from bloated Mick Jagger, and the raw power of this record (for I still like to call downloads that) seems perfectly synonymous with the world's present state of mind. No audio fizz and glitter, but a cut back, economically scaled-down production. Even the skin of Charlie Watts' snare drum seems tighter than a City bank manager. Lyrically, this song plugs perfectly into the current public psyche - when all around is doom and gloom, what else is there to make you happy other than dancing with your baby. Let's bond on our double-dip return to the bottom, it seems to say. I can already hear the crowd singing it loudly at one of the up-and-coming Stones shows later this year, regardless of the fact that a ticket and some 'merch' will probably reduce their individual wealth considerably.
But let's not be cynical - this is a braver, tougher, more raucous record than any of the over-produced stuff currently being played for Britain's youth on Radio. Fifty years ago the Rolling Stones invented British rock'n'roll, giving a generation an amplified voice to call their own, playing louder and more angrily than anyone ever had before, and with a snaking sexuality that twitched the net curtains of Britain. Basically, frightening the hell out of old people - and in those days you qualified for that label at thirty. While other artists of their generation have allowed their music to sound like the aural version of the kind of easy shoe you can only order from supplements, the Stones have decided to deliver a distorted reminder of what they originally represented, and kick the doubters out.
A little smug chuckle from Keith can just be heard as the track stumbles to its under-rehearsed conclusion, and why shouldn't he be satisfied - they're now frightening the young as well. The drug of choice may well be Philosan, but this time it's the jokes that don't work.