The Rolling Stone who stayed still
Alex Abramovich
It must have been thirty or forty years ago, but I remember the clip vividly, as if I had watched it again and again in slow-motion – which I suppose I did in my mind’s eye. The camera pans across a stage and the drummer, completely immobile except for his hands, blinks slowly as it passes him by. The slightest gesture, but I had never seen anything so composed (cold-blooded, really), private (although it was a big stage, with thousands watching), and purposive.
Many years later, in an anthology edited by Luc Sante and Melissa Holbrook Pierson, I read Dave Hickey’s essay on Robert Mitchum, which quotes the actor at length:
A real gun is a very serious instrument. It has serious implications and terrible consequences, so you have to handle a gun like that, as if it were serious – as you would handle a very serious thing. If you do this, your character gets real in a hurry – your character steals the reality of the gun, which the audience already believes. On stage, it’s just the reverse. The setting and props are fake. Or even if they’re real, they look fake. So it’s a completely different thing. Also, the stage is still. When you’re acting in a film, you know that when people finally see what you’re doing, everything will be moving. There will be this hurricane of pictures swirling around you.
The projector will be rolling, the camera will be panning, the angle of shots will be changing, and the distance of the shots will be changing, and all these things have their own tempo, so you have to have a tempo, too. If you sit or stand or talk the way you do at home, you look silly on the screen, incoherent. On screen, you have to be purposive. You have to be moving or not moving. One or the other … A lot of times, in a complicated scene, the best thing to do is stand absolutely still, not moving a muscle. This would look very strange if you did it at the grocery store, but it looks OK on screen because the camera and the shots are moving around you.
Then, when you do move, even to pick up a teacup, you have to move at a speed. Everything you do has to have pace, and if you’re the lead in a picture, you want to have the pace, to set the pace, so all the other tempos accommodate themselves to yours.
I thought immediately of Charlie Watts – the Rolling Stone who stayed still as the hurricane swirled around him. Watts was dignified, in a world where dignity was never valued. Gifted, musically, in a way that none of the other Stones (Mick Taylor excepted) really were. Keith Richards had his heroin chic thing in place. Mick Jagger was more like cocaine: gimlet-eyed, fishy and gorgeous and hideous, taking himself very seriously, not being funny (qualities that applied to Brian Jones, too). But Watts gave the sense of someone who was in on the joke. In a smart piece about Exile on Main Street, Ben Ratliff quotes the Stones’ sometime producer, Don Was:
You’ve got five individuals feeling the beat in a different place. At some point, the centrifugal force of the rhythm no longer holds the band together. That [alternate take of] ‘Loving Cup’ is about the widest area you could have without the band falling apart.
That was all Charlie Watts’s doing. Like Robert Mitchum, he knew what it took to hold things together (which wasn’t the easiest thing in the world in his case, with Keith Richards running the musical show): as so often, it came down to the timing.
Comments
What did he have talent for?
He was a guitar player, and he also diverted his talent on other instruments. His original instrument was the clarinet. So he played harmonica because he was familiar with wind instruments.
Did he give the band a sound?
Yes. He played the slide guitar at a time when no one really played it. He played in the style of Elmore James, and he had this very lyrical touch. He evolved into more of an experimental musician, but he lost touch with the guitar, and always as a musician you must have one thing you do well. He dabbled too much.
Brian Jones, on the other hand, may well have been the source for all of the qualities that made the Stones the Stones, rather than the Bluesbreakers or the Yardbirds. Leaving aside his contributions to their alleged lifestyles (pity Richards and Jagger for having to pretend to be teenage Brian Jones in public for their entire lives), he essentially made possible their continued reinvention through the '60s. He pressured Richards and Jagger to sound as close to the Chess Records sound as it was possible for Londoners to sound, giving them needed credibility in a crowded London blues scene. His interest in, and ability to play, exotic instruments allowed the Stones to compete in the mid-60s with the Beatles and Beach Boys and their armies of studio musicians. Finally, his interest in drones, appearing on seminal tracks like "Street Fighting Man" and "Jumpin' Jack Flash", may have helped Keith Richards to see the value in the open-tuning style he saw Ry Cooder playing. This was not only valuable for inspiring their last great period of recordings, but also, given the acoustic properties of sports arenas, may have helped the Stones survive as a live act.
In any case, none of this takes away from Watts' importance to the group as a musician. His skill as a jazz-blues drummer gave all these experiments a seriousness that many of their contemporaries lacked. Like his peers in the London blues scene, Ginger Baker and Mick Fleetwood, he helped make the British Invasion an important musical movement that the American music industry would need to reckon with, rather than a mere cultural anomaly of the '60s.