Gog was reborn at the age of 21 after falling on his head and losing his memory. The fall occurred when he was trying to change a light bulb while sleepwalking, which now seems significant. Into the vacuum of Gog's 1972 mind rushed the Rolling Stones, who had just issued "Exile on Main St." on May 26.
Gog and his hippie friends were squatting in a derelict Spokane house, living on food stamps, stealing toilet paper and drinking beer. They watched "Star Trek," mocked Gog for not remembering his name, and listened to "Exile," which they purchased on an Army base for $6.66, tax free.
"Exile" was the perfect music. A double album, it lasted through the dull afternoons of high blue skies and thin dry air as the plumbing dripped, the refrigerator mildewed and the linoleum buckled. Aside from scrapin' the shit off their shoes to the country thump and honkin' sax of "Sweet Virginia," Gog & the boyz at first didn't discern any hits via Gog's $99 G.E. portable stereo. On rockers like "Rocks Off" and "All Down the Line," Mick sounded as if he were yelling from inside a subway tunnel. "Sweet Black Angel" -- catchy, but what was that, calypso? "I Just Want To See His Face" -- spooky background vocals, just plain weird. Blues up the ass, f*ckin horns all over the place, and even when it was raging hardest, the whole thing sounded like a drunk dragging himself into church after a three-day bender. The record's influences were heavier than booze, it turned out, but the words and mood felt so poetic out there by the Spokane River, where the farmers met the insurance salesmen and the Indians met the blackrobes.
Absorbing "Exile" took a while, but it seeped into Gog's newly scrubbed brain like a drug, and remained with greater permanence than the sound of his mother's voice. It wasn't just the music; Rolling Stone magazine, in words and pictures, had been prepping the faithful for the moment when they could jettison their revolutionary ideals and wallow in the glamorous hedonism the Stones had been peddling since the band got caught in the political crossfire of Altamont in 1969. The post-"Street Fighting Man" Stones represented a more appealing kind of freedom, a freedom without dogma or responsibility. For lazy chickenshits, it felt good to breathe.
The Stones' first North American tour stop, with Stevie Wonder opening, was Vancouver, B.C., on June 3, 1972. Gog & friends attended the first of two shows the next night at the Seattle Center Coliseum. It must have been great.
Must have been. Gog's short-term memory had not yet fully re-roosted at the time. Amid all the noise & action within the hockey arena, he most vividly recalls a silence, the three minutes after Keith blew his amp upon cranking "Midnight Rambler." Gog figures that must have been his own reboot moment: He served out the last year of his degree in classical languages, but devoted most of his career to music.
How many reboots do we get? How many rebirths? "Exile on Main St." has itself received several digital remasterings, the worst and least faithful of which (2010) is probably the only one you can get on your streaming service.
Luckily, Gog still possesses the battered '72 LPs, but after 1,000 plays, he was not prepared for what he heard on them this week.
1. The vinyl "Exile" is not murky. It is warm, dynamic and well balanced, a tribute to the thousands of hours of mixing by producer Andy Johns along with Keith and Mick. The previous fault lay with Gog's old phonographs (and by implication the phonographs of many impoverished rock critics). Gog got a good stylus a few years ago, and it makes an incredible difference. The early CDs sound good enough too; find those on eBay. But would Gog trade the crackling outgrooves (for instance after "You got to roll me!" on "Tumbling Dice") for mere digital silence? Never.
2. Gog now has some perspective and distance. Yet Gog is no longer a young man. Like "Exile," he has been crushed and reconstituted, but without the benefit of an earlier referent/template such as a phonograph album. He listens with several sets of ears, and each ear enjoys something new: the contributions of five very different bass players and two drummers; the distinctive 7th harmonies of Mick & Keith on "Casino Boogie"; the one-of-a-kind groove of "Ventilator Blues" (and why wasn't that picked up as the theme of the early pandemic?).
3. "Rocks Off" sounds like Mick's plea to an absent Keith. "What's the matter with the boy? He don't come around no more."
4. "Happy": "Always took candy from strangers," sings Keith. "Never blew a second chance." And third and fourth and thousandth.
5. "Loving Cup": "I'd love to spill the beans with you till dawn." Bog likes to think this line inspired the scene from the 1975 Ken Russell film of "Tommy" where Ann-Margret cavorts in a torrent of baked beans.
6. "Hip Shake": Now, that's blues that really sounds as if it was recorded in a basement in the South of France. But it wasn't; basic tracks were laid down for the "Let It Bleed" sessions in 1969.
7. "Shine a Light," likely about Marianne Faithfull, is the most deeply felt song the Stones ever waxed, set up by a shimmering introduction that could represent what it feels like to wake up in a hospital on painkillers. Let's not find out.
Gog now gets up earlier than 11:59am. He still drinks beer, but he uses it to chase fish-oil capsules. He expects that next time he hears "Exile on Main St.," it will sound different, and he will enjoy it just as much. Whoever "he" is then.
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Listen to the 1972 Seattle show Gog attended here. The sound is not great, but the band has high energy, and since it's early in the tour, Jagger has not yet shredded his vocal cords.
Read Rolling Stone's contemporary hype here. Robert Greenfield is a sharp writer, and his "Exile" book is also valuable.
Read MetalJazz's review of the 2010 DVD "Ladies and Gentlemen: The Rolling Stones," which repackages the 1974 film of the 1972 tour, here.