Arts in the District, June 2013
Yesterday the National Gallery of Art hosted what should have been a standing room only screening of “Cocksucker Blues”, Robert Frank’s unreleased version of a 1972 Rolling Stones US tour. The screening was encased in the pedagogical musings of David E. James. Luckily he bought some great clips from earlier Stones films to assuage the non-pedagogical attendees whose snoring was otherwise audible. To his credit, James, a heavyweight in the film history field, did bring the once banned film to us (New york saw it first at MOMA last November), and his preview revived for me the times and context in which the music first played. Now that the music is iconic, it is hard to hear the roots or to separate it from your own memory stream where you danced and experimented to the music on your terms, not those of the Stones. On the other hand James seemed to blame the Stones for being of their time and insensitive (?) to the chaos around them. If you write Sympathy for the Devil, are you the devil? I think every woman in America knows that Mick Jagger was only dangerous on stage and that’s part of the appeal. I am not so sure of his male fans. The music just seemed to add more to their already primed youthful bodies. The best early film outtake James showed was a scene of sport jacket wearing so called hoodlums taking over the stage at an early 60’s concert. Bizarre view of preppy youth gone sort of wild. This idea that the band is responsible for the behavior of the fans may only exist in academia where some get paid to sit around and watch films and listen to good music all day (okay that was lame, but….)

Was the ‘Cock Sucking’ film worth the ban? For the Stones, right call. They would likely have had fewer US tours for a while and much litigation. How about for us? It captures both the end of the innocent rock and roll concert era (already dead at Altamont) and that America was still a lot like the place Robert Frank had photographed almost 20 years earlier in The Americans. There are several shots that mimic many of the images in the book: the grainy pool hall; shallow depth of field with the focus on the background; off kilter framing, lots of glowing tv’s; and a wonderful southern road trip sequence which literally feels like the book put in motion. The passage of time actually may have made the film better. We are used to the look of these images now and can read them better. The ugliest scene, supposed to be a sexual romp on the airborne jet, just looks and feels like rape. The shooting up isn’t fun either, but it is sort of expected. Frank is a good foil for all of this. He’s close with his camera, but unobtrusive and unthreatening to the Stones and crew. They seem to treat him like some kindly artist uncle. And it is the crew and back up musicians whose behavior is the most egregious. The Stones do weed and coke, but that’s about it for onscreen fun. The newly married Jagger is seen with the lovely Bianca in the most chaste of scenes. The performance bits show Jagger already going Glam and in his prime; not a youthful wild child, but a man working on his brand.

Three weeks ago, I finally saw the Stones live at the HP Pavillion in San Jose, CA. Were they still great? Well I loved every minute of it and sure they were older, as am I, but the music survives. It has a great beat and you can dance to it!