CREEM ONLINE: Brian Wilson

Rolling Stones
Rock And Roll Circus [DVD]
2004 ABKCO

Official blurbist David Dalton has called this concert "Two classic days in December 1968 that in many ways capture the enthusiasm, aspirations, and communal spirit of an entire era," and since he was there in the London studio when it was filmed and recorded, I respect his sense of apotheosis. However, with some hindsight vantage, the fault lines that would send The Sixties crashing down at Altamont almost exactly a year later (again with those method-acted devils the Rolling Stones on stage) are already visible here. Brian Jones's eyes look like they've had cigarettes put out in them, and foretell the premiere death among the British Invasion principals; the latest-thing spotlight is trained on Jethro Tull, as sludgy early on as so much early-'70s rock would turn out to be; and whatever clever fellow selected the musicians' circus-performer guises cast Yoko Ono as a witch, not a productive wardrobe choice if the countercultural powers-that-be really wanted to keep John Lennon fat & happy as a working Beatle.

But maybe that's what Dalton's really getting at: The Rolling Stones Rock and Roll Circus event fell midway between groovy-millennium Monterey Pop and the gathering doom of Altamont, and contains flavors of both markers. Because something on those two days in 1968 made the music extraordinary. The conventional myth for years was that the Stones had buried this movie as they felt their set (done at the end of a long and grueling night under the big top) wasn't as hot as the fresh-off-the-road Who's, but when the documentation finally came out on video in 1996, both groups sounded great, and Mick was left with his lips flapping. It's a two-ring circus, after all, and the Who's performance is incandescent, especially from ultimate BritInvas drummer Keith Moon, but they're applying their thrash and flash to one of the cloudier jewels in their '60s crown, the choppy "A Quick One (While He's Away)" mini-opera. Yes, I know, it was the prototype for Tommy and all of that, but it also forecast how the '70s would gradually demolish the Who's maximum-R&B garage and replace it with a stuffy prog music hall. The Stones are somewhat subdued relative to the Who in their turn, but they do a stunningly inimitable set from their prime 1968 songbook, including "Jumpin' Jack Flash," "You Can't Always Get What You Want," and the number that best epitomizes that year's nightmares, "Sympathy for the Devil." If the Who had thought to do "Substitute" or "Pictures of Lily" that night, this whole thing might still be in the can, but their quick pick of "A Quick One" enabled the Stones to out-point them on compositions alone.

That long-ago night's battle of the bands gets a fresh good-sport spin in one of the DVD's extras, a current interview with Pete Townshend, in which he speaks admiringly of Mick Jagger's sexy performance, even more impressive coming after all the hours Jagger had spent organizing and then ringmastering the show. As Townshend notes, Jagger is both a consummate artist and a driven businessman here, staring deep into the camera's eye (and thus ours) at every moment, just as he'd learned to do in making Performance the month before, his hair still dyed black from that role. Jagger the politician also stars, when he maintains a relentless show-must-go-on smile the whole time the always-class-conscious John Lennon zings him with sarcastic puns, all a prelude to getting Lennon's ad hoc Dirty Mac band up on stage. That combo's performances of "Yer Blues" and "Whole Lotta Yoko" are keepers, especially for the reassuring sight of Eric Clapton second-billed to John Lennon, as God intended. Honorable mention to the song slots by Taj Mahal and Marianne Faithfull, as well. All in all, a fine portrait of that star-crossed '60s juncture just before CREEM itself was born.

(But why does Pete Townshend keep reaching under his shirt to scratch himself during his interview? Is Boris the Spider running around in there?)