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I approached the Stones’ appearance in Pittsburgh as an End of an Era. For the first time in 47 years, I bought into the Stones’ evergreen sales pitch - the underlying murmur of “this could be The Last Time” which I’ve heard every tour since my first in 1975. In ’75, they were all over 30, and they’d said they didn’t fancy playing “Satisfaction” at that advanced age; in ’78, it was because Keith was squeezing in a tour before his impending drug trafficking trial in Canada which might net him 20 years. After ’81, they didn’t come back for eight years, and everyone assumed they were done. Instead they had nearly broken up, but were eventually lured back to the Road by unbelievable stacks of show biz cash. They become a corporate entity of old men playing young men’s songs; every show from 1989 on strained the credulity of their ever topping what they had just pulled off. Their creative output diminished (after Tattoo You in my estimation) but they replaced it with a mind-blowing circus of the latest technology, each tour with a more elaborate stage than the last, the ever-larger video screens bringing a whole new element to the show. None of that would matter very much if it wasn’t being used to share the most crucial music of my young life and the lives of millions of other fans. But it was.
From my first show, in 1975 at age 17, until yesterday, The Rolling Stones have provided the soundtrack of my timeline and the milestones of my life. Going to see them has been a rite of passage, never more so than the last 5 shows I attended with my son Michael. But with the unexpected death of their drummer Charlie Watts, I thought back to numerous interviews over the years where Keith opined that Charlie WAS the Rolling Stones; I had always taken him at his word. Charlie DID seem irreplaceable, the literal heartbeat of the band. He didn’t play like anybody else. And he was universally loved - if you knew who he was, you loved him. The initial plan, that Charlie was just sitting out this tour, made me excited to hear them with Steve Jordan, a drummer who’s worked with Keith for 30 years. But then came the news of Charlie passing. I got blackout drunk with friends that night, and I immediately started looking at the upcoming show like going to a funeral. Charlie’s , and that of my youth.
On the drive to Pittsburgh, the sky alternated between threatening clouds and blue sky, breaking out in showers twice. In the highlands of northeastern PA the sky was evenly split between dark and light, the sun shining brightly while rain pelted the windshield. We looked in the rearview mirror and saw a vivid rainbow arching across the sky behind us. “Keith is waving his rainstick,” I said. Keith Richards has a walking stick he picked up somewhere in his travels which will ward off storms if waved with the proper juju. I think he used it the last time I saw them in Pittsburgh.
We arrived at the stadium without much trouble, but entered through the wrong gate and wound up having to circumnavigate the entire structure via an endless series of ramps. I quickly grew exhausted but continued struggling forward, using my cane and holding onto railings when possible. The place was packed, the air was stale. I had on two t-shirts and I sweat through both of them. At a halfway point I took a rest, catching my breath. Then I bought us two bottles of water ($5.95 ea) and we pushed on. The crowd oozed slowly up an escalator, and I stepped carefully to avoid having my dragging foot being caught in it. Then we entered the darkened stadium where the Ghost Hounds were playing a competent set through a fraction of the PA system. We had to climb 30 rows up, and my right foot by that time was barely responding to my brain’s requests for upward motion. An usher shone a light from above me, and I could hear people murmuring “aw…” as I pulled myself up the railing, dragging my unresponsive foot up each step. At the landing I caught my breath for a moment, but I still had to stumble in to the middle of the row, causing 5 or 6 people to stand up to let me pass, before I could finally sit down, panting for air as I peeled my outer shirt off.
So far, this funeral was going pretty much the way I expected. These stadium shows are too much for me - unless it’s the Stones. And this is probably the last one. Sigh.
As is often the case, these nightmarish struggles to remain ambulatory are rough, but I recover from them quickly. Within a few minutes I felt fine. The beauty of the evening and the open air of our second level seats revived me, and the gummies I’d eaten started to kick in. The stadium seemed smaller than I remembered. The lights flickered and went off, and the crowd roared in anticipation. The four monolithic video screens each showed a melting rendition of the band’s tongue logo on a yellow backdrop. Soon they were replaced by a lovely collage of pictures and video clips of the late Charlie Watts while a recording of him keeping a simple back beat played. It was a beautiful tribute. A hot tear rolled down my left cheek. On the screens Charlie hit a cymbal as an announcer said excitedly: “Ladies and Gentlemen, The Rolling Stones!” A burst of fireworks distracted us as Keith Richards hit the opening chords to “Street Fighting Man”, and then it was on. The entire stadium was on its feet. The sound was loud and clear, and the band dashed through a strong version of “Let’s Spend the Night Together.” Then Mick, Keith and Ronnie, arm in arm, came forward as Mick dedicated the show to Charlie. While we cheered they resumed with “Tumbling Dice”, and continued, strength after strength, to play absolutely thrilling versions of what fanatics call “The Warhorses”, the songs they HAVE to play. And every one was like hearing it for the first time because of the personnel changes in the engine room. “Miss you” in particular was absolutely transformed. New songs often take the momentum out of a show, but their recent release “Living In a Ghost Town” and their cover of “Trouble’s A’Coming” by the Chi-Lights were both well rehearsed and delightful additions to a setlist which I otherwise know by heart.
Keith’s set was strong and lucid, and “Slipping Away” was the finest performance I’ve ever seen him do. All thoughts of any goddamn funerals had been kicked the hell out of my mind as I was taking in this incredible performance. The final run, from an absolutely magnificent “Midnight Rambler” (with a verse of “Come On In My Kitchen” thrown in), to a hypnotic, pounding “Paint It Black”, to an astonishing “Sympathy” to an absolutely feral “Jumpin’ Jack Flash”, were all as good as it gets. The encore, “Gimme Shelter” and “Satisfaction”, just underlined the amazing fact that the Greatest Rock & Roll Band in the World is still the Rolling Stones, and it’s really not open for debate.
It was after 11 when the show finally ended with a fireworks display and a smiling image of Charlie on the video screens.
“They’ll be back next year,” I said to Michael. “It’s their 60th anniversary next year.”
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2021 Tour - Show #4 Heinz Field, Pittsburgh, Pa, Oct. 4th - Setlist, Reviews, Photos, Videos (Read 5,475 times)
