The best art comes from suffering. The Rolling Stones were seemingly living the dream in 1970. Rock stars touring the world, limousines, private planes, drugs, women, and decadence on all fronts. But, behind the scenes, the Stones’ business affairs were a mess. Their manager, Allen Klein, had roped them into a situation they couldn’t escape. Accusations of withheld royalties, stolen publishing, and unpaid taxes led to a split with the manager and a lengthy legal battle. Tax under the Labour Party government of Prime Minister Harold Wilson was 93%. (Remember “Taxman” by George Harrison?)
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It was a time of transition. People were assessing the ’60s. Did it work? Why didn’t it work? What was next? The reality of the band’s situation started to set in.
Guitarist Keith Richards reflected, “It was a feeling that we were being edged out of our own country. The British government were scared by the number of fans we had, I suppose. They couldn’t ignore that we were a force to be reckoned with, and sometime in the end of the year, we had to make the decision. It was like, well, we all wanted to keep going, so let’s just move. We’re not rooted in England. We’d been around the world half the time.”
The Stones did a small farewell tour of England and then took off to France. Richards and Italian actress Anita Pallenberg moved into Villefranche-sur-Mer, Villa Nellcote. Singer Mick Jagger married Bianca Macias in St. Tropez and moved to Paris. Bassist Bill Wyman moved to St Paul de Vence. Drummer Charlie Watts moved in with Richards and Pallenberg. The band enjoyed some anonymity, but they were out of their element.
Not Rooted in England
Wyman spoke of missing his routine, “I hated leaving England. I did because, when you got down there, you had to try to replace everything you loved because it wasn’t there. You had to, sort of, try to buy PG Tips to make your tea. Then you had to deal with French milk, which wasn’t the same.”
Guitarist Mick Taylor was thrown into the craziness. “I joined the Stones May or June of ’69, and so, I hadn’t earned enough money or done enough work on that level to have any kind of tax problems,” he said. “But one of my most vivid memories is being flown down there on our own private jet. I thought, ‘My God. This is the high life, this is wonderful.'”
They looked around for recording studios but found no good options. They had a mobile truck, so they started looking for halls or theaters to convert into studios. Ultimately, they used Richards’ basement, which consisted of many separate rooms. It allowed for isolation during recording. It was convenient for Richards and Watts but not so much for the other band members. It was very loose as they moved back to the basics.
Richards liked the rough-and-tumble approach. “I never plan anything, which is probably the difference between Mick and myself,” he said. “Mick needs to know what he’s gonna do tomorrow, and me, I’m just happy to wake up and see who’s hanging around. Mick’s rock, I’m roll.”
At this stage, the Stones expanded to an eight-piece band with the addition of Bobby Keys and Jim Price on horns and Nicky Hopkins on piano. The party-like atmosphere led to long, extended jams of blues and country. As long as the tape was rolling, they wanted to explore many musical areas.
“One of the things about Exile,” said Richards, “I think, was a lot of stuff that we’d picked up on the road and along the way came out. You’ve drawn from whatever you’ve listened to since you were a child. Probably, some of the things I write or play are things that I listened to in 1947. Rock ‘n’ roll, in its basic sense, is a mixture. What I’ve always loved about it, when I thought about it, it’s a beautiful synthesis of white music and black music. And, it’s just a beautiful cauldron to mix things up.”
Recording Marathon
It was a never-ending recording session. People would come and go. Some days, everyone was there. Other days, it would just be a few of them. Richards cut “Happy” with percussionist Jimmy Miller on drums and Bobby Keys on baritone sax.
Engineer Andy Johns recalled, “What would really happen was this: They would play really poorly for two or three days on whatever song, and then, if Keith got up and started looking at Charlie, then you knew that something was about to go down. And then Bill would get up and put his bass at that sort of 84-degree angle. And you went, ‘Ah, here it comes. They’re going for it now.’ Then, it would turn into this wonderful, God-given music.”
The drugs increased. The group of people that were hanging around started to grow. Someone stole eight guitars, a bass, and a saxophone in September. As winter approached, there was a feeling that it was time to go.
The band went to Los Angeles to finish the album at Sunset Sound. They added pedal steel, upright bass, and background vocals.
Said Jagger, “I remember Keith even saying, ‘I’m so burnt out on this record.’ But we still got loads of unfinished songs. Some of them had fragmentary lyrics, and some had none at all. So, we had a big mountain to climb.”
Jagger resorted to putting a pile of random lyrics on a table and pulling them together to create “Casino Boogie.”
“It’s weird where lyric things come from. I mean, ‘Tumbling Dice,'” Jagger remembered, “I sat with the housekeeper and talked to her about gambling. She liked to play dice, and I didn’t know much about it, but I got it off her, and I made the song out of that.
Exile on Main St. came out to mixed reviews. Some thought it was unfocused. Over time, it was regarded as one of the best albums of all time.
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Photo by Evening Standard/Hulton Archive/Getty Images
