In 2022, it’s hard to imagine The Rolling Stones feeling any pressure to conform to the industry’s coeval. But 55 years ago in 1967, that was exactly the case. Their Satanic Majesties Request has been dubbed their half-baked, calamitous response to The Beatles’ Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, released in the same year. For those with eyes and ears for intricacy, all four of The Beatles can be spotted on the cover, poking up from acid tone flower beds; you can even hear Lennon and McCartney’s own backing vocals on ‘Sing This All Together’, serving two fingers to the nay-sayers determined to pit the two groups together, in their rebellious British way. The ‘coincidental’ sudden interest in psychedelic rock served as a practical demonstration that they too have a niche for kaleidoscopic levels of lyrical meaning and acidic sound, though it paved the way for critics, including The Stones themselves in later years, to be far from kind to the album. But for critics to reduce it to this is not only wrong, it’s lazy.
The Rolling Stones have always retained a sense of fluidity, often combining many styles to create their instantly recognisable sound. But the late sixties brought about immense uncertainty, not just regarding the concept of their next album, but in the domestic tumults that were shaking the band to its core. Keith was facing up to a year in prison for the drug bust in his home in Redlands, West Wittering, whilst Brian Jones’ increasing reliance on alcohol and drugs was straining his relationships with Mick and Keith, both of whom were getting closer to his ex-girlfriend Anita Pallenberg, a definitive muse for the album. Above all, they had fired their long-time manager Andrew Oldham, and were seemingly learning the details of producing on the job themselves. The result: the fracturing group were seldom present in the studio together, either being in and out of courtrooms, or of differing levels of consciousness. The chances of recording something so finely attuned (alike to The Beatles), was slim. If Their Satanic Majesties sounds clunky, confused, and uncertain, it’s because, well… it is. The Stones’ 6th UK album encapsulated the transitional period that the boys found themselves in and like everybody trying to fathom the tumult of the 60’s, there was nothing to do but just live with it.
Structurally, the album experiments with a narrative through reprisal, which creates a waxing and waning cycle through its songs. ‘Sing This All Together’ features twice. Its introduction and conclusion to the A-side reinforces the cult-like atmosphere, and labyrinthlike frustration of unpacking the album’s message. Yet, with all the splash of experimental sound, it can be easy to lose sight of it. What truly holds the album down, through the turmoil of drug-fuelled chaos and quiet comedowns, is the sense of order the album acquires through the written expression of female romance (unless of course it’s with a band member’s ex). Every other song is an ode to the male gaze that each member expresses uniquely, counterbalanced by ‘freak out’ songs that feel like professionally recorded head trips. It is this sense of feminine harmony that keeps the body of work from flying completely off the hook. It is ultimately the saving grace of Their Satanic Majesties Request.
‘Citadel’ and ‘In Another Land’ are the first duo on the A-side betwixt the quiet and the calamity. ‘Citadel’ describes the chaos that was increasingly engulfing both the band and the wider society at the time. Religion, capitalism, and war are mused on by Jagger, who doesn’t hold back with his criticism of ‘dollar bills round the heights of concrete hills’, and men who have ‘journeyed far from here armed with bibles [that] make us swear’. The speaker shuts himself off from the world in his personal Citadel with the exception of a few sweet visitors; ‘Candy’ and ‘Taffy’, who make coping with the mental burden of life that little bit easier. The lyrical tumult is reinforced by Jones’ experimentation with the Mellotron. The retraction of the magnetic tape that is generated when a note is held, produces the sound equivalent of melting wax. The effect is both sinister and provocative at the same time as if at any moment the whole thing could explode. The same effect simply couldn’t be achieved by Nicky Hopkins’ accompanying piano alone, albeit also due to adequate praise. The technical similarity of the two instruments playing in unison creates an uncanny likeness that only reinforces the eeriness one can safely assume was the desired effect.
A sense of harmony washes over the listener with Bill Wyman’s euphoric masterpiece ‘In Another Land’. The happy-go-lucky melody was famously a result of Jagger and Richards failing to show up to a recording session, as Wyman recalls in his memoirs – ‘nobody else turned up except Charlie and pianist Nicky Hopkins. We were thinking of leaving when Glyn said to me, ‘Do you have a song to do?’ I sat at the piano and played ‘In Another Land’ and they all liked it’. Approved by Jagger and Richards, it was released as a single, with ‘The Lantern’ as its B-side. The speaker’s calm state is thanks to the all-consuming presence of a woman – ‘I stood and held your hand, and nobody else’s hand will ever do, nobody else will do’- she restores the vigour and colour of life, recalling the sea and the sky and the ‘feathers floating by’. The patterns of rhyming are simple and childlike – ‘Then I awoke, was this some kind of joke?’- and the faint snores of Wyman that Jagger and Richards secretly recorded and added later is a stroke of playful genius. The innocence of the song tips the scale back to a neutral state, working like acid, to oppose the raucous of Citadel. Despite not making it into the British Charts, and only peaking at number 87 on the US billboard, the purpose it serves within the album holistically is vital.
Every calamitous has its counterbalance. The same happens between ‘Sing This All Together (See What Happens)’ and ‘She’s a Rainbow’. The former, eight and a half minutes of disarrayed melodies, impromptu guitar solos and conversations from Jagger and friends, achieves a sense of tediousness, with the reprise of the chorus that introduced the album just five songs prior – “Why don’t we sing this song all together open our heads let the pictures come, and if we close all our eyes together, then we will see where we all come from”. Transitioning onto the album’s B-side, even the most cordial of listeners may begin to waver. The repetition demonstrates madness in the absence of genius, and the improv feeling frankly doesn’t quite hit it. Contrary to ‘Citadel’, which through the lyrical and instrumental turmoil, still leaves the listener with a sense of direction (the blues-rooted call and response relationship between Jagger’s vocals and Richard’s guitar riffs suggests some thought was present upon creation), ‘Sing This All Together’ simply tries too many things at once. Its double feature succeeds to emphasise the labyrinth of meaning behind the album but frankly, does little else.
Its remedy this time is the enchanting ‘She’s a Rainbow’, an ode to Jagger’s then-girlfriend Marianne Faithful. Not only does it retract timely from the messy moments of ‘Sing This All Together’, but it serves as a redemption for the entire album. 55 years on, the song carries the album’s legacy as the only song from the record that is still being performed live. It remains a fan favourite, and it’s easy to see why. It’s got every element of sex, drugs, and rock and roll, yet it remains playful. Jagger describes the sublimity of his girlfriend’s acid-enhanced orgasms and the kaleidoscopic dimension to her beauty – ‘coming, colours in the air oh, everywhere, she comes in colours’ – yet Nicky Hopkins’ music box-like piano melody is incredibly sweet.
The fusion of opposites results in a masterpiece that is hyper-sexual but nevertheless maintains a sense of childlike innocence. ‘Gomper’ picks up where it leaves off, amplifying the female praise to levels that feel more suited to epic poetry than a rock song. Naturally, critics blasted its likeness to ‘Within You, Without You’ from Sargent Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, with its Eastern influences of Jones on the dulcimer and Watts subsisting his regular drum kit for the tabla. Again, for anyone who listened twice, the similarity is minimal. Watt’s playing acts as a beating heart that mirrors the lyrical adoration beautifully. It’s a rare moment where each individual’s musical curiosity works in harmony and shows the band’s ability to experiment at its best.
Put simply, the love songs on Their Satanic Majesties Request act as moments of respite from troubles that were consuming the band personally and musically. The degree to which they rely on romance for assurance and inspiration during their annus horribilis is perfectly in keeping with their boyishly rebellious image that they have become known and loved for.
The album is undoubtedly messy and imperfect but stands to represent that throughout the acid trips, tribunals, and gruesome deaths (I’m thinking Brian Jones in his swimming pool just 18 months later), order is restored with well… love. Whilst The Stones promoting the ideology of “all you need is love” may be stepping on The Beatles’ toes a little too much, Their Satanic Majesties Request, despite its obvious confusion, has more of a point than critics will ever give it credit for. For listeners willing to read between the lines, its unique narrative offers so much more than the copycat reputation it will forever hold.
