Passion held back. That is how I would mark and time the beat of Charlie Watts, Rolling Stone. For those not familiar, or ‘meh’ about rock’n’roll in general, and the Rolling Stones in particular, Charlie was, until August 25, to the Stones what steam was to James Watt – the force that pushed the piston, turned the steel wheels. In musical terms, he was the throb in the greatest rock’n’roll band in the world, the Rolling Stones. Which is funny, considering Charlie -- born in 1941 a year after my father, and looking quite horsie like my uncle, and playing the drums just like no one else -- preferred jazz. He said as much. Jazz in temperament, as well as in style. And if he hadn’t said so, all one has to do is see those Stones videos and see him play with wrists down -- as if holding scalpels, not sticks, not skin-banging, but dealing with them as skin deems necessary. Which is what makes the Stones the greatest rock and roll band in the world. A band with a drummer who is.. was the roll to the rock. The wristman in an arm-flaying, fret-tearing unit. He was the engine and boiler room to Keith Richard's chassis and conveyor belt, to Mick Jagger’s dash board and leather seats. Passion held back. The western classical music term is ‘Ritenuto’ – literally, ‘held back’ -- an instruction on the music sheet to slow down. This is not applicable to Charlie, since being restrained is not always, necessarily being slow. But hear him on ‘Midnight Rambler’, which starts with a cymbal crash, goes through three tempo changes that Thomas Kuhn would certainly have described as three ‘paradigm shifts’. And sitting in the thick of that is Charlie Watts, controlling the song’s breath, incredibly, like a Time Lord. In ‘Slave’, the wicked shuffle drum beats invite the rest -- nasty guitars, punchy keyboards, mad choral vocals. Charlie breaks the car crash (following the cow bell) on ‘Honky Tonk Women,’ and holds steady. But as Jagger choruses, the beat – with only one shy drum roll – tight as a rat scurrying in a pipe, keeps the listener risqué-averse. Charlie Watts, like great writers, knew the value of keeping adjectives at bay. No elongated chewing gum drum solos to measure the drummer’s mardangi. The flash is functional – hear the slower, live version of ‘Stray Cat Blues’. He’s on the album cover alone here on Get Yer Ya-Ya’s Out! (1970). This is how blood flows via drum beats: in spurts and rolls. Charlie is vampiric behind his kit here, while his singer sings, ‘You say you got a friend/ that she's wilder than you/ Why don't you bring her upstairs?/ If she's so wild then she can join in too/ It's no hanging matter/ It's no capital crime.’ This is a song broken by drums, rejoined by drums. Passion held back. Kept at check. The only person in my ear who knows the value of that in its true liminal sense is Bismillah Khan – and the other wind instrumenter supreme Bobby Keys, the Stones saxophone man. There may be a lay reason why Charlie understood spacetime. In an interview in the black and white 1960s, he said, ‘When I'm at home, I put a book up and play a record, you know, and, otherwise... It makes you a bit, sort of, cosy in a way, I suppose, but... I like it. I'm happier at home. I'm happiest at home.' Apart from the confident stuttering giving a clue, the admission that chaos confused him – unlike his other comrades – and that a sanctuary can be a metronome, will direct the ear-hearer to his drumming. But Charlie is/was the ampersand to the greatest rock & roll band in the world. ‘Rock and roll’ just won’t sound right. His natty dress sense echoed his drumming, which in turn was a counterpoint to the beautiful caterwaul of sound that the Rolling Stones is/was/whatever. Without him, the Stones will gather performative moss. Without Charlie, the backbeat is gone.
from Economic Times https://ift.tt/3Bl7aFg
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