Stoned

This morning I heard the Rolling Stones' "2000 Light Years From Home" (from "Their Satanic Majesties Request") for the first time in years, and was reminded by how much I disliked that album.

(Critics, then as now, were split on the album, some hailing its daring experimentation, some dismissing it as a second-rate Sgt. Pepper copy).

I fall into the latter camp.

There are, in my opinion, three glaring flaws in the album:

Unlike the Beatles' psychedelia, many of the Stones' bleeps, bloops, sweeps and flourishes sound as if they were afterthoughts, rather than being integral parts of the song.

The song writing, which strays far from the band's blues-based/swaggering hard rock roots, is weak.

Charley Watts, possessor of the best back beat in rock 'n roll, abandons his usual drumming style, which is no improvement. He's also buried in the mix.

The Stones would never seriously attempt psychedelia again and, in fact, as the hippie dream faded (with their own debacle at Altamont serving as the coda), the Stones would musically grind the peace and love era under their boot heels.

And don't get me started on "Angie," the most irritating ballad of all time.