Yes, that brass circus band marching into the ring is The Rolling Stones—Mick Jagger as ringmaster in a top hat and Charlie Watts with clashing cymbals. Oh, is that John Lennon in the band? and Marianne Faithfull and …?
“The Rolling Stones Rock and Roll Circus”—out now on a luxurious set with Blu-ray and DVD versions, an audio CD and an illustrated booklet—was filmed in 1968 as a BBC-TV special and aborted when Brian Jones exited the band (and died). The Sgt. Peppery marching band uniforms hint that the Stones were still playing their ‘60s game of catch-up with The Beatles—but the show suggests they had overtaken them. It’s almost a real circus with a horseman, aerialists and fire dancers. And it’s a mini rock festival staged in a studio decorated like a big top with marquee lights and a Union Jack and Stars and Stripes above the stage. The audience is in costume. It’s fun all around.
And circus or not, music is the main attraction. The show begins with a then unknown Jethro Tull, sounding like a cranky blues band that popped up on the Thames embankment rather than the Mississippi Delta. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, dig The Who,” says Keith Richards, one eye under a pirate’s patch. They perform their pocket rock opera, “A Quick One, While He’s Away,” complete with drummer Keith Moon’s flamboyant flaying and Pete Townsend’s windmill guitar playing. Then Taj Mahal, who became known in the ‘70s for blues roots, rocks soulfully and hard in front of a British band. Clad in a flowing black gown, Faithfull holds forth in silvery pop tones.
After a bit of banter with Jagger, Lennon leads a supergroup featuring Richards, Eric Clapton and Mitch Mitchell on a loose but powerful “Yer Blues.” Yoko chimes in on the next number.
The Stones headline. By 1968 they had arrived at their peak—Jones though looking sullen is still in the band, dangerous drugs hadn’t debilitated them (as in the ‘70s) and their performances hadn’t hardened into choreography (as happened later). The band was still young, genuinely dangerous and sexy—spontaneously exploring the limits of their blues-based sound on “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” and beyond on “Sympathy for the Devil.” “No Expectations” was quiet and lovely. The audience sings along on the finale, “Salt of the Earth,” the Stones’ sardonic comment on the everyday and the unimaginative, the frightened herd.
