Originally published: December 1968
Rating: 7.5/10 — Satan’s cocktail hour, hosted by a man who’s overdressed and under-criticized
From the first “woo-woo,” you know exactly what this is: a band full of wealthy British men roleplaying as Satan’s jazz band because they read one sad quote in a bathroom stall and decided to make it their whole personality.
Let’s be clear: “Sympathy for the Devil” is a great song, but an exhausting idea. It’s like watching your friend do improv at a dinner party — impressive in bursts, but you’re still painfully aware it’s happening.
Mick Jagger narrates global atrocities like he’s reading them off a cocktail napkin in Ibiza:
“I rode a tank / Held a general’s rank…”
Okay, we get it. You’re the devil. Very subtle. Should we give you a medal or is it okay with just some more eyeliner?
The samba groove is undeniably good — percussion tight enough to slap a priest, and a rhythm section that almost tricks you into thinking this isn’t one of the most over-performed, over-worshipped songs in rock history.
And then there’s Keith Richards, who shows up halfway through with a guitar solo that sounds like it’s chewing its own leather boots. It’s not showy, but it’s the most honest thing here.
The real issue is tone. The Stones want to be clever, dark, provocative — but mostly they sound like boys playing dress-up with a Satan starter kit from a Parisian vintage shop. It’s pretentious, but not quite smart enough to back it up. Think “The Da Vinci Code” with better rhythm.
“Imagine if Lucifer got tenure at a liberal arts college and started a samba band.”
That’s the energy here.
This is good, but don’t act like you’re curing cancer with a tambourine.
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