Rolling Stones: Dirty Work, 1986

Yeah, it's my favorite Stones album

Dirty Work partisans — and there ain’t many of us — know that everyone thinks this album is garbage. My friend Alfred Soto is a defender, and I love his take on it. So is legendary critic Robert Christgau. No review in Christgau’s Record Guide: the ‘80s struck, and maybe influenced, me more than his take on the Stones’ ‘86 record; I likely came across this review first when the book was published in 1990.

Dreaming of solo glory, Mick doesn't have much time for his band these days--just plugged into his Stones mode and spewed whatever he had to spew, adding lyrics and a few key musical ideas to tracks Ron and Keith completed before the star sullied his consciousness with them. And I say let him express himself elsewhere. For once his lyrics are impulsive and confused, two-faced by habit rather than design, the straightest reports he can offer from the top he's so lonely at, about oppressing and being oppressed rather than geopolitical contradiction. In the three that lead side two, always playing dirty is getting to him, as is his misuse of the jerks and greaseballs and fuckers and dumb-asses who clean up after him, yet for all his privilege he's another nuclear subject who's got no say over whether he rots or pops even though he'd much prefer the former. Especially together with the hard advice of "Hold Back," these are songs of conscience well-known sons of bitches can get away with. Coproducer Steve Lillywhite combines high-detail arena-rock with back-to-basics commitment and limits the melismatic affectations that have turned so much of Mick's late work in on itself. Let him have his own life and career, I don't care. What I want is the Stones as an idea that belongs to history, that's mine as much as theirs. This is it. A

Dirty Work is an expertly-produced mess, and that’s precisely why I love it. You can’t deny opener “One Hit (to the Body),” on which every member of the Stones, not just Mick, seems to be snarling. “Fight” is basically AOR punk, while “Too Rude” is a dumb attempt at 4 white British guys (Mick’s not on it) doing reggae, while Keith’s other lead vocal, closer “Sleep Tonight” is a lovely ballad reminiscent of the high points on Dylan’s ‘85 Empire Burlesque. Bill Wyman’s bass anchors “Winning Ugly,” which features some of the cleanest slashing guitar lines expertly augmented by keyboards. The title track sounds like a lot of coke and coffee, all jitters and little else. Mark Marek’s inner sleeve artwork is striking and mildly disturbing; Annie Leibovitz’s cover shot (because of course) is all garish colors and annoyance. And it’s mixed loud. And it all makes sense together.

I won’t try to tell you this is a great Rolling Stones record. I won’t even try to tell you it’s necessarily good. What I will tell you is that I love it; when I want a blast of the Stones at their nastiest and most kinetic, this is where I turn.