Album Review: Rolling Stones - Live Licks.

They look like the Rolling Stones, ignoring the wrinkles here and there. They move like the Rolling Stones, with the Jagger swagger still in tact and the physical rambling of Keith still in full force. You can see Charlie behind the drumkit. And that's definitely Ronnie on the left, isn't it? This is the band that's written (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction, Sympathy For The Devil, She Smiled Sweetly, Street Fightin' Man, Paint It fuckin' Black! Isn't it?

Yes and no. They're not the Rolling Stones as you want to know them. They're not the rogue British bluesmen who produced Exile On Main Street. They're not the Rolling Stones who frightened the establishment, fucked with the man, excited the young. They're not the Rolling Stones who'd write confronting lines like 'Who killed the Kennedys / When after all It was you and me.'

No, they're not the Rolling Stones of old. The cover of Live Licks may have a topless girl on it, but that's about as interesting and confronting as the Stones get nowadays.

They're the Rolling Stones of the 21st Century. And time may not have wearied them, but it has worn away the harsh edges and dirty soul. They're a covers band, and they do what they do well, but the passion isn't quite there.

Of course, they'll tell you they still have it. They'll tell you the blues fires still burn brightly within them. They'll tell you that the love will always be there, and that they just want to share that love with the world. Which is fine, for them. For us - sitting fifty seven rows back, or at home with a cup of coffee - things aren't quite the same.

But I'm not the first to say that, am I? Critics and know-all wankers have been speaking of the death of the Stones for decades, trying to pinpoint the exact moment when the real dinosaurs of rock died out, frozen and lonely after years of meteoric new-rock have punished their early-'60s landscape.

Those punters - and I - will never be able to pinpoint that moment. Because the Stones never died. They just got old. And for a bunch of old codgers, they're doing alright for themselves. On Live Licks, a two-CD collection of live tracks from their recent world tour, you're exposed to a band that still has the chops - Ronnie, Charlie and Keith especially - but knows all too acutely that their mere existence is entertainment enough for most. They can just turn up, and most punters will rock-swoon.

Jagger, especially, seems content to turn up, spastically jump around a bit, and then hobble off to the next city. He's running by rote. On some tracks he's off-key and delivering the vocals by like a man possessed by demons of mediocrity. The extraordinary perfection of Paint It, Black is musically all there, but Jagger may as well resort to muttering 'I see a red door...blah blah, you know the rest kids! Try the veal!'

There's the sense they're just going through the motions. There's no fire, and there's no ice, and there's no edge. They've gone a little middle-of-the-road. I mean, christ, Sheryl bloody Crow turns up to sing on Honky Tonk Woman.

But hey, it's the Rolling Stones. Like pizza, sex, and zombie movies, even when they're bad they're still pretty good. They may have lost it, but most bands have never even found it. This compilation isn't going to inspire the lusty adoration of a new generation, but it's an acceptable reminder that the Stones have been together as long as my parents have been alive, and they're still going.

So, hey, kudos to them, right? When Mick screams All right! All right! and that famous (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction riff fires up, you can't help but develop a soft spot for the Stones of the 21st Century. Even if they really would do well to retire and live out their lives on yachts, drinking Moet for breakfast and occasionally impregnating hot South American models.

(Originally published at fasterlouder.com.au).