Page Two
HISTORY . . . a personified
myth alive on stage before
us, where we can feel and almost
touch its utter demonic char-
isma. Four stiffly expression-
less Englishmen pounding out
vibes, heavy gut-sexual mnsic.
And another, jumping, flashing
in red and silvery white, strain-
ing the sound of an era n-ear
retrospect. Record it now for it
may never be repeated.
And so, historians note :.h5''
as we neared the entrance to
Cobo Hall last Friday evening
hours before dusk for the Roll-
ing Stones concert, that we saw
before us a secure and sweet-
ly docile concrete area.
Heavily patrolled by police?
Four hundred strong, it o. ws.
Half of them volunteers . . . men
who get their jollies and fulfail
their responsibilities to the city's
welfare by restraining the long-
haired youth of the counter-cul-
ture. And half of them city cops
on holiday from normal routine
. . . "The atmosphere may soon
get tense here," observed one,
but nothing like the ghetto."
It was a hot, humid evening
th the Motor City.
SECURITY GUARDS inside, ac-
cumulated from three private
agencies, waited for the audi-
torium to fill. "It's hard to get
guys to work concerts . . . they
are afraid they'll get killed . . .
we're not allowed to use our
clubs unless we're pushed," one
said. Oh, but I watched another
stand tall before us, fondling six
bullets in his hand . . . ugly
shadows of Altamont.
And the crowds, over 15,000
strong, milled about waiting . . .
waiting for the lights to dim...
waiting for Stevie Wonder to fin-
ish . . . waiting for their idols
of the rock rhythme phenomenon
0o appear.
"Brown Su-gar, how come you
taste so good? (A-ha) Brown
Su-gar, just like a young girl
should. A-huh .
RIOTOUS INSANITY. M a s s
ecstatics. Disbelief.
Mick Jagger, two weeks fron
the age of 30, jumped on stage,
his lithe uncontrollably inviting
body robed in silky white pants
studded with silvery ;ems and
fringed in red. and a white shirt

THE MICHIGAN DAILY

Tuesday, July 18, 1972

half-concealed by a jeans jacket
and that infamous red 'carf. His
hat, filled with sparkles, he
quickly tipped, shaking a glit-
ter-ridden head of hir for the
remainder of the evening.
The stage was uniquely Stones.
Evil-looking purplish serpents
with extended fangs were paint-
ed on the floor and on the drum-
mer's platform, and a huge mir-
ror had been raised before the
group to reflect deeply hued
lights.
JAGGER, the group's super-
star, was in prime spirits,
bounding cross-stage sporadi-
cally throwing facial expressions
to his admirers. Facing the press
area for a moment, he clicked an
imaginary camera, and then
turned his gyrating body else-
where.
But it was soon time to "slow
down a bit." Jagger took a swig

of beer and announced that it
was time for blues.
"I-ah-ah-aht . fo-llow-ah-ed
. . - he-er . . . to-ah . . . the-
ah . . . sta-tion . . . " he tretch-
ed out the lyrics to "Love in
Vain." making the utmost of
each sound, holding his audience
inside his every chord.
"I don't believe in this not
standing up and moving around,"
he soon winced to an audiene
who had thus far been fairly
well-controlled in their seats,
and who then thronged down-
ward, forcing themselves beyond
human chains of security guards
to completely fill the main floor
and close in on the stage.
Jagger was then in his finest
glory, a min who ironically lat-
er wailed "you can't always get
what you want."
TilE STONES played an excep-
tionally long set, longer than
their typical 55 minutes. Most of
the songs were older, immediate-
ly recognized by their audience,
with a few cuts from their new-
est album Exile on Main Street.
And then, for an encore. Thurs-
day's crowd had been denied a.
re-appearance by the Stones, and
in fact, encores were not normoel
policy for the group.
But Friday's crowd was -er-
hyped and super-persistent. Ttey
stood, holding lit matches in the
darkness, clapping, stoaring,
screaming. More a . more . .
more...
Finally, the Stones appeasr'd,
joined by Stevie Wonder and hi 7
ensemble. Wonder, who had ear-
lier given an excellent perform-
ance, jstamped about stage, led hy
Jagger. In unison, tsey walts a
msedley that drits froio Up-
tight to 'I can't -et no sastitae-
tion . . .
Phtoraphs by
Denny Ga nrer