From 1968 to 1972 – amid drug problems, tax exile, and the firing and subsequent death of founding member Brian Jones –  the Rolling Stones released their best run of albums, fulfilled their initial mission to fuse roots music with rock & roll, integrated their most fluid guitarist Mick Taylor into their lineup, were ordained the “greatest rock & roll band in the world” (by their tour manager, but everyone else went along with it), and recorded a bevy of still beloved songs (and Martin Scorsese needle drops), including “Jumpin’ Jack Flash”, “Sympathy for the Devil”, “Street Fighting Man”, “Gimme Shelter”, “You Can’t Always Get What You Want”,  “Brown Sugar”, “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking”, and “Tumbling Dice.” 

In that run, they released four albums, Beggars Banquet, Let it Bleed, Sticky Fingers, and Exile on Main St., all perennial favorites on classic rock Best of lists, which you, probably, have no desire to hear me write about, for, even though I love all of them deeply, I have nothing to say about them that hasn’t been said a thousand times before. 

(Did you know they recorded Exile on Main St. in a French villa while waiting out Britain’s taxman? Did you know Keith Richards recorded almost all of the parts of “Happy” while waiting for the other bandmates to show up? Did you know he was shooting smack basically every day at that point? Oh, you did?)  

Besides, I actually think the next batch of albums is more important to what it means to be in a rock band in 2026. 

Before the Beatles broke up in 1970, the world didn’t really have a conception about how a career in rock & roll should go. Tastemakers assumed that the kids in the Stones’ audience would outgrow their music and that younger audiences would prefer to listen to stuff written by musicians who weren’t nearly 30 (gasp!).     

What they failed to consider is that this rock thing was here to stay. Their older fans came out to the shows dragging their younger siblings along; their audience wasn’t going anywhere. And, this being rock music in the 1970s, there was still a shitload of money to be made. Besides, some of the Stones had addictions to feed, and, say what you will about that, but they were always at least industrious junkies (and some of rock’s most cutthroat businessmen). 

The string of critically thrashed albums that follow Exile on Main St., Goats Head Soup, It’s Only Rock, It’s Only Rock ‘n Roll, and Black and Blue show a band as a business. 

As far as the songwriting goes, the albums are more interesting than inspired. This is a band writing to release a record, not because they have anything to say. 

These albums are content. 

But, because they were recorded with the best engineers and sidemen in the business, they sound good, and rock in that inimitable Stonesy fashion. 

Recorded primarily in Jamaica, 1973’s Goats Head Soup is a confused mash of roots rock, soul, and mystical hippie bullshit. Because of Richards’ addiction, it also features less rhythm guitar than any other Stones album, which opens it up for novel sounds like the horns on “Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo (Heartbreaker)”, the clavinet on “Coming Down Again,” and the flutes and congas on “Can You Hear the Music.” 

Although I have no problem listening to the album all the way through, I can’t say it’s good. 

“Dancing With Mr. D.” is a very unworthy, reggaefied sequel to “Sympathy for the Devil.”  “Hide Your Love”, “Coming Down Again”, and “Can You Hear the Music” go on forever. And “Star Star” (AKA “Starfucker”) features Richards at his most plagiaristic (everyone in rock is inspired by Chuck Berry; Richards is just being him here) and Jagger at his most dickish (why is he so mean to women who want to fuck him?). 

But “Angie”, with its harmonically rich guitar progression, is one of the band’s best ballads, and an unusually astute choice for a single (it topped the charts). And “Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo (Heartbreaker)” may be the band’s most underrated song. Considering it’s about a police shooting, it’ll always be relevant. 

The worst album of the bunch is the next year’s It’s Only Rock, It’s Only Rock ‘n Roll, which goes long on the Stonesy boogie, but short on everything else. 

The single “It’s Only Rock ‘n Roll (But I Like It)” (which still made the top ten in the UK) shows a band on cruise control. Jagger writes a verse and a half and just spits the title a hundred times for five minutes…and yet it works because it’s fun hearing the Stones cook. Two thirds through, the song drops to acoustic guitar, some economical Charlie Watts drumming, and handclaps and then builds itself up again. Maybe writing lyrics is overrated.

Nah, I take that back. “Dance Little Sister” which lasts a minute less feels an hour more. Not all Stones jams are equal. 

Lover of all women, Jagger’s “Short and Curlies” is about the tuft on a mons pubis, but rather than a loving ode about a woman’s, it’s about where a woman has got “you” by them. She’s also “got you by the balls,” which is “too bad” and “so sad.” Usually I think Mick’s an underrated lyricist. Usually.  

Nothing else sticks out until the phaser-enhanced “Fingerprint File,” which finds Mick at his most paranoid and the band sounding not too far away from what Pink Floyd were doing on Wish You Were Here. It’s pretty cool.  

Sick of being a cog in the Jagger/Richards tandem, Mick Taylor left the band before recording my favorite of these lost years albums, 1976’s Black and Blue, so the band used the opportunity to audition guitarists. Peter Frampton, Jeff Beck, Canned Heat’s Harvey Mandel, and session man Wayne Perkins tried out (and some played on the released album), but the Stones kept the band British, and selected their drinking buddy, Ronnie Wood.  

Black and Blue is as loose and rambling as It’s Only Rock, It’s Only Rock ‘n Roll, but the jams are more colorful and the songs are more varied. 

“Hand of Fate” is their best rocker since “Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo (Heartbreaker),” “Fool to Cry” and “Memory Motel” prove that they were actually getting better at piano ballads, and “Hot Stuff” and the Eric Donaldson cover “Cherry Oh Baby” showed that maturing meant being inspired by newer genres of black music, like reggae and funk. “Crazy Mama” has a cool ascending and descending lick that ends the album on a high note (actually, low note, because it’s part of the descending riff, but you catch my drift). 

With Wood locked into the line-up, the Stones got their mojo (and critical reputation back) with the release of Some Girls in 1978. 

Some Girls split the difference between the then-dominant strands of pop music, disco and punk. “Miss You” and “Shattered” Stonesified Chic. “Respectable” and “When the Whip Comes Down” Stonesified the Sex Pistols. And “Beast of Burden” became a beloved ballad, despite the fact that Mick Jagger never strikes me as the disadvantaged party in any relationship (except maybe with Keith Richards). 

The album also launched the Stones into the stratosphere. 

Some Girls reached the top of the charts in the US and #2 in the UK, they appeared on SNL, and they set up their career for the rest of their lives, proving that not only could you rock into your middle age, you could make a shitload of money while you do it. 

By most accounts, the Stonesy should’ve done like the Beatles and wrapped it up after the excesses of Exile on Main Street, but these three albums prove that as long as there was a lot of money to be made, the Stones would find the inspiration to keep going.

In most cases, you should try to keep the band together. The good times might just be right around the corner again.