a bit self-indulgent (alright, it’s the essence of self-indulgence) and admittedly slow in places (the acid would help out here), but an ultimately fascinating piece of art that explores pornography, black power, vietnam, and rock and roll through a continually unexpected and bizarre pastiche.

the ‘narrative’ revolves around the stones’ de-reconstruction of ‘sympathy for the devil’ in the studio. this is worth the price of admission here, folks. we’re talking 1968. who know keith played bass on that track? who knew the thing was recorded essentially live? who knew mick played hand drums? who knew nicky hopkins wore blazers?

cool shit, kids.