They didn't mean to do it. Honestly.
When The Rolling Stones walked into British Grove Studios in West London back in late 2015, they weren't there to record a blues album. They were there to make a "Rolling Stones" album—you know, the kind with the big riffs, the Keith Richards backup vocals, and the polished production that usually takes years to tinker with. But the vibe was off. The new songs weren't clicking. To clear the air and find their groove, Keith looked at the room and basically said, "Let's just play 'Blue and Lonesome'."
They did. Then they did another. Then another.
Three days later, they had a finished record. No overdubbing. No guest songwriters trying to fix the bridge. No obsessive polishing. Just four guys who have known each other for over half a century playing the music that made them want to start a band in the first place. Blue and Lonesome isn't just a covers album; it’s a time machine that actually works.
The Sound of 1962 in 2016
Most people think of this album as a "return to roots," which is a bit of a cliché, but in this case, it's biologically true. The Stones started as a blues cover band at the Ealing Jazz Club. Back then, they were purists. They were snobs, really. If it wasn't Jimmy Reed or Muddy Waters, they didn't want to know about it.
On Blue and Lonesome, they finally stopped trying to be the "World's Greatest Rock 'n' Roll Band" and went back to being those kids. You can hear it in Mick Jagger’s harmonica. People forget he’s one of the best harp players on the planet because they're too busy watching him dance. On tracks like "Just Your Fool," his playing is filthy. It’s distorted, aggressive, and perfectly sloppy. It doesn't sound like a multi-millionaire in a studio; it sounds like a guy in a smoky basement.
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Don Was, who produced the record, later told Rolling Stone (the magazine, not the band) that the whole thing was recorded live. No click tracks. No headphones. Just the band in a circle, looking at each other. That’s why the record feels so heavy. When Charlie Watts hits the snare, you feel the wood.
Why Eric Clapton was there
There's this great bit of trivia that feels fake but isn't: Eric Clapton was recording his own album in the studio next door. He basically smelled the blues and wandered in. He ended up playing slide guitar on "Everybody Knows About My Good Thing" and "I Can't Quit You Baby."
But here’s the thing—he didn't use his own gear. He played one of Keith’s guitars. It gives the tracks this weird, spontaneous energy where one of the greatest guitarists in history is just "sitting in" like it’s a Tuesday night at a dive bar. It’s the opposite of a "supergroup" collaboration. It’s just old friends hanging out.
The Tracks Most People Skip (But Shouldn't)
Everyone talks about the Buddy Johnson or Willie Dixon covers, but the real soul of the record is in the deep cuts.
- "Little Rain" (Jimmy Reed): This is the quietest moment on the album. It’s spooky. Keith and Ronnie Wood do that "weaving" thing they talk about, where you can't tell who is playing lead and who is playing rhythm. It’s hypnotic.
- "Commit a Crime" (Howlin' Wolf): This is where Mick gets mean. The lyrics are about a woman trying to poison her man, and the band plays it with a jagged, nervous energy. It’s not "classic rock." It’s punk-blues.
The album focuses heavily on the Chicago blues scene of the 1950s. Little Walter is the dominant influence here. He was the guy who revolutionized the harmonica by plugging it into an amp and turning the volume until it screamed. By covering four Little Walter tracks, the Stones weren't just paying tribute; they were showing off their homework.
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What Most People Get Wrong About Blue and Lonesome
The biggest misconception is that this was a "stop-gap" release. Critics at the time suggested the band was out of ideas. "They can't write anymore, so they're doing covers," was the whispered sentiment in some of the less-charitable corners of the music press.
That misses the point entirely.
If you look at the Stones' discography, they've always been a cover band. England's Newest Hit Makers was almost entirely covers. Even at the height of their fame, they were slipping in tracks by Robert Johnson or Slim Harpo. Blue and Lonesome was an act of liberation. For thirty years, they had been under immense pressure to write the next "Start Me Up." This album was the first time they didn't care about the charts. Ironically, it went to number one in over a dozen countries.
It’s also important to acknowledge the role of Ronnie Wood. Usually, Ronnie is the "new guy" (despite joining in 1975). On this record, he’s the MVP. His slide work on "Ride 'Em On Down" provides the grit that keeps the song from sounding like a polished museum piece.
The Technical Grit
If you’re a gear head, this album is a feast. They used vintage amps. They used old mics. They didn't "clean up" the bleeding audio between microphones. If the drums leaked into the vocal mic, they left it.
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This creates a "mono" feel even though it's in stereo. It pushes all the sound right into your face. In an era where most music is compressed to death for Spotify playlists, Blue and Lonesome sounds dynamic and messy. It’s loud in the way a live band is loud—not because the volume is turned up, but because the air in the room is moving.
Why It Still Matters Today
We lost Charlie Watts in 2021. That makes Blue and Lonesome one of the final complete statements from the original core quartet (alongside the later Hackney Diamonds). But while Hackney Diamonds is a modern pop-rock triumph, Blue and Lonesome is the band’s true epitaph to their influences.
It proved that the blues isn't a museum piece. It’s not something that died in the Mississippi Delta or the south side of Chicago. It’s a living, breathing language. When you hear Mick Jagger growl through "Hoo Doo Blues," you aren't hearing a 70-something-year-old Knight of the Realm. You’re hearing a guy who is genuinely possessed by the music.
The album also served as a gateway. A whole generation of younger fans who only knew the Stones from "Move Like Jagger" or Super Bowl halftime shows suddenly found themselves googling Lightnin' Slim and Magic Sam. That’s the real legacy here.
How to actually listen to this record
If you want to get the most out of Blue and Lonesome, don't play it on your phone speakers while you're doing the dishes. It deserves better.
- Get a pair of real headphones. Not the earbuds that came with your phone. You need to hear the separation between Keith and Ronnie.
- Listen to the originals first. Spend an hour with Little Walter’s The Best of Little Walter. Listen to the crackle of the 1950s recordings.
- Compare the tempos. You'll notice the Stones actually play these songs slower than the originals in some cases. They lean into the "heavy" rather than the "swing."
- Pay attention to the space. The most important parts of this album are the moments where they don't play. The pauses between the beats.
The blues is about tension and release. On this album, the Stones finally learned how to let the tension do the heavy lifting. It’s a masterclass in restraint from a band that spent five decades being known for excess.
Next Steps:
If this album clicked for you, go straight to the source. Look up the album "Hate To See You Go" by Little Walter. It’s the blueprint for everything you hear on this record. Then, find the 1960s Chess Records sessions. The Stones aren't trying to replace those legends; they're just trying to make sure you don't forget them.