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Rolling Stones quotes: Mick Jagger and Keith Richards about the 1972 unreleased movie Cocksucker Blues (2008):
Mick: “I wouldn’t mind releasing it. It’s fine. That’s a good movie. It didn’t come out – but that’s a classic. I wanted to make one kind of movie, but the director fucks you over because he doesn’t want to do the movie he’s agreed to make. I said, You could make this dark movie, but you got to have these other up moments because being on tour is all about going onstage, you know? What you have for breakfast is fascinating, and what drugs you’re taking and what birds you’re shagging, that’s all very lovely. But then for you, the going out onstage is the important part, and you have to include that. And Robert Frank wouldn’t include it. So I got really mad at him, as we fired him. That’s the problem you can get into with hiring directors.” Keith: “My memory of that time is a little hazy. That’s why I watch it so much, so I can remember what happened. The monument to the unknown junkie is one of the best bits of cinema. But some of the cats died, like cameraman Danny Seymour. There wasn’t anything involved in making that movie. We got used to the cats hanging around, in everybody’s rooms. You carried on, doing what you did.”
A Gritty Time Capsule the Stones Wouldn’t Let Loose
Robert Frank’s Cocksucker Blues film (1972) isn’t just a documentary—it’s a chaotic, scorched snapshot of the Rolling Stones’ post-Altamont return to the U.S. in support of Exile on Main Street. Forget polished edits; the film’s raw 16mm grime, complete with blaring lights and Keith Richards reduced to a ghostly blob, would give Peter Jackson’s digital team nightmares.
The Stones Caught in the Act: Cocksucker Blues and Its Blurry Truth
In 1972, flush with the raw energy of their Exile on Main Street triumph, the Rolling Stones brought Swiss photographer Robert Frank on board to document their U.S. tour. Entranced by his uncompromising visual style, they gave him carte blanche—with Frank arming anyone near the band with cameras, the resulting footage became a feral time capsule of backstage debauchery. Co-directing with Daniel Seymour, Frank didn’t just observe the chaos—he orchestrated some of it, producing scenes of sleazy spectacle that seemed plucked from every parental nightmare about rock stardom. And yet, beyond the sexual mayhem and narcotic stupor, Frank captured something more haunting: the stifling emptiness of Americana. Shots of hotel-room ennui and Southern pool halls cut through the expected glitz, giving the film a surreal, almost tragic weight.
When the Stage Lights Go Out
Though the Stones were in peak form musically, Frank’s lens keeps the viewer at a remove. Concert footage—of Brown Sugar and others—feels fractured and strange, Jagger isolated by jump cuts and harsh angles that strip the performance of its swagger. Instead of rock glory, Frank finds meaning in the void: roadies behaving grotesquely, Richards fading into a drugged fog, and hangers-on wandering anonymously through locker rooms. This is the dead-eyed heart of the film.
The Ugly Poetry of Rock and Roll
The collision of amateur footage and Frank’s dispassionate eye created something almost unwatchable—and absolutely unforgettable. What could’ve been a vanity tour doc became a portrait of rock’s rotting core. The band loved the film but also feared it, legally blocking its release. Today, Cocksucker Bluesremains a ghost film—seen rarely, spoken of often, and still too real for comfort.
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