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Rolling Stones songs: What to Do
Hurry people get on your train/ Don’t be late for work again/ Take this time to go to bed/ Now, I really don’t know/ I really don’t know what to do…
What to Do closes Aftermath with a portrait of exhaustion so relatable that it almost feels modern. Instead of the swagger and provocation often associated with the Stones’ mid-sixties output, the narrator simply drifts through a haze of television static, all-night drinking, and the hollow routine of mornings that arrive too soon. He watches his peers rush for trains, late for work, while he slips toward bed, detached from the world’s rhythms yet strangely aware of its absurdity. This gentle revolt—long before punk declared “no future” or the Blank Generation rolled in—captures the alienation of youth not through fury but through the humdrum ache of everyday repetition. While the attitude anticipates a rougher movement that would shout its frustrations, the song expresses discomfort with a shrug rather than a scream.
A pop frame for restless monotony
Musically What to Do has little in common with the punk ethos its lyric spirit foreshadows. Instead, it draws from the clean, melodic sensibilities of mid-sixties beat groups like the Hollies and the Searchers. The track blends acoustic strumming with electric vibrato in a simple pop-blues structure that functions more as a modest vessel than an ambitious statement. Its melody moves in familiar patterns, creating a breezy surface that contrasts the boredom embedded in the narrative. The arrangement’s lightness gently masks the underlying malaise, creating a tension between sound and sentiment that, even if unintentional, deepens the song’s character.
Production details and subtle strengths
A crisp drum break from Charlie Watts kicks things off in a manner faintly reminiscent of fifties doo-wop—an intriguing stylistic nod considering the track’s otherwise modern disillusionment. Mick Jagger approaches the vocals with a casual tone, layering in Beach Boys-inspired harmonies alongside Keith Richards. These low “bowm bowm” lines add a soft, playful frame around what is essentially a complaint about having nothing to do. Fortunately, Jagger’s delivery sharpens in the verses and especially in the final bridge, where he channels the expressive soul phrasing influenced by Otis Redding. A slight hiccup at 1:33, while tiny, gives the take a human irregularity that aligns with the song’s theme of fatigue.
Brian Jones’s presence is doubtful here; the acoustic and electric rhythmic work feel unmistakably like Richards. Bill Wyman and Charlie Watts hold down a tight, unshowy rhythm section, while Ian Stewart likely provides the piano touches. The result is competent, cohesive, and musically pleasant—if not spectacular.
The strange release history
Unlike many of its companions on AftermathWhat to Do never appeared on the U.S. edition of the album. Instead, American listeners had to wait until 1972, when it finally surfaced on More Hot Rocks alongside other British-released tracks that had somehow slipped through the cracks. The reasoning behind its omission remains unclear. Perhaps it was judged as filler, or perhaps the band and label simply prioritized stronger material for the American market. Still, judged against the rest of Aftermath’s non-highlights, the song stands on par with its fellow deep cuts—not exceptional, but hardly disposable.
Boredom made into melody
As Jagger and Richards grew more prolific during this era, their songwriting increasingly drew from the chaos of touring: the long hours in hotel rooms, the restless energy of being stuck in transit, the disconnection between public frenzy and private downtime. What to Do channels that downtime with unpolished honesty. Its chorus repeats the title phrase so insistently that it becomes a musical mantra of stagnation. The verses, slightly more melodic, wander through snapshots of modern ennui—watching TV go off the air, pacing through unfamiliar rooms, drifting in the limbo between night and morning.
This lyrical repetition, while central to the song’s point, also limits its impact. The piece edges toward blues-boogie frustration without quite sharpening its emotional core. Still, its plainness reveals a candid, unfiltered glimpse into the Stones’ mid-sixties world—a rare moment when restlessness becomes both subject and aesthetic.
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