Song Review, “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” by the Rolling Stones

Song Review, “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” by the Rolling Stones

It’s possible for us to feel that some people aren’t people.  I don’t know, is the Devil some guy?  Let’s try not to be bookish about the Holy Scriptures and define “Satisfaction”: gritty, feely, sparky, tasty, associations of courage, expanding a few minutes with surprises, a lost song narrator from all the empty fashion conditioning his opinions about blank shirts and dumb cigarettes.  Someone from the Rolling Stones discovers the professional procrastinations situated inside communication societies; as my calculative prejudice informs me of better judgment, I realize the painted band’s silly conundrums via monochrome concert stages are unfamiliar territory, rattled up from insipid evil because of monkey interferences thanks to ramming decorators (concert audience members).  “American Pie” is an exaggerational piece like “Satisfaction”: there’s this constant want of energy that humans have a tough time swallowing, and so protestors, and so haters of haters.  When I hear the Rolling Stones hate, I don’t necessarily tell them to stop hating because there can be forgiveness due to all the devastations.  I wish the song was longer so I can perhaps understand the caped group’s agony of victory.  If a real buddy smokes the wrong drugs, that person can either be offensive or pretty gay, and either characteristic can be associated with fashion.  (I’ve smoked intelligently for exotic health.)  The worlds of music can revolve around life’s hints as well as life’s descriptions, and the Rolling Stones’ stubborn excitement is amazing because listeners are entering the curtained dimensions of the rad song narrator’s boredom; his boredom isn’t vague, it’s pure rather if not tiresome.  Sometimes I think emotions can be people, so I think of “Satisfaction” as an unmoving beast, a sheer conundrum, stopping little for excuses and adventuring through the planet’s lack of static shock or electrified promotions.  (Or so it seems…)  Try to believe in the Rolling Stones!  I can’t believe “Satisfaction” is less wet, more dry, ringing through my Wii U like an angel on a plane, a song narrator in tunes with a deserving lady while basically going berserk like a naïve go-getter!  The song’s fresco melody is just the beginning!  Of course, I have that vulgar tendency to detract from hard slumbers for my approach over measurements of pleasure.  Maybe the Rolling Stones aren’t rolling in “Satisfaction,” but I sure get a kick out of their dark honesty especially, and freedom hurts too.  Accents cover their sounds with reactionary hope, stipulating the outrageous band’s rhythms of defeat, calling order a chance, the song narrator engineering a new kind of emotion between happy and sad without its name.  The whole song is a rough invention of passing tunes, so I respect a despicable believer, and I suspect happiness with glowing simplicity because, quite frankly, we may never find the ghosts who eat fruitcake today.