With a head full of snow, you say? I must admit you’re not making your affinity for powdered white substances sound very joyful. This just speaks of sorrow and exhaustion. Fittingly, as its the coda of an album that’s almost high-concept in documenting the tattered and frayed rock’n’roll road warrior lifestyle of the Rolling Stones. The Stones, as you may know, are not famed for leading healthy lifestyles, and by 1971 they had seen enough deaths, arrests, mental breakdowns and drug-induced psychosis to no longer view it as glamorous. Sticky Fingers begins with the demented euphoria of Brown Sugar, but the mood quickly fades into themes of romantic loss (Wild Horses, I Got the Blues), erotic desperation (Can’t You Hear Me Knocking?), gallows humor (Dead Flowers), and impending death (Sister Morphine.) It’s a postcard from a very dark place, made by a group of various-stage junkies, sick and disillusioned by the very things that had seemed as appealing as rainbows a few years earlier.