In general, the less said about Mick Jagger’s attitude towards women, the better. By most accounts, it’s not great. So the irony in the title of his first solo album runs deep. Jagger can be weirdly clueless about some things – like the fact than nobody wanted to hear him make an ersatz Robert Palmer album – but he’s no dummy, and he knows enough about his own image to keep selling it. So I’ll guess that the irony was not at all lost on him, and you can give him some credit for having a sense of humor. This was, of course, the 80’s, when the so-called ‘war between the sexes’ was still considered totally harmless comedic territory, and the idea that some lady might be ‘wearing the pants’ in a relationship was a surefire laff-getter. It’s even more ha-ha-ha-hilarious when you imagine the wandering cock himself staying home and getting owned, presumably by a six-foot Texan amazon named Jerry. I like to take into account, though, what we know about Mick Jagger’s tastes, and the fact that he’s always been attracted to the kind of strong and accomplished women for whom dating Mick Jagger is only a footnote on their resume. Maybe he really does just want to be owned, if only for a little while.