When I sit back and turn on Sticky Fingers, I feel like I’ve stepped into a dusty honky-tonk bar in the middle of nowhere, then been dragged into a back room jam session where the house lights are out and the band just plays until the sun rises. The album doesn’t feel institutional or manufactured—it feels lived in. From the opening kick of “Brown Sugar” through the haunting goodbye of “Moonlight Mile,” the record captures the ragged magnificence of The Rolling Stones in transition: beyond youth, flirting with danger, drenched in American roots music—but never forgetting they were British boys playing the blues.