Critics Saw Tattoo You as a Return to Form — But the Album Was Mostly Leftovers

When Tattoo You dropped in August 1981, critics practically sighed with relief. After the messy Black and Blue (1976), the disco-influenced Some Girls (1978), and the uneven Emotional Rescue (1980), the Stones finally sounded like themselves again — snarling, tight, and confident. Reviews praised the rockers like “Start Me Up” and the soulful ballads like “Waiting on a Friend” as proof the band hadn’t lost its edge. Rolling Stone called it “their finest album in years,” and NME noted it “restored a sense of purpose.” But the secret ingredient: most of the songs were outtakes from sessions going back to 1972, assembled by Jagger and Richards when they needed a quick album to support a tour. Critics didn’t know that then; they just heard a cohesive record that felt like a rallying cry.

Now, Tattoo You holds up as a fascinating relic of the Stones’ ability to polish their own scrap. “Start Me Up” is a stadium anthem that barely made the cut (its reggae version was abandoned), and “Slave” is a horn-driven funk jam that foreshadows 90s alt-rock. The album’s staying power comes from its rawness: Keith’s rhythms are front and center, and the production by Chris Kimsey is leaner than the previous records. Modern retrospectives often call it the last great pre-Steel Wheels statement, even if it’s cobbled together. It’s a testament to the band’s depths — when even their leftovers could outshine most bands’ best.