Why Charlie Watts May Have Been the World’s Greatest Rock ‘n’ Roll Drummer

If there’s anything we've learned from Charlie Watts, it’s that the drummer is the most important member of the band. Period.

The heartbeat of The World’s Greatest Rock ‘n’ Roll Band no longer is beating. To say that Watts was the “backbone” of the band is an apt cliché, as the music of the Rolling Stones was never one of sonic acrobatics, but steady, unflinching persistence. Even in the band’s more eccentric moments, Watts’ stone-faced timekeeping was dependable and constant.

A master of minimalism, Charlie Watts will likely always be remembered and acclaimed for the things he did not do, both in life and in his playing. He was never a tabloid fixture unlike his bandmates or other rock drummers of note, his drug consumption never once hampered his ability to play and, apart from a brief period in the mid-1980s, never grew into a cautionary tale of rock ‘n’ roll excess.

When discussing the great drummers of rock ‘n’ roll, Watts’ name rarely comes up. We often remember John Bonham of Led Zeppelin, Neil Peart of Rush, Keith Moon of The Who, Ginger Baker of Cream; it's blindingly obvious that Watts’ name deserves to be a part of that conversation. Perhaps the reason Watts’ name was rarely brought up is because, unlike the aforementioned, the spotlight was never squarely on him.

Watts made his role in the Rolling Stones a supportive one, not the center of attention. Not once was 30+ minutes of a Stones concert devoted to a Watts drum solo that drew blood, not once did a Rolling Stones song pause for an “epic” Watts drum fill, not once did Watts fill his drum set with explosives on live television, and not once did Charlie Watts assault a journalist with a walking stick.

That’s likely due to his lifelong love for jazz music, a genre whose devotees devote themselves to music on a quantum level. The musician serves the song, not the other way around. And in spite of (or more likely, because of) his knowledge of the intricacies of jazz drumming, Watts will likely go down in history as rock ‘n’ roll’s greatest drummer.

Watts’ playing may have been simple and straightforward, but it could get a stadium full of people (and more importantly, Mick Jagger) dancing to no end. When Watts locked into a groove with Keith Richards, it was unbreakable. Of course, “Start Me Up” and “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” spring to mind, but the fierce drunken shuffle of “Casino Boogie” and especially the airtight headbanging erotic thrust of “Bitch” are moments of perfection incapable without Watts’ impeccable sense of time and ability to link up with the group of musicians underneath him.

Whenever Watts played more unorthodox parts, he treated them almost like guitar riffs or hooks. The stomping backbeat of “Doncha Bother Me” is the song’s most distinctive feature. It’s a complete shock that it hasn’t been sampled for a hip-hop song yet (come on Kanye, get to it).

Even in those more eccentric moments, Watts was able to take a difficult assignment and pare it down to its bare essentials. “Monkey Man” — with its menacing stop-start groove — is driven by Watts’ jerky playing that underscores Richards’ throat-cutting guitar riff, eventually coalescing into a steady groove that never deflates the song’s aggression or sarcastic message. Keith’s twisted riff for “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking” is somehow both wrangled and made more delectable by Watts’ playing. When the song enters its improvised second half (supposedly a complete spontaneous jam by the musicians during recording) Watts goes full Elvin Jones, laying down a jazzy bed of texture rather than rhythm for Bobby Keys’ sax solo and Mick Taylor’s legendary Santana-like guitar solo.
Incredibly, even Watts' absence becomes a source of rhythmic tension. On the agonizing drug-withdrawal tale “Sister Morphine,” the first half of the song is conspicuously minus Watts or any rhythmic accompaniment whatsoever — it’s just Richards, slide guitarist Ry Cooder, and Jagger. By the time the 2-minute 35-second mark arrives, the trio has ratcheted enough tension sans Watts that it feels almost unbearable, creating a desire for just that one fix. When Watts does come in, it’s both a relief and one of the most cathartic musical moments in the Stones’ body of work.

Perhaps the most goosebump-inducing moment of Charlie Watts’ career may be his performance on the Stones’ 1969 murder epic “Midnight Rambler.” As Jagger boasts and flexes in the first person from the point of view of Boston Strangler Albert DeSalvo, Watts’ subtle shifts in drumming move the song from one phase to another, like shifting gears in a 72’ Chevelle going up a twisting mountain road. It’s almost imperceptibly subtle; you never actually notice the rhythm changes until they’ve already happened.

Halfway through, the track has metamorphosed from a standard throbbing Chicago blues tune to a furious rocker. When the song breaks down to a whisper, Watts’ drumming re-enters like a fist through a steel-plate door, guiding the band back up to the original furious blues groove, giving room for Jagger to wax psychotic.

Outside of the Rolling Stones, Watts participated in a variety of jazz combos, a hobby that rarely intersected with his normal gig. On one occasion, the Stones invited legendary saxophonist Sonny Rollins to overdub solos on two previously unreleased songs that were to finally see the light of day on the album Tattoo You: “Waiting On a Friend” and “Slave.” On the latter, Watts had conjured a lurching groove almost singlehandedly, out of which Richards and co. were able to make mincemeat. When Rollins laid down his sax solo, it was a work of pure beauty, but a bittersweet moment for Watts, who lamented backing up one of his heroes despite never actually playing with him.

Elsewhere in life, Watts and Stones former bassist Bill Wyman did play with blues legend Howlin’ Wolf on his London Sessions LP, absolutely murdering grooves on songs like "Wang Dang Doodle” and “Rockin’ Daddy.” Rounding out the band for those sessions was guitarist Eric Clapton and Steve Winwood on piano. Wow.

If there’s anything to take away from Charlie Watts’ 58-year tenure as the drummer for The World’s Greatest Rock ‘n’ Roll Band, it’s that less is more, that the song is always in charge, and that the simplest solution is usually the best solution.

After all, is there any Rolling Stones drumming moment more iconic than the intro to “Paint It Black?”
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud… Chills, every time.