Mick Jagger’s harsh verdicts and what they tell us
Mick Jagger’s rock criticism in the 1970s, especially his dismissal of some American bands as “absolute bullshit” and “rubbish”, is best understood as a window into how classic rock icons policed what counted as real rock while defending their status at the top of the music world.
In a 1977 interview, Jagger tore into Aerosmith at the height of their rise, sneering, “Oh God, Aerosmith… They’re just rubbish – absolute bullshit.” This was not a casual aside. By then, The Rolling Stones had already moved into elder-statesman territory, inheriting the rock throne after The Beatles split in 1970 and sharing the summit with The Who and Led Zeppelin. His words were a blunt assertion of hierarchy: the British originals versus the American pretenders.
Jagger’s opinions still matter not because they were fair, but because they show how taste, ego, and power fuse in rock music taste debates. When an 83-year-old Jagger can still notch two number-one albums in three years, his judgments echo far beyond one insult.
The 1970s: when the Stones guarded their throne
To understand Jagger’s contempt, you have to see the 1970s as a decade where rock splintered and the Stones fought to keep control. Following the psychedelic experiments of the 1960s, rock broke into tight niches, from Sid Vicious’ stripped-down punk bass lines to Jimmy Page’s intricate guitar mosaics, and from Black Sabbath’s heaviness to the softer sounds of acts like the Eagles.
When The Beatles ended in 1970, The Rolling Stones stepped into the power vacuum, becoming the default kings of rock alongside a short list of peers. In that climate, Aerosmith arriving as a swaggering, blues-based hard rock band was not neutral; it was competition. Like later Guns N’ Roses, Aerosmith fronted a new era that could sound cheesy to British ears, but it was also steeped in the Stones’ own playbook.
So Jagger’s slam was less about one Boston band and more about defending a once-in-a-generation claim: that the Stones set the standard, and everyone else was either copying it or diluting it.
Gatekeeping, impersonation and the fight over ‘real’ rock
What makes Jagger’s comments so sharp is that they were not just musical criticism; they were a complaint about identity theft. He “didn’t take too kindly to the American cramping his style”, as comparisons mounted between Steven Tyler’s stage presence and his own. The Stones’ frontman was “uncomfortable with being compared to anybody else”, and that discomfort is classic rock gatekeeping in its purest form.
According to one account, Jagger even joked about wanting to punch Tyler for “impersonating” him, painting the younger singer as a “little sweetheart” whose main offence was copying the wrong idol too closely. It is a neat summary of how senior rock figures draw lines: influence is acceptable, impersonation is not. The subtext is clear—only the originators are allowed to own that strutting, dangerous frontman archetype.
This is classic rock gatekeeping: defining authenticity as proximity to the original bluesy core while dismissing later, flashier iterations as hollow. Jagger’s rock criticism became a control mechanism, a way of saying, “We decide what counts.”
Shifting tastes: from ‘bullshit’ to beloved classics
The irony is that the very bands Jagger dismissed are now part of the canon he was trying to protect. Aerosmith, a group he saw as emblematic of a new, slightly cheesy era of rock, later stood alongside Guns N’ Roses as standard-bearers for arena-sized hard rock. What once sounded like shallow imitation now reads as its own chapter in rock history, proof that taste debates age as quickly as fashion.
At the same time, modern musicians still look back to the Stones’ late-1960s work as the gold standard. Foreigner’s Lou Gramm has called the 1969 album Let It Bleed the Stones’ masterpiece, praising its raw sound, straightforward arrangements and the sloppily exquisite chemistry between Keith Richards and Mick Taylor. He describes it as “The Rolling Stones at their best”, a record he never tires of hearing.
So while Jagger fenced off his turf with harsh words, later generations did their own reassessment. They honored the Stones’ gritty roots while also elevating the very 1970s acts he wrote off. That tension reveals how fluid the idea of “real” rock is.
Why Jagger’s opinions still matter in rock debates
Jagger’s takedown of Aerosmith still matters because it shows how taste, ego and legacy collide whenever rock royalty speak. His words were unfair to a band that went on to define an era, but they accurately reflect how insecure the so-called golden age was about its heirs.
The Stones’ own legacy rests on a balance of looseness and authority. Albums like Let It Bleed show them at peak freedom: raw, slightly sloppy, yet commanding enough that decades later a singer like Lou Gramm hears them as definitive. That self-confidence breeds the kind of gatekeeping that leads to calling younger bands “rubbish” in public.
In the end, Jagger’s rock criticism tells us less about Aerosmith’s worth and more about how older generations defend their myths. The lesson for today’s rock music taste debates is simple: when legends speak, listen for the insecurity behind the swagger—and remember that history has a habit of redeeming the bands they dismiss.
