On “Divine Intervention,” a cheery song about ignoring the apocalypse from the Rolling Stones‘ upcoming 25th album, Mick Jagger confesses he once worried enough about end times to consult a Hollywood psychic. “Through the gloom, I asked her, ‘What’s my future?’/Well, she threw up,” he whines over Some Girls-style guitar boogie. Jagger’s message in the chorus is that even when the world is ending, “Dystopian values are too hot to handle, and I’m going out in a blaze.” Now that’s more like it.
After all, the guy who sang both “Time Is on My Side” and “Time Waits for No One” — the guy who once said he’d rather be dead than sing “Satisfaction” at 45 — never seemed to care all that much about the future, anyway. Jagger, who will turn 83 shortly after the album’s July 10 release date, has always sung about living in the present. In the Sixties, when Paul McCartney was elegantly mourning a breakup on “Yesterday,” Jagger was hectoring “Yesterday’s Papers” at his ex. And where Macca’s excellent new album found him reminiscing about The Boys of Dungeon Lane, the Boys of Dartford Station are more interested in foreign affairs.
“Ringing Hollow,” a loping country rocker that recalls Gram Parsons’ influence on the Stones, is Jagger and Keith Richards‘ kiss-off letter to the U.S. “Well, I was madly in love with you/Before we ever met,” Jagger sings. “I saw all your movies/I smoked your cigarettes.” But now, Jagger sings, “Lady Liberty is wearing a frown.” It’s an Americana folk song filled with wry, ironic observations like, “Let the dreamers get the dream they want, my favorite joke/So pass around the fenty/Pass around the coke.… When voices are stifled/I wanna scream out loud.” Ouch! You know they still love their American fans, but as with “Sweet Neo Con,” “Undercover of the Night,” and “Street Fighting Man,” when the Stones see injustice, they’re gonna shake their lips.
Meanwhile, on “Divine Intervention,” one of the best songs on Foreign Tongues, with a great bluesy solo from Ronnie Wood, Jagger describes “billionaires all scuttling, scrambling to their bolt holes in the sky.” On “Covered in You,” he raps, “I wake up sick and tired of all these autocrats/You know, they seem to be breeding like a swarm of dirty rats with their missiles on parade.” He never calls out Trump by name, but he does zing one of the president’s cronies on “Mr. Charm,” otherwise a whimsical gigolo anthem, when he refers to the world’s first trillionaire as “mad mogul Mr. Musk.”
On “Never Wanna Lose You,” a pop-rock song with funky bass and the Cure’s Robert Smith on synths, Jagger shows life’s other side when he tells his lover that he’d even live with her in Naples — though he may mean Naples, Florida, since he describes “a rundown trailer park.” Politics, as Aristotle said, is the struggle between the poor and the rich, after all. (And in true Jagger fashion, this man of wealth and taste also never acknowledges his own or his bandmates’ multimillionaire status.)
The new LP arrives three years after Hackney Diamonds. That record felt like a comeback of sorts, since it was their first album of original music in nearly two decades, and, well, it was pretty great. It won the band — which now includes bassist Darryl Jones and drummer Steve Jordan — a Grammy and established them as England’s oldest hitmakers. Foreign Tongues, which likely collects Diamond cuts that were still in the rough last time, feels like business as usual for the group, in an effective way, since the recording cultivated equal results.
The record’s 14 songs include joint-ripping rockers (“Hit Me in the Head,” “Rough and Twisted”), ballads filled with sweeping exits and offstage lines (“Back in Your Life” and Richards’ excellent “Some of Us”), disco heartbreakers (“Jealous Lover,” “Never Wanna Lose You”), country honks (“Ringing Hollow”), and Chuck Berry riffs galore (literally on a reverent cover of Berry’s “Beautiful Delilah”). There are no sharp turns or pop experiments here, just the satisfaction of Stones-y comfort food.

After all, the Stones know what a Stones record should sound like. Their fidelity to the blues, R&B, and early rock & roll remains intact — and in case they stray, they have Andrew Watt, who also helmed Hackney Diamonds, guiding them. He’s listed as producer and even got a handful of rare writing co-credits alongside Jagger and Richards, but he should’ve probably also gotten one for “conscience,” as well, since, as superfan extraordinaire, he helped remind them of their quintessence: warm, bluesy riffs paired with Jagger’s scabrous irony.
The album’s only real “What are they doing?” moments are Jagger’s rap on the otherwise great “Covered in You” — which finds McCartney playing an upbeat groove on bass as Jagger says something about “wait till you see the whites of their asses” — and a fairly conventional cover of Amy Winehouse’s “You Know I’m No Good,” the best part of which is Jagger mimicking Mark Ronson’s production on his harmonica. And all that’s missing are lengthy jams, a midnight ramble or a “Gimme Shelter” tempest, but the album largely gives what Stones fans need.
As with Hackney Diamonds, the guest list runs deep: McCartney, Smith, Steve Winwood (who sticks to piano and organ), the Heartbreakers’ Benmont Tench (on organ), and Bruno Mars, who plays practically inaudible cowbell on the baby-please-don’t-go disco party rave-up “Never Wanna Lose You.” As with Hackney Diamonds, the most notable appearance is by the late, great Charlie Watts on the “Hang Fire”-style death wish “Hit Me in the Head,” recorded in 2021 — and that’s no disrespect to Jordan, who swings differently and hits harder.
The album sounds a little overly slick at times, but mostly Foreign Tongues stays faithful to the Stones’ signature sound, or at least Watts’ idea of how the Stones should sound. There are no Dust Brothers beats of burden on this album, as there were on Bridges to Babylon. Jagger, Richards, and Wood know they’ll never top the winning streak that ran from Beggars Banquet to Exile on Main St. (not to overlook Aftermath or Some Girls or Tattoo You), so why not best Dirty Work and Voodoo Lounge, which they do exponentially here. Jagger’s voice is a modern marvel, sounding as good as it did 40 years ago; he even sings “You Know I’m No Good” in a higher key than Winehouse did. And Richards’ and Wood’s “ancient art of weaving” yields dense textures, especially on “Ringing Hollow,” that allow each of them to step out here and there with guitar showcases.
In some ways, Foreign Tongues is an improvement on Hackney Diamonds, in that the latter occasionally sounded a little too much like a Jagger solo record in its emphasis on vocal melodies; this one feels more guitar-centric and holistically Stones-y. The goal, as Watt has said, was to create songs that could translate well to the stadium stage, and the single “In the Stars” and “Never Wanna Lose You” could both do that should the band want to tour again.
As always, best songs happen when the Stones let it loose. On “Jealous Lover,” a funky soul number that recalls “Emotional Rescue,” Jagger breaks up with his lover in falsetto because she’s too jealous of other women (and, incidentally, he also never says he’s not cheating on her). And he embraces the fuckboy ethos on the playful “Mr. Charm,” on which he seduces a rich woman, telling her, “Life’s too short for just making money/Show me how to spend it, honey.” (In a rare acknowledgement of his own age, he admits on the song that while he once dreamed of roving Mars, he now prefers to stay home and “do anagrams, spew epigrams.”) Then there’s Richards’ “Some of Us,” a moving declaration of devotion whose origins as a song date back to the Eighties, on which he sings, “Some of us are on our knees, begging, baby.” There’s deep emotion and vulnerability in Richards’ voice, which occasionally interlace with Jagger’s, in a way that reflects a level of dedication that only comes with enduring love.
And on the topic of enduring love, the album ends with Jagger and Richards, in each other’s lives since age five, singing Berry’s “Beautiful Delilah,” with the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Chad Smith on “concert bass drum.” As with the Glimmer Twins performing Muddy Waters’ “Rolling Stone Blues” on Hackney Diamonds, their choice of Berry is a full-circle moment for the duo, since Jagger was carrying Waters and Berry records when he met Richards again at the Dartford train station, and the Stones’ first-ever single was a cover of Berry’s “Come On.” For four minutes again, they were Blues Incorporated, their first band. And you can tell that that original spark still flickers within them.
Jagger has said he hopes the Stones put out more records, but as he and Richards inch deeper into their eighties (Wood turns 80 next year), there’s always the feeling that this album may be the last time. They don’t know. If it is, though, Foreign Tongues is an album that lives up to their legacy.








Holzman and Hughes at the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool.Courtesy of Ekko Astral
Holzman and Hughes in Brooklyn, May 2026.Griffin Lotz for Rolling Stone



There’s no immediate resolution in any of this. There’s no surrender either — and a lot of great escape. White’s slide guitar in “Dollar Bill” sounds like a National Steel on steroids until the solo, when it turns into what seems like a theremin gone postal. “I Can’t Believe What I’m Hearing” has a great pop-wise chorus closer to the Pretty Things than Son House. And don’t miss White’s wry aside to the White Stripes’ old creation myth in the second verse of “G.O.D.,” on the way to the real business at hand. “Well, it’s the beginning of the world now,” he declares at the song’s end. “Let’s do it all over again.”

Jay-Z has turned the 30th anniversary of his classic debut album into a major marketing event
Jay-Z Knows the Past Still Pays
There’s a pleasant absurdity to the advertisements for JAŸ-Z30 that are currently found across New York’s subway tunnels. Their dramatic imagery — a stark black backdrop pierced through the center with a pair of hands, presumably Jay’s, fixed into the famous Roc diamond — invites a kind of religious authority that feels a touch ironic for anyone who’s old enough to remember all types of handwringing over those very hand symbols only a few years ago. And maybe that’s the point. By now, nostalgia’s grip extends layers deep. So much so that you could find yourself waiting for the train, reminiscing on the days when people still made jokes about the so-called Illuminati.
Jay-Z’s months-long campaign commemorating the 30th anniversary of Reasonable Doubt and the 25th anniversary of The Blueprint has indeed resurfaced the rapper-turned-mogul’s success story. Reasonable Doubt, released in 1996, positioned Jay as not only a resonant voice in hip-hop but also in the increasingly lucrative business around it. After major labels passed, the album was released independently through Roc-A-Fella Records and Priority Records, setting the tone for Jay’s career as a business…man.
And in the full-court press campaign around this summer’s anniversaries, culminating in this weekend’s trio of performances at Yankee Stadium, Jay’s business acumen is again at center focus. You’d be forgiven for throwing around buzzwords like “multichannel” or “cross-platform” to describe the slate of festivities. There was a Spotify-backed takeover of the J and Z trains; custom JAŸ-Z30 subway maps and a Google Maps guide; commemorative Brooklyn Public Library cards; and most recently Bowery Station and DUMBO pop-ups with archival footage and merch. (That these Yankee Stadium shows come on the heels of Taylor Swift’s wedding at MSG suggests some sort of mega-rich takeover of cultural institutions, but let’s leave that one for another day.)
The moves come as nostalgia continues to drive a considerable chunk of the music industry’s profits. In an era when old songs can circulate infinitely on streaming platforms, gaining new life in the form of everything from samples to memes, and when superfans are willing to spend on physical goods, limited merch, and live experiences, album anniversaries have become their own product launches. Jay-Z’s Reasonable Doubt campaign is only the splashiest recent example.
No wonder, then, that Beyoncé already appears to be setting the stage for her own run of commemorations for the upcoming 20th anniversary of her album B’Day in September. Over the weekend, she released her first new song in two years, titled “Morning Dew (Donk),” to tease the upcoming reissue. According to Luminate, older music still dominates attention, with only 43 percent of U.S. on-demand audio streams in 2025 coming from tracks released in the previous five years. This is also one reason why vinyl and physical formats have seen renewed value in recent years, with the RIAA reporting that vinyl sold 46.8 million units in the U.S. in 2025, compared with 29.5 million CDs. Luminate says superfans are 20 percent of U.S. music listeners and spend heavily on live events and physical merchandise; 73 percent of these fans purchase physical merch, versus 26 percent of general music listeners.
In today’s industry, having a major anniversary is like having a new product to promote, a way to participate in an already thriving marketplace for nostalgia. The demand is visible well beyond official artist stores: Vintage concert tees now trade as collectibles, with one 1967 Grateful Dead shirt selling at Sotheby’s for $19,300 and rare rap tees treated as wearable archives of hip-hop history. Anniversary campaigns give artists and labels a way to reclaim that energy, turning the secondary market’s appetite for old symbols into new, officially sanctioned products.
Jay-Z’s official anniversary store turns that logic into a menu of objects: a $1,500 collector’s crate, a $300 cassette box, $400 Yankees jerseys, and four-figure varsity jackets. Of course, Jay is far from alone when it comes to legacy acts cashing in on nostalgia. He’s more like one salient example of a much larger wave of artists and promoters marketing anniversary products that includes the Smashing Pumpkins’ Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness 30th anniversary super-deluxe edition, My Chemical Romance’s Black Parade stadium tour, and the returned Warped Tour, among many others.
Five years before Reasonable Doubt became the occasion for library cards, pop-ups, collector crates, and stadium spectacle, its 25th anniversary was marked by an NFT. In 2021, Sotheby’s and Roc Nation auctioned a one-of-one Derrick Adams artwork tied to the album, billed as the only official Jay-Z-authorized commemoration of the anniversary. Around the same time, Roc-A-Fella was in court over co-founder Damon Dash’s attempted sale of a Reasonable Doubt-related NFT, a dispute that ended with a judgment making clear that no shareholder could sell or dispose of an interest in the album — including through an NFT — without the company’s authorization.
That ownership question is becoming harder to avoid as music enters the AI era, where the archive is not only something to reissue, exhibit, or sell, but something that can be scraped, modeled, and trained on. Last week, SZA took to Twitter to express frustration with AI music company Suno, notably calling out Diplo by name as one of the company’s investors. “DO NOT GIVE AWAY YOUR VIBRANIUM !!! DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH YOUR GENIUS,” she wrote on Twitter. Her complaint was joined by Kenneth Blume, who said Suno’s workers were “stealing from countless struggling musicians.”
For an artist with a legacy as impactful as Jay-Z’s, the current anniversary boom feel like the latest phase of a longer project of deciding who gets to turn hip-hop history into intellectual property. Jay-Z’s legacy deserves preservation; few catalogs have made a stronger case for it. But the more that preservation arrives through limited-edition objects, auction platforms, luxury merch, and authorized experiences, the more it has to answer a harder question: When does protecting the archive become another way of extracting value from it?