In 2016, The Rolling Stones returned to their roots with Blue & Lonesome, a raw blues album that served as both a tribute to the music that birthed the band and a quiet remembrance of one of its founding members. It had been decades since Brian Jones’ tragic death, but through the moody haze of blues guitar and harmonica, the past came back into sharp focus—especially for Keith Richards.
Blue & Lonesome was no typical comeback album. For the first time, The Rolling Stones released a full-length project consisting entirely of blues covers. In a musical landscape dominated by algorithm-chasing releases, the Stones went the other way, choosing grit over gloss. With stripped-down instrumentation and covers of blues legends like Howlin’ Wolf and Little Walter, the record reminded listeners where the band truly began. It was also a reunion of sorts: old friends, old songs, and even a special guest appearance from Eric Clapton on two tracks.
Among the many deep cuts and gems on Blue & Lonesome, one track stood out for Richards: Jimmy Reed’s 1957 classic Little Rain. It wasn’t just another cover—it was a ghost, a memory, a haunting. “The last time I ever played ‘Little Rain’ was with Brian Jones,” Richards reflected. “Now I’m playing ‘Little Rain’ in the studio and suddenly Brian is looming in front of me…”
That one line says everything. Brian Jones wasn’t just the original leader of The Rolling Stones—he was the soul that first tied the band together. Long before the mythos of “The Glimmer Twins” (Jagger and Richards) had solidified, it was Jones who formed the group, bringing Richards and Jagger into the fold. In the band’s early days, the trio lived together in a cramped Chelsea flat, playing Jimmy Reed and Muddy Waters tunes in clubs barely larger than a pub backroom. Jones’ slide guitar and multi-instrumental flair defined the group’s early sound, laying the groundwork for records like Aftermath and Between the Buttons.
But time and fame took their toll. Jones’ increasing drug and alcohol use strained relationships within the band. His erratic behavior became a liability, especially when it began interfering with their ability to tour in America. The final blow came with heartbreak—Anita Pallenberg, Jones’ girlfriend, left him for Richards. By 1969, his role in the band had diminished to the point of irrelevance. He was let go that June. A month later, he was found dead in his swimming pool.
And yet, despite everything—the tension, the betrayal, the years of silence—Jones’ presence lingered. When Richards picked up Little Rain again for Blue & Lonesome, it wasn’t just a song. It was a séance.
The track itself is unlike anything else on the record. Slow-burning, shadowy, and soaked in atmosphere, it stands apart with its deliberate pace and brooding charm. “Just because it’s an atmospherically different sound,” Richards said, “but it only squeaks through on Blue & Lonesome.” For him, it wasn’t just a song choice—it was a memory reawakened.
Mick Jagger felt it too. “You can feel them around you,” he said of playing the old blues numbers. “Keith probably thought, ‘I’d better get this right.’ I just wanted to get the harmonica solo right. I must have learned that from Brian.”
As the years passed, the band’s understanding of Jones softened. In 1989, he was posthumously inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame with the rest of the original lineup. Even Bill Wyman, the band’s ever-reserved bassist, later wrote: “As the years go by, I become even more convinced that he’s entitled to a free pardon. Brian Jones is a legend, and his legacy is there for all to hear. While The Rolling Stones damaged all of us in some way, Brian was the only one that died.”
In the end, Blue & Lonesome may have been just another album for the band, but for Keith Richards, Little Rain was something deeper. It was the sound of the past catching up, of an old friend stepping into the room one last time.
