If you're going to call your band The Stones you've either got to be extraordinarily good, or have not a single idea about the history of rock'n'roll. We suspect the latter.
When we first heard this tune we were envisioning the lads wearing either rustic folk garb, or full on hippy wig out duds - each and every one of them with raggety unkempt hair. What we weren't expecting was a bunch of squeaky clean young men in shirts so unpleasant that even a premiership footballer would baulk at wearing them.
But whatever you think of their look and apparel, you won't get this insistant madrigal out of your brain for the rest of the night. Curse it.