The tinkling of honky-tonk piano kicks off I'm Not Signifying's blues shuffle. Mick’s all ginned up, putting on his faux country manners. Soon, however, he’s fighting the snap of Watt’s ringing snare. What the hell is going on?
Actually, it’s this sort of delicious audio disarray that makes I'm Not Signifying such a trashy winner. It sounds live, cut in one take, the echo of the basement figuring prominently in the mix.
The mid-section features a baton toss of nasty slide guitar (hard to tell if it’s recent Richards or vintage Taylor) and distorted harmonica. Like a drunk walking the street, the tune wobbles, finds its legs, builds steam but ultimately ends in a messy splat. A jolt of New Orleans horns at the end appears to be an afterthought.