In the pantheon of rock and roll, few names shine as brightly as Bob Dylan and Mick Jagger. Both have become legends in their own right—Dylan for redefining songwriting and lyrical depth, and Jagger for fronting The Rolling Stones, one of the most enduring rock bands in history. Yet despite their shared status and occasional intersections in music history, there was a moment when Jagger openly criticized a Dylan song, dismissing it with a single, cutting word: “nonsense.”

The song in question? Rainy Day Women #12 & 35 — a track from Dylan’s 1966 album Blonde on Blonde, infamous (and beloved) for its chorus: “Everybody must get stoned.”

At first glance, Rainy Day Women is chaotic, brassy, and seemingly juvenile. The marching band horns, drunken laughter, and repetitive phrasing made it stand out from the rest of Dylan’s increasingly surrealist, poetic catalog of the mid-60s. The song’s double entendre—“getting stoned” interpreted as both biblical persecution and drug use—sparked immediate controversy and confusion upon release. Critics were divided. Some called it brilliant satire. Others, like Mick Jagger, weren’t impressed.

In a 1967 interview, Jagger was asked about Dylan’s evolving sound. While he expressed admiration for Highway 61 Revisited and Bringing It All Back Home, he scoffed when Rainy Day Women came up. “That one?” he said with a smirk. “That’s nonsense. Utter nonsense.” It was a rare, public dismissal from one titan to another—a moment of artistic disagreement in a decade otherwise defined by collaboration and mutual influence.

But what’s truly fascinating is that Rainy Day Women, the very song Jagger dismissed as “nonsense,” would go on to influence several emerging acts in the late 1960s—including one band that would eventually rival the Stones in influence: The Band.

Formed originally as Dylan’s backing group during his infamous electric tour of 1965–1966, The Band developed their own style that fused rock, folk, gospel, and Americana. And while The Basement Tapes sessions are often cited as the foundation for The Band’s sound, members of the group—particularly Levon Helm and Robbie Robertson—later revealed that the energy and looseness of Rainy Day Women helped define their early identity.

In interviews, Robertson recalled the joy and unpredictability of recording with Dylan, noting that Rainy Day Women was “like nothing we’d ever heard—rowdy, loose, a song that didn’t care if it was messy or off-key.” That spirit, he said, carried into their debut album Music from Big Pink, widely considered a landmark in rock history.

The irony of it all is rich: a song deemed frivolous and senseless by one rock legend was a creative spark for another group of artists who would influence generations to come.

There’s another layer to the story as well. Some historians argue that Jagger’s criticism wasn’t merely aesthetic—it was competitive. By 1966, Dylan had already made the leap from folk icon to rock innovator, something Jagger and the Stones were still perfecting. Dylan’s ability to push boundaries lyrically and musically was undeniable, and songs like Rainy Day Women represented an experimental freedom that few others dared attempt at the time.

“Jagger may have seen the song as unserious,” wrote music critic Greil Marcus, “but he missed the deeper satire. Dylan was poking fun at conformity, judgment, and the absurdity of moral policing in America. It was humorous, yes, but also biting.”

Indeed, Dylan himself was cryptic about the song’s meaning. When asked in a 1966 press conference whether it was a pro-drug anthem, he replied, deadpan: “I never have and never will write a drug song.” Then, after a pause, he added, “But you can be stoned in a lot of different ways.” The ambiguity was intentional.

Over time, Rainy Day Women became a staple of Dylan’s live performances, known for its wild energy and audience sing-alongs. It’s been covered by dozens of artists, sampled in films, and remains one of Dylan’s most recognizable tracks. What once seemed absurd now seems prophetic: a musical middle finger to those who would judge or label, dressed in the raucous sound of carnival chaos.

Mick Jagger, to his credit, never doubled down on his critique. In later years, he praised Dylan’s catalog more broadly and performed alongside him on rare occasions. Yet the “nonsense” comment has lingered as an artifact of how even great artists can misread each other’s intentions—or view art through competing lenses.

And perhaps that’s the lesson in this story. Art is fluid. What one person sees as ridiculous, another sees as revolutionary. Jagger’s reaction was honest, even if dismissive. But history has proven that Rainy Day Women was more than just a musical joke—it was a cultural moment. One that reflected the contradictions, spirit, and freedom of the 1960s.

As listeners, we’re left with the full picture: the laughter and confusion, the mockery and the influence, the chaos and the inspiration. Rainy Day Women #12 & 35 may have sounded like nonsense to Mick Jagger, but to others, it was exactly the kind of madness that made rock and roll matter.