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Re: Post: Magazine Articles
Posted by: exilestones ()
Date: March 28, 2022 18:45

Keith Richards has been ‘playing a lot of bass’ on new Rolling Stones tunes
Ashleigh Durden




Keith Richards has been “playing a lot of bass” on The Rolling Stones’ new material.

The 78-year-old guitarist and occasional bassist has recalled spending a week
in Jamaica with frontman Sir Mick Jagger, also 78, jamming and working on new
music for their new studio album, and him playing the four-stringer added
“another angle” to their sound. “It’s quite interesting – at the same time it’s
Stones man,” he said.

According to the Daily Star newspaper’s WIRED column, he said: “I was in Jamaica with Mick.
We were spending a week together putting material together and hanging around.”

Quizzed on how many songs they have, he continued: “More than I can count – it
was a very productive week.

“We had a setup there, bass, drums, and we got a very good sound going.

Richards went on to say that he and Jagger “got a very good sound going”,
adding: “Jamaica is good for sound.”

Keith – who is also joined by 74-year-old bassist Ronnie Wood in the band –
added: “I was playing a lot of bass so it was taking on another angle.

“It’s quite interesting – at the same time it’s Stones man.

“It was great fun and we are gearing up for Europe shortly.

“Once a year I like to keep my hand in – there’s nothing like playing on stage.”

The upcoming LP will be the first new music since the death of drummer Charlie Watts, who died last summer aged 80.

Keith recently revealed he and Mick had “eight or nine new pieces of material”, which they worked on with 65-year-old touring drummer Steve Jordan.

Appearing on ‘CBS Sunday Morning’, he spilled: “It’ll be interesting to find out the dynamics now that Steve’s in the band.

“It’s sort of metamorphosing into something else. I was working with Mick last
week, and Steve, and we came up with some, eight or nine new pieces of
material. Which is overwhelming by our standards. Other times, [songwriting is] like a desert.”

When quizzed on why penning new music can be challenging, he coyly replied:
“It’s the muse thing. If I could find her address (laughing).”

The forthcoming tracks will serve as the first new music from the Stones since Steve Jordan is now the group’s permanent touring drummer.

Richards previously revealed that Jordan had worked with him and Jagger on “eight or nine new pieces of material”, explaining: “It’ll be interesting to find out the dynamics now that Steve’s in the band.”

Elsewhere, he told the Daily Star that the Rolling Stones are currently
“gearing up” for their recently-announced UK and European 60th anniversary
tour, which takes place this summer.

“Once a year I like to keep my hand in – there’s nothing like playing on
stage,” Richards said of his desire to head back out on the road.





Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 2022-04-22 03:13 by exilestones.

Re: Post: Magazine Articles
Posted by: Krzysztof ()
Date: May 5, 2022 18:59

Hi, thank for super article. I looking for scans every Stones Fan Magazine. Thank.

Re: Post: Magazine Articles
Posted by: exilestones ()
Date: May 6, 2022 20:12

Quote
Krzysztof
Hi, thank for super article. I looking for scans every Stones Fan Magazine. Thank.

thumbs up


Keith Richards: A 1969 Rant
The Stones guistarist opens up about what to expect on ‘Let It Bleed,’ the upcoming U.S. tour, and what he thinks of his contemporaries
By Ritchie Yorke


Keith Richards poses for a portrait circa 1969.
Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images

The news that the Rolling Stones are to resume personal appearances is likely to gladden hearts everywhere. The Stones always were the most important performing group to come out of England. At the Stones’ office behind Oxford Circus in London recently, guitarist-composer Keith Richards discussed the tour Mick‘s foray into films and the next Stones’ album, to be called Let It Bleed.

“The whole tour thing is very strange man, because I still don’t really believe it. We did the Hyde Park concert and it felt really good, and I guess the tour will feel even better. And we need to do it. Apart from people wanting to see us, we really need to do a tour, because we haven’t played live for so long.

“A tour’s the only thing that knocks you into shape. Especially now that we’ve got Mick Taylor in the band, we really need to go through the paces again to really get back together.”

Although the itinerary has yet to be confirmed, there will be at least a dozen gigs in North America plus a concert in London, another in the North of England, and a short tour of the Continent. George Harrison told me that he thought the reason the Stones were going on the road again was money, and Richards didn’t deny it.

“Yeah, well, that’s how it is. We were going to do the Memphis Blues Festival but things got screwed up. Brian wasn’t in that good a shape and we had various problems. I personally missed the road.

“After you’ve been doing gigs every night for four or five years, it’s strange just to suddenly stop. It’s exactly three years since we quit now. What decided us to get back into it was Hyde Park. It was such a unique feeling.

“But in all the future gigs, we want to keep the audiences as small as possible. We’d rather play to four shows of 5,000 people each, than one mammoth 50,000 sort of number. I think we’re playing at Madison Square Garden in New York, but it will be a reduced audience, because we’re not going to allow them to sell all the seats.

“I’m going to meet Mick in California about mid-way through October and we’re going to have to rehearse like hell. That whole film thing in Australia was a bit of a drag. I mean, it sounds dangerous to me. He’s had his hand blown off, and he had to get his hair cut short. But Mick thinks he needs to do those things. We’ve often talked about it, and I’ve asked him why the hell does he want to be a film star.

“But he says, ‘Well, Keith, you’re a musician and that’s a complete thing in itself, but I don’t play anything.’ So I said that anyone who sings and dances the way he does shouldn’t need to do anything else. But he doesn’t agree so I guess that’s cool.

“The trouble is that it has disorganized our plans; it happened just as we got Mick Taylor into the band, and just as we were finishing the album. We had one track to do and we accidently wiped Mick’s voice off when we were messing around with the tape. And there’s Mick stuck down in Australia, about 3,000 miles from the nearest studio. It’s pretty far out.”
Mick’s absence has also been felt in other areas. The Stones have not been able to record a follow-up single to “Honky Tonk Women,” which was the second biggest selling record of their career, after “Satisfaction.”

“I have a couple of ideas for the next record,” Keith said, “and I think we’ll cut it in Los Angeles when I meet Mick. I’d like to record again in Los Angeles because it’s been a long time since we worked in the studios there. ‘Have You Seen Your Mother, Baby?’ was the last track we did in L.A.

“Plus, we’ll get the album, Let It Bleed, finished. I think it will be the best album we’ve ever done. It will have some of the things which we did at the Hyde Park concert. There’s a blues thing called ‘Midnight Rambler’ which goes through a lot of changes; a very basic Chicago sound.

“The biggest production number is ‘You Can’t Always Get What You Want,’ which runs about seven minutes. But most of the album is fairly simple. There’s a lot of bottleneck guitar playing, an awful lot, probably too much, come to think of it. But I really got hung up on that when we were doing ‘Sympathy for the Devil’ on Beggar’s Banquet.

“There’s three really hard blues tracks, and one funky rock and roll thing. Not the ‘Street Fighting Man’ sort, but as basic as that. There’s a slow country song, because we always like to do one of them. All of the tracks are long, four, five and six minutes. There’s about four tracks to each side, but the sides run 20 minutes.

“Let It Bleed will also have the original Hank Williams-like version of ‘Honky Tonk Women,’ which was one of my songs. Last Christmas, Mick and I went to Brazil and spent some time on a ranch. I suddenly got into cowboy songs. I wrote ‘Honky Tonk Women’ as a straight Hank Williams-Jimmy Rodgers sort of number. Later when we were fooling around with it — trying to make it sound funkier — we hit on the sound we had on the single. We all thought, wow, this has got to be a hit single.

“And it was and it did fantastically well; probably because it’s the sort of song which transcends all tastes.”

While we were talking, the muffled sounds of a Creedence Clearwater Revival album could be heard in another office, and I wondered if Keith was impressed by the group?

“Yeah, I’m into a very weird thing with that band. When I first heard them, I was really knocked out, but I became bored with them very quickly. After a few times, it started to annoy me. They’re so basic and simple that maybe it’s a little too much.”


Blood, Sweat & Tears?

“I don’t really like them . . . I don’t really dig that sort of music but I suppose that’s a bit unfair because I haven’t heard very much by them. It’s just not my scene, because I like a really tight band and anyway, I prefer guitars with maybe a keyboard. The only brass that ever knocked me out was a few soul bands.”


Led Zeppelin?

“I played their album quite a few times when I first got it, but then the guy’s voice started to get on my nerves. I don’t know why; maybe he’s a little too acrobatic. But Jimmy Paige is a great guitar player, and a very respected one.”


Blind Faith?

“Having the same producer, Jimmy Miller, we’re aware of some of the problems he had with Blind Faith. I don’t like the Buddy Holly song, ‘Well All Right,’ at all, because Buddy’s version was ten times better. It’s not worth doing an old song unless you’re going to add to it.



Blind Faith - Eric Clapton, Ric Grech, Steve Winwood and Ginger Baker



“I liked Eric‘s (Clapton) song, ‘In the Presence of the Lord,’ and Ginger’s ‘Do What You Like.’ But I don’t think Stevie’s (Winwood) got himself together. He’s an incredible singer and an incredible guitarist and an incredible organist but he never does the things I want to hear him do. I’m still digging ‘I’m a Man’ and a few of the other things he did with Spencer Davis. But he’s not into that scene anymore.”



Jethro Tull?

“We picked up on them quickly. Mick had their first album and we featured the group on the Rock and Roll Circus TV show we taped last December (which still hasn’t come out, but hope remains).

“I really liked the band then but I haven’t heard it recently. I hope Ian Anderson doesn’t get into a cliché thing with his leg routine. You have to work so goddam hard to make it in America, and it’s very easy to end up being a parody of yourself. But he plays a nice flute and the guitar player he had with him was good. I think he left and started his own group, Blodwyn Pig. I haven’t heard that lot yet.”


The Band?

“I saw them at the Dylan gig on the Isle of Wight and I was disappointed. Dylan was beautiful, especially when he did the songs by himself. He has a unique rhythm which only seems to come off when he’s performing solo.

“The Band were just too strict. They’ve been playing together for a long, long time, and what I couldn’t understand was their lack of spontaneity. They sounded note for note like their records.
“It was like they were just playing the records on stage and at a fairly low volume, with very clear sound. I personally like some distortion, especially if something starts happening on stage. But they just didn’t seem to come alive by themselves. I think that they’re essentially an accompanying band. When they were backing up Dylan, there was a couple of times when they did get off. But they were just a little too perfect for me.”


The Bee Gees?

“Well, they’re in their own little fantasy world. You only have to read what they talk about in interviews . . . how many suits they’ve got and that kind of crap. It’s all kid stuff, isn’t it?”
Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young? “I thought the album was nice, really pretty. The Hollies went through all that personality thing before Graham left them. The problem was that Graham was the only one getting stoned, and everybody else was really straight Manchester stock. That doesn’t help.”


The Beatles?

“I think it’s impossible for them to do a tour. Mick has said it before, but it’s worth repeating . . . the Beatles are primarily a recording group.

“Even though they drew the biggest crowds of their era in North America, I think the Beatles had passed their performing peak even before they were famous. They are a recording band, while our scene is the concerts and many of our records were roughly made, on purpose. Our sort of scene is to have a really good time with the audience.

“It’s always been the Stones’ thing to get up on stage and kick the crap out of everything. We had three years of that before we made it, and we were only just getting it together when we became famous. We still had plenty to do on stage and I think we still have. That’s why the tour should be such a groove for us.”


This story is from the November 15, 1969 issue of Rolling Stone.

[www.rollingstone.com]

Re: Post: Magazine Articles
Posted by: exilestones ()
Date: May 10, 2022 06:16

People of the Year: Mick Jagger
As Rolling Stone celebrates its People of the Year issue, Mick shows another side:
more personal, more spiritual, and solo


by David Fricke


Keith Richards and Mick Jagger perform at The Concert for New York City to benefit the victims of the World Trade Center disaster.
photo Scott Gries

Mick Jagger’s new album, Goddess in the Doorway, is his first solo record in eight years, since Wandering Spirit in 1993. What took him so long? “I’ve been doing the Rolling Stones – that’s pretty much it,” Jagger says in his Manhattan hotel suite the evening before his appearance with Keith Richards at Paul McCartney‘s Concert for New York City. “But after that very long tour for Bridges to Babylon, I thought, ‘This is the point where I should do another one.’ If the band had really wanted to work . . . ” Jagger shrugs his shoulders. “Everybody was quite happy not to do anything.”

On Goddess, Jagger surrounds himself with the best of friends – including Pete Townshend of the Who, Lenny Kravitz and Aerosmith guitarist Joe Perry – as well as new collaborators Rob Thomas of Matchbox Twenty and Wyclef Jean. But the album is a triumph of independence. Away from the automatic dynamics of the Stones, Jagger struts his matured strengths as a singer and writes about himself with unprecedented honesty. “I tried to let ideas flow,” Jagger says of his lyrics, “so I wouldn’t pull back from things l wouldn’t say normally.”



What do you get out of making solo records that you don’t get out of the Stones?

People are always trying to get you to talk badly about the Rolling Stones. The Rolling Stones have a certain personality. It’s a rock band. The Rolling Stones play Gershwin – it can be discussed, but it’s very unlikely that it’s donna happen. It’s like being an actor. In the Rolling Stones, you’re in the James Bond series. It’s really cool and enormously successful. But you’re expected to behave like James Bond all the time. If you want to do something else, you have to do it on your own.


How did you get started on the album?

I was writing songs at home, and I could record them with just a computer and a guitar. It felt free and easy. I’d have friends around. I could do it when the kids were there, although I’d kick them out of the room [grins].

But you have to be hard on yourself. Halfway through this, I thought I’d done all the writing. I’d play the songs to people, and they’d go, “Yeah, it’s really good, but you’ve only got half a record.” I’d go, “But what about all these other great things?” Well, they weren’t that good. You can tell by people’s reactions: “I gotta do more.”



Do you feel that you’ve opened up as a writer? In “God Gave Me Everything,” you’re really telling us you haven’t got it all – a notion many would find hard to believe.

No one has everything. Some people are luckier than others. That song is a bit ambivalent. Some of the songs were written quickly. You wonder, in the end, what they’re really about.

The one that’s really ambivalent is “Too Far Gone.” I put a big disclaimer at the beginning about hating nostalgia [“I always hate nostalgia/Living in the past”], and all I’m doing is talking about the past.



Are you turning more reflective? Some of the album’s best songs, like “Don’t Call Me Up” and “Brand New Set of Rules,” are ballads.

“As Tears Go By” is reflective. It’s nothing new. I write so many ballads that I have to put them aside. More fast numbers – that’s the dictum from Keith. The Stones record that has the most ballads is Tattoo You, which originally, in the pre-CD world, had an A side of rockers and a B side of ballads. Nice idea, but you can’t do that anymore.



You co-wrote “Visions of Paradise” with Rob Thomas. What is it like writing with someone other than Keith?

You’re in the room with the guy, and you don’t really know him. But he’s got something prepared. Maybe you like it, maybe you don’t. Then something else comes up as you go along. Rob was very focused. His gig was to come up with a melody that’s different from what I would have come up with.

I would never have written “Visions of Paradise” on my own. It’s too pop for me. But I like it. It just worked out. I could have worked with Rob and three other people and not even mentioned it to you, because it wouldn’t have gone anywhere. I tried to write a song with Lenny on my last solo album. All we did was get completely stoned and go out dancing. We didn’t come up with a single idea. So we did “Use Me” [by Bill Withers] instead.



How did you pick your guest stars for the album? And how much of it was collaboration for art’s sake vs. marketing value?

It’s not like I’m in Los Angeles looking for the guitarist of the month. I had a list of people, and most of them I have a relationship with of some kind. Lenny I’d worked with before. I’d already met Rob. Pete’s my neighbor in London. He kept saying, “I know what you’re doing in the studio. I want to come down and play.” Wyclef – I’d been to his concerts. I liked his breadth of musical knowledge, and he’s got this Caribbean vibe that I can relate to. I wanted Missy Elliott to do a rap on “Hide Away,” but she didn’t turn up. We could never get a date together.

There is marketing value as well. But the thing about that Santana album [Supernatural] that people forget is that Carlos Santana is a guitar player, not a singer. What could be more natural than to have a ton of singers walking in and out of his record? For me, it’s not the same, especially with singers. I have to make duets.




Did you write “Joy” as a duet for Bono?

No. I’ve known Bono since I can’t remember. We’ve always had singsongs. There was one time when I sang “Satisfaction” – a hip-hop version – with Bono and [my daughter] Elizabeth at my birthday party, passing the mike. It was really funny.

When I’d done “Joy” – I hadn’t finished all the vocals – I thought it would be great to do with him. U2 were playing in Cologne, so I took my little recording system to his hotel room, and we did it.



In a hotel room? It sounds like you’re in church – band, choir and all.

It’s hard to spoil those things. You imagine the way it should have been. But Pete was in the studio with me. He was there, right next to the incredibly loud amplifiers. He seems to be over that hearing problem [laughs].




You sing the opening lines in “Joy,” about driving through the desert, looking for Buddha and seeing Jesus Christ. That’s usually Bono’s territory.

They were too good [laughs]. I wanted to do that.



So how spiritual are you? People tend to think of you as . . .

Hedonistic?



At least a rationalist.

I am. Of course, I have a spiritual side. Everyone has one. It’s whether they’re going to lock it up or not. Our lives are so busy that we never get any time to be, first, reflective, then afterward, to let some sort of spiritual light into your life. But there are moments in your life when that appears.

I’ve written about it before – touched on it in odd songs like “I Just Want to See His Face” and “Shine a Light” [both on 1972’s Exile on Main Street]. “Joy” is more fleshed out. It is about the joy of creation, inspiring you to a love of God. [Pauses] Not that I want to explain my songs, really.




Do you still experience that joy in music? Onstage with the Stones?

It’s not an every-night thing. It’s in certain moments. Whether that’s a religious moment is a matter of opinion. But it’s akin to a religious moment, the same way a sexual act can be akin to it. It is a transcendent moment. You get the idea that there is another state of mind, even though you’re not necessarily touching it.



Did September 11th cause you to reconsider your ideas about faith and fear?

Being a long way away, you take a slightly different view of it. If I’d been in New York, I’m sure I would have felt a lot differently: “Wow, I just escaped it.” But I felt this awful shock, where you don’t know what you’re thinking. When you try and recall what you actually did at that moment, you can’t recall it exactly.

So there was shock and revulsion. What we didn’t get in England and France was the feeling that there could be another one in a minute. I don’t want to sound cold. But because we were thousands of miles away, it wasn’t like, “It’s your turn next.” I didn’t feel fear for myself but for my daughter in New York.

Atom bombs: That’s one of my fears. Maybe that comes from being brought up with the fear of the bomb, the age group that I am in. Which is a horrible psychological thing.




Does it feel strange to be putting out a record right now? You want people to pay attention to your work, but their attention is elsewhere.

Everyone has to get on with their jobs. You can’t think everything is trivial except CNN. I know the news media have a job to do, but they wind people up unnecessarily. In England, the tabloids were vying to scare people the most. They’d have horrendous photos of People in bodysuits every day on the cover – people were terrified.

It is a difficult time. But we’re living in this together. I won’t get as many column inches as I might have. But that’s not the idea of making records.



What future does rock & roll have in a new era of Patriotism? The music was born to question established order.

I don’t think Bruce Springsteen was ever about questioning the establishment. I always saw Bruce Springsteen as very American, very patriotic. Look at the album covers. I don’t put him down for that. I think he’s a sweet guy, and I like a lot of his music. But even the questions he posed were part of the establishment by then. You had a president who refused to serve in Vietnam, something he questioned in “Born in the U.S.A.” I see Bruce Springsteen as the archetypal working-class American establishment rock star, which is why he is so successful.



Were the Stones the archetypal middle-class British establishment rock stars?

We were very suburban, embodying rebellious suburban attitudes. And the Rolling Stones were more cynical, much less part of the establishment, although people were always saying we were establishment because of the money. But we don’t have patriotism in England like you do in America. Patriotism like that went out the window with the First World War – when it was proved to be a load of bollocks.

Rock & roll is not a monolithic thing, any more than the cinema is. All these things can live in it – from the Beatles to Bruce Springsteen to Rage Against the Machine. Rock music is just a means of expression.



Do you have any solo tour plans?

I was going to do some shows, but I’m running out of time. I don’t really have a band for this record. I’d have to form a band and rehearse.



What about Stones plans for next year?

I’m working on it now. It’s one of my projects at the moment [grins]. I don’t think we’re going to do a whole new studio album. But what are we going to do? I really don’t know. It’s a whole year from now.



Is there a favorite song or record by another artist that knocked you out this year?

[Long Pause] There’s a lot of CDs I played a lot: Missy Elliott, Macy Gray. I played the new Bob Dylan quite a lot. I like the tunes, and I think it’s really funny. It’s the antithesis of pop music.



Is pop music interesting to you now?

Not really.



What’s missing?

Outrageous personalities with a great tune and a different sound. I’m sure one will crop up soon. I’m very patient [laughs]. Everyone said, “You must hear the Ryan Adams record.” I thought it was all right. It’s very old-fashioned music. But it is appealing.

Pop music is the kind of thing you catch yourself whistling in the bath: “Oh, it’s the Cher record! I’m whistling the Backstreet Boys! Oh, @#$%&!” Everyone does it, and it’s cool, because no one’s listening – hopefully.




What changes in music would you like to see next year? September 11th is bound to have an effect on what people think pop songs should say.

We’re gonna get some terrible lyrics, though. People who don’t have lyrical talent should stay away from that subject. It’s not easy. That’s not a no-brainer. Stick to moon-in-June for most people – that’s my advice. You’re going to need real language and real thoughts, not just pasted-on patriotism.




This story is from the December 6th, 2001 issue of Rolling Stone.


++++++



NEW YORK – OCTOBER 2001: Mick Jagger and Keith Richards of the “Rolling Stones”
perform on stage at “The Concert for New York City” held at Madison Square Garden
on October 20, 2001 in New York.

(Photo by Dave Hogan)

Musicians talk about Exile in The Guardian
Posted by: Bliss ()
Date: May 11, 2022 06:55

Muscians talk about Exile.

Guardian article

Re: Post: Magazine Articles
Posted by: pepganzo ()
Date: May 12, 2022 12:39

thumbs up

Re: Post: Magazine Articles
Posted by: Lien ()
Date: May 23, 2022 20:26

Interview with Ronnie and some great pictures of him , in the newest Spanish Esquire

[www.esquire.com]

Re: Post: Magazine Articles
Posted by: exilestones ()
Date: June 3, 2022 16:00




Warner Brothers promo photo





Mick Jagger & Jimmy Rogers - Don't Start Me to Talkin'



Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 2022-06-03 17:32 by exilestones.

Re: Post: Magazine Articles
Posted by: exilestones ()
Date: June 17, 2022 20:18

The Rainforest Benefit

September 24, 1988 – Grateful Dead plus many guests including Mick Taylor gave a
special benefit concert to help Greenpeace’s action towards the world’s tropical rain forest.

In the days leading up to the concert, Animal appeared in a PSA from a tropical setting shouting
"Save forest!" and "Deadhead!" over and over again. During one of the concert's set breaks, a
video shown on projection screens featured Animal doing a similar shtick while Kermit the Frog
urged concertgoers to protect the rainforests.

The material was written by Muppet writer Jim Lewis.


Concert Video Mick Taylor (16.00):
[rvm.pm]

Concert Audio:
[archive.org]

Grateful Dead Live at Madison Square Garden on 1988-09-24



"I was at this show. The big video screen flashing the rainforest imagery
to the music made a powerful impact. I remember thinking at the time
that it was the best use of music video I'd ever seen."

- Hitmeister


MADISON SQUARE GARDEN - SEPTEMBER 24, 1988

Benefit for the rainforests: Cultural Survival, Greenpeace & Rainforest Action Network - Bruce Hornsby & The Range opened - FM broadcast WNEW-New York, WMMR-Philadelphia -
"West L. A." & "Rooster" with Mick Taylor - "Chinese Bones" & "Neighborhood Girls" with Suzanne Vega on acoustic guitar and vocals - "Every Time" and "What's Going On" with Daryl Hall: guitar, lead vocals; John Oates: guitar; Tom "T-Bone" Wolk: acoustic guitar, then accordion, then bass; Mark Rivera: saxophone; without Phil - "River Drumz" with Baba Olatunji & Michael Hinton - Olatunji stayed for the rest of the set - "NFA" with Bruce Hornsby on accordion - Both encores with Hall: vocals & Oates: guitar & vocals; Jack Casady: bass; Bruce Hornsby: vocals & electric piano, then accordion; without Phil - "Heaven's Door" also with Suzanne Vega - only "Chinese Bones" - only "Every Time You G."



Setlist

Iko Iko
Feel Like a Stranger
West L.A. Fadeaway
Little Red Rooster
Box of Rain
Ramble on Rose
Masterpiece
Don't Ease Me In

Chinese Bones
Neighborhood Girls
Crazy Fingers
Man Smart/Woman Smarter
Every Time You Go
What's Going On
drums
The Wheel
Throwin' Stones
Not Fade Away

Good Lovin'
Knockin' on Heaven's Door



[www.amazon.com]




MORE (Rolling Stones): [rvm.pm]



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 2022-06-17 20:35 by exilestones.

Re: Post: Magazine Articles
Posted by: exilestones ()
Date: June 22, 2022 04:36














Re: Post: Magazine Articles
Posted by: exilestones ()
Date: June 22, 2022 18:32

Keith’s Melbourne Wife
The Quest of a Woman in a Paragraph


Keith Richards, Monsalvat 1973
(Photo Rennie Ellis)

This story first appeared in the book ‘Rock Country: The sounds, bands, fans, fun & other stuff that happened’ (Hardie Grant, 2015), edited by Christian Ryan.

Jenny Brown remembers handwriting the invitations. It was a hot Thursday night in February 1973, the night before The Rolling Stones were due to roll into Melbourne; the night before the Stones’ scheduled afternoon press conference in the mud-brick surrounds of the artist colony at Montsalvat; the night before Brown’s full moon twenty-first birthday pool party at her parents’ home in North Balwyn.

Brown decided to invite the Stones. ‘What can I say?’ she grins, as we order breakfast at the Northcote cafe where her daughter was working. ‘It was a brave time.’


1973 AUCKLAND poster
art by Ian McCausland

She had a head start on the average fan attempting to lure The Rolling Stones to her twenty-first: Brown was a music writer, which meant access to Montsalvat and the band. On the morning of her party she actually sat on Mick Jagger’s hotel bed, scribbling notes, while Jagger and tour manager Peter Rudge assessed artist Ian McCausland’s image of a curious kiwi prodding an extended tongue for a New Zealand tour poster. When the meeting broke up, Brown experienced a breathless moment, recounted in the alternative paper she was writing for, The Digger:

As we’re leaving Jagger deliberately jams himself into the doorway with me, his famous body crushed against mine, and grins into my eyes. ‘You look like you’re ou’ of it,’ he says, but he’s wrong. In fact I’m just practising with Tantric devotion the writer’s art of shutting up and listening.

Brown was young and radiant, and had a quality that attracted musicians. In her future she would live with Skyhooks’ Greg Macainsh, marry Dragon’s Todd Hunter, and spend six and a half years with Cold Chisel’s Don Walker. In the words of friend and twenty-first birthday attendee Philippa Finney, ‘She didn’t seem to realise the impact she had on people. She had this aura.’

At Montsalvat, a glorious informality helped Brown follow through with her invitation plans. After a banquet with open bar in the Great Hall, band members scattered individually around a picturesque reflecting pool, entertaining a well-lubricated press corps. ‘I walked around to each member,’ Brown says, ‘and gave them an invite. I imagine they were quite used to strangers handing them stuff. They kind of smiled and nodded.’

The party was at 39 Woodville Street, North Balwyn, a large family home that Brown’s father had built himself, set on a hill between Doncaster Road and Melbourne’s outer eastern suburbia. Famously, North Balwyn is a ‘dry’ suburb. On this hot, windless night, it was anything but.

‘A sensational party,’ says Brown. ‘It was one of those parties you’d want to have if you were turning twenty-one and you were in the rock press. A lot of journalists came, a lot of musos. We had MacKenzie Theory playing — they were an acid art rock band who I adored. Dave Dawson from the Truth was thrown into the pool by various members of the alternate press. People swam naked. Skinheads tried to break in. They threw a brick through the front window and Michael Chugg bounced them. I’ve always been grateful to Michael for that.’

And, then, The Rolling Stones came. ‘They just sort of materialised, like this amazing mist. I think it was about 3 a.m. Things were getting quieter. And lo and behold this limo pulls up out front.’

Through a side gate and into the Japanese-style garden area wandered Keith Richards, Mick Taylor, horn player Bobby Keys and some road crew. ‘It astonished me they came that late,’ says Brown, ‘because we all knew they had a noon show at Kooyong the next day.’ Taylor had a conversation about architecture with Jen’s mother. ‘He was very interested that Robin Boyd had co-designed the house with my father and I remember this very beautifully dressed, stunning and quite shy young man talking at length to Mum.’ Keith stayed outside, smoking in the Japanese garden. ‘A beautiful spot. Dad had built it with a little platform out over a small waterfall, and a pond, and a weeping cherry.’

Brown remembers seeing her editor, Phillip Frazer, chatting with Keith. She didn’t talk to Keith herself. ‘We were all being pretty cool. Nobody was going to make a fuss or ask for photos or anything. They stayed for about an hour and a half, and headed off after four in the morning.’ She smiles, basking in a forty-year-old memory. ‘They blessed me with their royal presence.’



Music writers Jenny Brown (Jen Jewel Brown) and Dvaid Pepperell
at Sunbury Music Festival, 1973.


Another was in Melbourne, Australia. She had a baby. Sweet, shy, unassuming, she was on the scuppers; the old man had left her with the kid. She could get me pure cocaine, pharmaceutical. And she kept coming to the hotel to deliver, so I went, hey, why don’t I just move in? Living in the suburbs of Melbourne for a week with a mother and child was kind of weird. Within four or five days I was like a right Australian old man. Sheila, where’s my @#$%& breakfast? Here’s your breakfast, darling. It was like I’d been there forever. And it felt great, man. I can do this, just a little semidetached. I’d take care of the baby; she went to work. I was husband for the week. Changed the baby’s diapers. There’s somebody in a suburb in Melbourne who doesn’t even know I wiped his ass.

– KEITH RICHARDS, Life

Keith’s Melbourne suburban adventure apparently didn’t end in North Balwyn. The ‘Sheila’ paragraph of Keith’s 564-page memoir, Life, has delighted and mystified Australian Stones fans. Who was she? Is she still alive? Could the owner of the wiped ass be found? Who would look at the 1973 Keith Richards and think ‘babysitter’?

I ask Jenny Brown (who is now Jen Jewel Brown and a contributor to this book) and she shakes her head. ‘I don’t know anything about that. It’s quite possibly true, but I really don’t know.’

I speak to Brendan Mason, owner of Real Guitars in Glen Iris and the guitarist from Madder Lake, who supported the Stones at Kooyong that weekend. ‘I didn’t take any notice of whether Keith was hanging around with a particular girl. I do remember he was absolutely off his nut. He may as well have been on the planet Zargon for how much sense he was making. But we weren’t with them except for backstage. I didn’t even get to go to Montsalvat because I was having my knee operated on.’

David Dawson, the trained tabloid nose who was chucked in the pool, suggests Jagger ‘hooked up with a blonde Sun journalist after the banquet at Monsalvat and so never made it the party in North Balwyn’. He has no post-party information on Keith.

I email ex-Stones tour manager and rock management impresario Peter Rudge via the ‘contact us’ section of Octagon Music’s website. That goes as well as expected.

I try the same trick with Fran Curtis, a director of the band’s PR firm, Rogers and Cowan.

To: fcurtis@rogersandcowan.com
Subject: Keith Richards’s 1973 Melbourne Mystery Lady

Dear Ms CurtiS
I’m guessing that with a 50th anniversary tour to organise, this won’t go straight to the top of your list …


Ms Curtis accepts my prevarication invitation and I’m still to hear from her.

My best chance is my close university friend, Tim McGregor, now group managing director at Paul Dainty Corporation. Paul Dainty promoted the 1973 tour — an anecdote in Rock Reader: Underneath the Riffs tells how Jagger, a notorious practical joker, got Rudge to purchase hundreds of pigeons for release in Dainty’s room, because Dainty disliked birds, not realising that Dainty himself had simultaneously arranged for sheep to be put in Rudge’s room, the end result being screaming, pigeons flapping everywhere, and sheep in the elevators and trotting up to the hotel bar. This was a time, let’s bear in mind, when the Stones were the world’s biggest act. They’d hit a creative sweet spot that produced Sticky Fingers (1971) and Exile on Main Street (1972) and were coming off a boisterous, colossal, headline-grabbing American tour. Forty years later that tour, sometimes known as the ‘Cocaine and Tequila Sunrise Tour’, stands as an Everest of rock & roll excess: the Playboy mansion, drug busts, Hells Angels, guns, groupies and a celebrity entourage that extended to Truman Capote and Andy Warhol.

I ask Tim about the wild barnyard scene and whether Dainty might comment on its veracity, with a view to slipping in some further questions about Keith’s suburban getaway. But Tim says Paul is overseas. And then, at Tim’s wedding no less, I discover he too is heading to London to pitch Dainty Corporation as promoters of the Stones’ ’50 and Counting’ tour. I know Tim has had face-to-face meetings with Mick and Keith before, so I call later to wish him a happy trip, and ask whether he’d pump Keith for Sheila’s real name.

Tim says he’ll ‘do what he can’. But we both know it’s a long shot. When is the right moment in your business meeting with the Stones to lean forward and say, ‘We can really do a good job on this tour for you boys, and … yeah, while we’re here chatting — Keith, I don’t suppose I could ask you about this chick you were shagging forty years ago?’

It isn’t going to happen. And it doesn’t.

I google ‘Keith Richards’ + ‘doesn’t even know I wiped his ass’ and discover a Ballarat-based writer named Nathan Curnow who’s as captivated by the paragraph as I am. His play “Keef: A Musical Romance” features Keith, Mick, a goldfish, Adolf @#$%&, Queen Elizabeth and … ‘Sheila Roadnight’. I ask Nathan if he knows who the real Sheila is. He doesn’t, and nor does his team, which includes former Stones lighting director Chip Monck. Nathan emails: ‘I’ve been told we have Buckley’s chance of tracking her down. Still, a bit of mystery makes this story folklore, and Keith is the master of folklore …’




Ifind her. When I say ‘I’, I perhaps mean ‘we’, because it wouldn’t have happened without Jen Jewel Brown. And when I say ‘we’, I perhaps mean ‘she’, because it would have happened without me. Four months after our first interview, Jen emails to ask how it’s going. I tell her it isn’t particularly — the Sheila trail is cold, and I’m battling to structure the article. Jen replies that she’ll ‘ask a friend of mine, who knows a million rock chicks, just in case’. Twelve hours later I check email:

She’s a rock chick. I know her. My friend is on the trail. She’s not well and is in Queensland. Will be in touch.

Nine days after that, Jen and I are sitting beside each other on a flight to Maroochydore. I’ve had the briefest conversation with Karen, for that is Sheila’s name, and she has not only agreed to be interviewed but invited us to stay. Again, the key has been Jen: it turns out she and Karen were good friends.

Jen tries to work on her Max Q article during the flight but I keep peppering her with questions.

‘No, “Balwyn Calling” isn’t about me. Everyone always asks that. It was written before Greg and I started seeing each other …’

‘I was there when Jimmy and Jane [Barnes] met. She was a chocolate milk girl at this speedway-type gig Chisel were doing …’

‘Don was originally going to call “Saturday Night”, “Show Me a Light”. I got to see some early drafts …’

I sing, ‘Show me a light, my company’, flat and off key, just to indicate I’m aware of the final draft. ‘Yes, that’s the one,’ Jen smiles.

She returns to her article. I resume reading Life.



The groupies were just extended family. A loosely framed network. And what I liked was there was no jealousy or possessiveness involved in any of it. In those days there was a kind of circuit … They’d just pass you on to their next friend down the road … And they were nurses, basically. You could look upon them more like the Red Cross. They’d wash your clothes, they’d bathe you and stuff. And you’re going, why are you doing all this for a guitar player? There’s a million of us out there.



Jenny Brown in 1973 (Photo Rennie Ellis)


Wedrive with the windows down, a chance to savour the air that Melburnians know as ‘Queensland warm’. Troubled independent MP Peter Slipper’s campaign office appears on the left. Jen gets me to stop the hire car while she takes a photo. We pass liquor marts, fast-food joints, Mick’s Meat Barns and the like, before turning off the highway and heading towards Caloundra. Karen lives on the third floor of a ’70s-style crème-brick apartment complex, two streets back from the beach. It is not a luxury complex. Access is up a dark, claustrophobic staircase exuding the aroma that old carpet accumulates in warm climates, but as we climb the final flight there’s a fresh blast of incense, and a beam of daylight spilling out of an open door.

‘Hello,’ Jen calls, knocking and yoo-hooing into an empty kitchen/living space. When Karen appears, she offers a delighted ‘hey!’, and they step into a long embrace. ‘What’s it been, thirty-five years?’ Karen has short, dyed red hair, black-rimmed glasses and is as fine-boned as the butcherbirds hopping about the balcony outside her window. She hasn’t been well, losing a third of her right lung to cancer and breaking a hip during recovery from a separate hospitalisation involving an aortic aneurism. Her voice is husky, deep and richly Australian, a smoker’s voice, although Karen is now an ex-smoker, except for forays into the medicinal variety that’s always interested Keith Richards.

She was twenty-five in February 1973, making her sixty-five now. ‘I know I look older,’ she says. ‘It’s been a hard life.’ She is indeed frail, and Queensland sun has etched some lines across her face, but she has Hollywood lips and her eyes are wide, green, striking. On the mantelpiece, among native American curios, oil burners, a Thai Buddha and a dozen family snaps, stands a single framed photo of Karen in her early twenties.

I pick it up. ‘That’s how I would have looked,’ she says, ‘when I met Keith.’ I tell her she was beautiful — only word for it. The same full lips; thick, well-defined eyebrows. Amazing backlighting sets fire to individual strands of hair, with the rest falling long and dark past her shoulders. She’s wearing a striped sailor top. She looks like Natalie Portman in ’60s mascara. Barbara Feldon with a slightly wider nose.

‘Thank you,’ she says, fixing us drinks to go with our camembert and kabana. ‘There’s another one over there of me and Shannon.’

In this photo Karen is nose-to-nose, lip-to-lip with a preschooler who has matching dark lashes and a Beatles bob with earflaps. So that’s his name, Shannon. The nappy wearer. Owner of the tiny backside that sneaked into one of the world’s most read autobiographies. In the picture he’s adorable.

Jen and I sit at a glass coffee table, and after a brief pause to survey a passing cargo ship — ‘I love the ships, watching them is one of the best parts of living here’ — Karen closes the balcony door and takes a seat beside us. ‘Anyway — Keith — from what I can remember, I went to this party in North Balwyn …’



Photo of Karen, aka “Sheila’, in her early twenties


The initial encounter was in the Japanese garden. Karen remembers escaping the house. ‘Some really straight stuff was going on in there.’ She headed outside for a joint. ‘This guy came up and said, “Are you smoking spliff?” And I said, “Yeah.” And he said, “Could I have some?”, and I said, “Certainly.” And then he said, “Would you like a line of coke?”, and I said, “Certainly.”

She didn’t realise who he was till she and him were standing at the front gate. ‘The limo was pulled up, and I thought, who is this guy, and then I had another look and worked it out. I mean, I was having a smoke in the middle of Balwyn. Who expects The Rolling Stones to roll up in the backyard?’

After sharing lines in the back seat, Keith asked Karen if she could access some more. ‘I said I could, but then he told me how much he wanted, and I went, “Well, I’m not sure I can get quite that much.” We were used to going and getting a little bit for the night. Not enough for the whole country.’

They returned to the party for about half an hour then left in the limo. Karen, unlike Jen, remembers it being earlier than 4 a.m., because she made it to Noah’s, the Stones’ hotel on Exhibition Street, then over to her supplier in Port Melbourne and back to the hotel all while it was still dark. ‘The first order I think was for $700. That was the cash they had on them. When I got back to the hotel there was security everywhere. I had a code — something like “Charlie” or “Bill” or “Bob” — to get past.’

Karen made her delivery and was invited to stay on at Noah’s, where the Stones had taken over an entire floor. Shannon was being babysat, so Karen accepted the invitation to party. She remembers Keith decorating the room. ‘He was saying “the room’s too bright”, and he put scarves over the lights, really nice-looking scarves. He made it look more like a pirates’ cove.’

She goes on: ‘Most of the coke went to Keith. The pretty one, Mick Taylor, he might have had some. I know that soon after I came back they all started playing cricket with the crockery. Up and down the hall. They were using the cups as balls.’

I ask if the cricket-loving Jagger was involved. Karen shakes her head. ‘I hardly saw Mick. He was in his room the whole time, locked in. It was actually quite weird, I thought. They had this joke going where they’d call him a girl’s name, “Mabel” or “Martha” or something. “Mabel’s in her room, she’s carrying on again.”’

The rest of the band impressed Karen with its inclusiveness. ‘You want a sandwich?’ they’d say. ‘We’re ordering room service.’ ‘Want a drink?’ ‘Pass the joint.’ At one point Karen needed two elastic bands for her hair. ‘And they sent down to room service,’ she remembers. ‘The room service guy said, “We haven’t got elastic bands”, and Keith said, “Well, get ’em.”’ Karen laughs at the memory. ‘And he did!’





Kooyong gig, 1973 (Photo Linley Godfrey)

For many Melburnians, the Stones’ back-to-back Kooyong shows that day, starting at midday, are seminal music events in the city’s history. It was bakingly hot, so hot that nobody who was there fails to mention the heat.

‘Breasts,’ says long-time Triple R presenter Max Crawdaddy when I ask him his Kooyong memories. ‘So many bare breasts that my hormone-charged fourteen-year-old brain went into overload.’

Jagger arrived on stage in a satin jacket and carrying a parasol, and with a setlist containing “Brown Sugar”, “Jumpin’ Jack Flash”, “Midnight Rambler”, “Street Fighting Man” and “Honky Tonk Women”, it was an endless parade of great songs played to an audience near-delirious with heat and expectation. ‘I remember laughing out loud — just at the sheer amazingness of being in the same arena as The Rolling Stones,’ says Rockwiz’s Brian Nankervis. It was the weekend of his seventeenth birthday. In the gap between shows, Nankervis and his mates scaled the nearby Scotch College wall. ‘It was like we felt all-powerful. Completely sober: no alcohol, no drugs, just absolutely high on the excitement of seeing The Rolling Stones. So we jumped the fence, swam in the pool, got out of the pool, and went and saw them again.’

The band itself was high on more than life. Jagger vomited. (Perhaps as a result of heat, or illness.) Bobby Keys, in his memoir, has this to say about ‘Oolong’:

We played one memorable — or not so memorable — show at the Oolong Tennis Centre in Melbourne. This was at the height of me and Keith’s bottle of Jack a day, bottle of tequila a day, and just about whatever else we could get our little hands on to amp up the situation … Well, in Melbourne … somebody had given us some psychedelics. LSD. So hey, down the ol’ gullet they go, man. This was like an hour and a half, two hours before the show.

There were three shows in two days, all of them attended by Karen, who thinks the partying took its toll. ‘They were out of time, out of tune. They were terrible. I mean, the vibe was fantastic; the vibe was unbelievable. But if you want to go in and nitpick their performances, they weren’t very good at all.’




Kooyong, 18th February 1973 (Photo Linley Godfrey)


In Life, Keith says he spent a week in the suburbs with ‘Sheila’. The tour dates suggest a week was impossible. The Stones arrived in Melbourne on Friday the 16th and had an Adelaide show on the 20th. Assuming Keith flew on the evening of the 19th, the ‘week’ was more like a long weekend.

Karen laughs as I try to calculate exact times and dates. ‘Well, my time’s warped, so why wouldn’t his be? He was twice as @#$%&-up as I was.’

Karen purchased an extraordinary amount of cocaine for him. She made ‘four or five trips to Port Melbourne’ and paid ‘about five thousand dollars’. ‘He was interested in not having heroin at the time,’ Karen says. ‘The idea was to take everything and anything else that would take his mind off heroin.’

I ask Karen whether she minded buying such quantities, given the personal risks involved. She grins. ‘I didn’t mind, because I was making quite a bit on it.’

Jen bursts out laughing. Karen is mock indignant. ‘Well, you would, wouldn’t you? Obviously I’ve got to make something out of it, and given it’s The Rolling Stones …’ She adopts an Italian mama’s voice: ‘I make something good for myself.’

At some point, Karen went home to two-year-old Shannon and the babysitter. Yet the cocaine orders kept coming. ‘They sent the limo, and I went and got more, and then Keith said, “This is stupid, you and the kid having to come back to the hotel all the time. I’ll come stay at your place.”’

Which is how Keith Richards ended up on Inkerman Street, South Caulfield.

There was no sex involved. I presumed from reading Life that there was, as did Nathan Curnow; “Keef” the musical opens with sexy Sheila lying naked on a kitchen table. I tell Karen this and she laughs herself into a coughing fit. ‘Had I been the most beautiful woman in the world, I don’t think Keith Richards could have risen to the occasion. I don’t even think it was on his mind. Had circumstances been different, there might have been sex, but everybody was too mindless.’

There was though, says Karen, an immediate connection. ‘Within half an hour of knowing him you were over the fact he was Keith Richards from The Rolling Stones, and he was just someone who was good fun to be with for a while. He was a very nice person, a very kind person. Very gentle.’

I pull out Life, and read out Keith’s memories of ‘Sheila’.

K.R: ‘Sweet, shy, unassuming …’

Karen (snorting): ‘That sounds like me, especially the unassuming bit.’

K.R: ‘She was on the scuppers.’

Karen: ‘My old man and I had broken up, and I had the kid, and he wouldn’t give me any money. He used to come around all the time at night, pissed out of his mind … He was never violent, just argumentative, and abusive.’

K.R: ‘She could get me pure cocaine. Pharmaceutical.’

Karen: ‘True. It was better than they’d had for a long time. They were blown out by how good it was. (Laughing) So good I could cut it down just a wee little bit. (Laughing harder) Like Keith says, “sweet and unassuming”.’

K.R: ‘Living in the suburbs for a week …’

Karen: ‘No, it wasn’t that long.’

K.R: ‘Sheila, where’s me @#$%& breakfast?’

Karen: ‘Bacon and eggs and a cup of tea. A cup of tea is a necessity with him.’

K.R: ‘Just a little semidetached.’

Karen: ‘It was a small house, two bedrooms, bathroom, lounge room, kitchen. I felt really embarrassed, thinking he’d be used to all these mansions, but he loved it. Thought it was cosy, cute. Told me it was the sort of place he could live.’

K.R: ‘I’d take care of the baby, she went to work.’

Karen (appalled): ‘I didn’t leave Keith in charge of my kid! I’m not stupid. I had a babysitter when I wasn’t there. Christine.’

K.R: ‘Changed the baby’s diapers.’

Karen: ‘He changed him once. It was just a wet one. Not poopy.’

K.R: ‘There’s somebody in a suburb in Melbourne who doesn’t even know I wiped his ass.’

Karen: ‘Shannon has only just found out, since Jen and you called.’

Curiously, the Keith Richards ass wipe is not Shannon’s only brush with rock & roll immortality. In March 1975, Skyhooks frontman Shirley Strachan put Shannon, aged about four, on his shoulders for “All My Friends Are Getting Married” in front of 300,000 people on the banks of Melbourne’s Yarra River as part of the Moomba Festival. Later that year, after the final Australian gig of the ‘Wings Over the World’ tour, band and crew, including Paul and Linda McCartney, came to a party at Karen and Shannon’s house in Moorabbin. ‘The police rolled up because of the noise. Then they found out it was Wings so they blocked the road off at each end.’ Karen grins. ‘The road crew stayed for a fortnight.’ Shannon also met B.B. King. And when Shannon was ten, he toured the US for ten months with Little River Band.

Shannon’s father Barry Sullivan, better known as ‘BG’, or Big Goose, was LRB’s bass player at the time. With Barry Harvey, or Little Goose, he’d been a member of the band Chain in its classic Toward the Blues incarnation of 1970–71. In Sullivan’s obituary, rock writer Ed Nimmervol described the Sullivan–Harvey pairing as ‘the greatest rhythm section Australian rock has known’. He was also Karen’s ‘old man’, referred to in the Keith passage. The one who left her ‘on the scuppers’.

After that relationship broke down, Karen lived with a prominent lighting/special effects director, Michael Oberg, who is now the tour and production manager for The Killers. She managed some significant bands in her own right, among them The Ferrets (“Don’t Fall in Love”) and Buster Brown (featuring a pre-Rose Tattoo Angry Anderson and a pre-AC/DC Phil Rudd). Towards the end of the ’70s she ventured overseas, primarily to Amsterdam and London. She moved to the Gold Coast, starting an entertainment agency and running a nightclub called The Grapevine. She raised three kids and dropped out of the music scene. ‘There is no music scene in Queensland,’ says Karen, as we tread an ocean-hugging boardwalk under a night sky of streaks and stars. She waves a delicate wrist in the direction of the surf. ‘What you get in Queensland is this.’



Back in February 1973, Sullivan and Karen had been split for a matter of months. When Big Goose heard she was spending time with Keith Richards, he hit the roof. ‘He assumed it was a sexual thing. I mean, everyone assumed it was a sexual thing. You know, Melbourne chicky babe meets Rolling Stones guitarist; you just would assume that.’ Big Goose was a heavy drinker and, as we’ve heard, a regular and unwanted late-night visitor to Inkerman Street. ‘The whole time Keith was at my house,’ says Karen, ‘I was scared Barry was going to turn up.’

Karen and Keith not only didn’t sleep together; they didn’t sleep. ‘This is coke we’re talking about. We stayed up the whole time. I’d like to tell you I can remember everything that was said, but that would be a downright lie. Because, you know …’ She shrugs helplessly. ‘Drug @#$%&.’

She does remember Keith cautioning her once. ‘He said to me, “Never get yourself a heroin problem, and never get yourself a cocaine problem.” He told me I was far too nice a person to @#$%& myself up with drugs. Which was possibly a bit late at that stage.’ She emits another throaty laugh. ‘He gave me this big lecture while snorting coke and giving me some.’

They spent most of their time in the lounge room. ‘That’s where the stereo was.’ The carpet was old, there was a round stained-glass window, and the gas wall-heater lay dormant. Keith had brought his guitar, and strummed it constantly. Karen played him Australian music, including Chain and Renee Geyer. There was a lot of talk about souls and reincarnation. Scarves and sarongs hung over the lights. Incense was burning; cushions and macramé were scattered about. Keith spent a good proportion of his time on his knees, playing with Shannon. ‘I think he reminded him of his own kid, Marlon. They played cars, Lego, normal stuff. That’s what he was. Really normal … No different, sitting here talking, to you, except you’re not as out of it. And I’m not as out of it.’

On that tour, Keith wore a pair of jeans fondly remembered by Max Crawdaddy for their Ford logo-shaped ‘@#$%&’ badge and by Jen Jewel Brown as an outstanding example of gypsy chic.

‘Incredibly cool pants!’ Jen effuses.

‘Frayed and threadbare,’ Karen counters. ‘He had these brooches of geckos and things that weren’t quite holding them together. In the hotel before one of the shows he said, “Can you pin these up for me?” I said, “Pin ’em? I think we’re beyond pinning here.” I could hardly sew, but I got a needle and thread and at least made them wearable.’

Keith, Shannon and Karen shared a limo from the hotel to Kooyong for the Sunday show. There, waiting, was Sullivan. ‘All I could hear,’ says Karen, ‘over these chicks screaming and everyone yahooing was BG yelling out, “@#$%&! @#$%&!” He was standing right where we got out of the limo. Keith said, “Do you want him thrown out?”, and I said, “No, he enjoys himself when he’s doing this sort of shit.” He yelled at me right through the show. It’s actually my only unpleasant memory of the whole experience.’

When the show was over, Keith ‘invited me to go on the rest of the tour. I couldn’t even contemplate that. My ex would have had me in court. Keith understood. He told me he respected that I put my kid first.’ Keith’s parting gift to Shannon was a metal-cast Aston Martin — ‘the sort where the doors and bonnet open’ — that he had in his suitcase. He gave Karen a Sticky Fingers pendant, a scarf, and a thousand dollars. ‘I lost the pendant,’ Karen groans. ‘It was on a gold chain around my neck. I lost that the day I went to visit a fortune-teller.’ As for the scarf, it went missing thirty years ago during transitions between Amsterdam, London and the Gold Coast. But she still has her memories, some of them, of that weekend, and of Keith’s last words to her.

‘I’d just like to tell you, lady, you’ve got soul. You’ve really, really got soul.



+++++++++




The Rolling Stones arrive in Auckland for a concert at Western Springs, 11 February 1973


RACHEL STACE AT THE ROLLING STONES CONCERT AT WESTERN SPRINGS, AUCKLAND, 1973



The 1970's Fashion Revolution on display at Stones concert



Fans await the Rolling Stones concert at Western Springs, Auckland. 11 February 1973



Western Springs, Auckland. 11 February 1973




























Re: Post: Magazine Articles
Posted by: midimannz ()
Date: June 22, 2022 23:08

Thanks for the 1973,and Record Collector

Re: Post: Magazine Articles
Posted by: exilestones ()
Date: June 23, 2022 18:56

Quote
midimannz
Thanks for the 1973,and Record Collector

You're welcome. I was thinking of you, Rockman and Brandon when I posted it.

Here are a few more pics from Perth!


      


       


      










Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 2022-06-26 16:42 by exilestones.

Re: Post: Magazine Articles
Posted by: exilestones ()
Date: June 23, 2022 19:19

                








 

              
              photos by Rennie Ellis









Sydney - photo by Martin James Brannan



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 2022-06-24 04:08 by exilestones.

Re: Post: Magazine Articles
Posted by: exilestones ()
Date: June 24, 2022 15:52

Keith Richards' 1963 Gibson SG Custom
Ready to Ramble
Jim Carlton - Vintage Guitar magazine



Keith Richards with the '63 SG Custom onstage with Bill Wyman and the
Rolling Stones in New Zealand in February of 1973.

photo Lloyd Godman.

In 1961, Gibson introduced the double-cutaway Les Paul to replace the original version, which had been endorsed by guitarist Les Paul since being developed in 1952. Redesigned in response to falling market demand in the face of competition from Fender's lighter, curvier, more-contoured Stratocaster, the guitar was re-named SG (for "solid guitar") during the 1963 model year; part of the confusion over when exactly the name was changed revolves around the fact Gibson continued to use truss-rod covers engraved with Les Paul's signature until the supply was gone.

The new design was greeted with mixed reaction. While the guitar sold reasonably well - Gibson says the Les Paul SG sold more than 6,000 units, compared to the total of 1,700 single-cuts sold from 1958 to '60. But, as session guitarist, guitar historian, and former Gibson designer/clinician Mitch Holder recalled, "Les never liked the new design and joked about how people could injure themselves on the horn-like cutaways!"

When Gibson's contract with Paul ended in '62, he was in the process of divorcing Mary Ford, so beyond Paul's dislike for the new model, Holder added, "He didn't need any extra income on the table."

Like the original "Black Beauty" Les Paul Custom, the SG Custom was given lower/smoother frets and marketed as the "Fretless Wonder."

This SG Custom resides at the Hard Rock Cafe's home-base "Vault" in Orlando. Once played by Rolling Stones co-founder Keith Richards, it bears the requisite Custom specs - 24 3/4 ? scale, mahogany body and neck, bound ebony fingerboard, pearloid block inlays beginning at the first fret, triple-bound headstock, split-diamond peghead inlay, and pearloid Gibson logo. It sports gold-plated hardware and its three humbucking pickups bear early patent numbers and are controlled by the familiar two Volume/two Tone knob arrangement. Other appointments include a three-way toggle switch mounted to the pickguard, a Tune-O-Matic bridge, and a Maestro Vibrola with a lyre and logo on its cover plate.

Grabbing his calipers, Hard Rock guitar tech Kip Elder measured its nut width at 1.67? and its thickness at .800? at the first fret (dramatically narrower than the single-cut Les Paul once owned by Mick Taylor that also resides in the HRC Vault), graduating to .094? at the 12th fret.

Elder also noted that the pickguard-mounted toggle switch acts as a phase switch - a mod confirmed by Andy Babiuk, author of the definitive Rolling Stones Gear, who said the toggle "has something to do with the third pickup."

"In 1972 I doubt if Keith had a series/parallel thing going on," noted HRC curator Jeff Nolan. Whatever its cryptic purpose ,the mod is unimportant to the guitar's history in the hands of "Keef."

"It's cool because he used it for a brief time in '73, including on the Exile on Main Street tour," Babiuk said. "He also used it at the L.A. Forum benefit show to aid survivors of an earthquake in Nicaragua, and during the subsequent Pacific tour, particularly on 'Midnight Rambler,' which he played in standard tuning with a capo on the seventh fret."

The Hard Rock acquired it from Marshall Chess, a music and film producer who in 1970 was hired by the Stones to run the band's new label, Rolling Stones Records; he'd been acquainted with the band since they recorded a few songs at Chicago-based Chess Records - the label founded by Marshall's father, Leonard, and his uncle, Phil - in the midst of a U.S. tour in '64. He stayed with the band's organization until '77.



Richards installed this switch, perhaps to alter the phase of the guitar's middle pickup. Keith Richards' SG Custom: Tina Craig.


This article originally appeared in VG May 2016 issue.
[www.vintageguitar.com]

++++++++




Rolling Stones - Western Springs New Zealand - February 11, 1973

++++++++

2006 GIBSON SG LES PAUL CUSTOM W/ MAESTRO LYRE VIBROLA! WHITE HISTORIC SHOP! 1963 REISSUE - $3,499.00





2006 Gibson SG Les Paul Custom in White w/ Original Maestro Lyre Vibrola!



Beautiful 2006 Gibson Custom Shop Historic SG Les Paul Custom in White. 3-pickup model with gold hardware. Real EBONY fretboard. Maestro Vibrola. Very nice reissue model. Not sure if this is classified as a 1963 Reissue but basically that's what this is. The guitar comes with the original hardshell case and case candy as shown. The guitar is very clean overall except a few checks in the usual spots for this model. Very well-cared for overall. The guitar has no breaks, repairs, or changed parts except for one push-pull pot to allow for single coil sound and likely the strap buttons. Very nice 3 pickup SG LP Custom with factory Maestro tailpiece!

[kcvintageguitars.com]


SYDNEY
















photos by Philip Morris

In February 1973 the Rolling Stones returned to Australia for the first time since 1966 as part of their Pacific tour.

The band performed in Brisbane, Melbourne, Adelaide, Perth and Sydney, treating Melbourne and Sydney audiences
to two concerts each.

This set of Photographs contain live images from The Rolling Stones concert at Randwick Racecourse, Sydney on 26th February 1973.



The collection of photographs also contain posed & candid pictures from a party celebration
at a restaurant in Sydney called the 'Spaghetti Factory'.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 2022-06-26 16:48 by exilestones.

Re: Post: Magazine Articles
Posted by: z ()
Date: June 24, 2022 17:41

“It Was Simply a Fine Instrument”: Keith Richards Talks Boutique Guitars in this Vintage Interview



[www.guitarplayer.com]



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 2022-06-24 18:26 by z.

Re: Post: Magazine Articles
Posted by: exilestones ()
Date: June 26, 2022 16:28

Talo Tapani Sound Engineer with the Rolling Stones, 1973 to 1977





Having worked a sound engineer and a freelance photographer in his native Finland,
in the 1970s Talo Tapani found work in London at the Rolling Stone's mobile studio.

In 1973, Talo's first year working for the studio, he joined the Rolling
Stones's European Tour, where he was able to photograph the band rehearsing
and performing. The tour lasted 22 days but comprised over 40 shows, with two
shows a day part of the normal schedule. Speaking of his experience, Talo
observes "The Stones worked harder and better than anyone I ever met."



Mick Taylor during 1973 pre-tour rehearsals with
Ian and Bill playing pool at Mick Jagger's home.










photos by Tapani Talo





Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 2022-07-01 02:59 by exilestones.

Re: Post: Magazine Articles
Posted by: exilestones ()
Date: June 27, 2022 07:36
























Re: Post: Magazine Articles
Posted by: exilestones ()
Date: June 29, 2022 21:18

Keith Richards Discusses the Joys of Blending Lead and Rhythm Playing,
His Love of Chuck Berry, and More in 1977 GP Interview


"It’s never been the technique thing with me. I’ll never be a George Benson or a John McLaughlin,
and I’ve never tried to be,"
Richards told us at the time.



photo by Tom Hill


The following is an excerpt from GP's November 1977 cover story on Keith Richards.

Almost every sentence ever written about The Rolling Stones begins with the
word “Mick,” and ends with the word “Jagger” – which is odd, considering that
four-fifths of the band’s personnel has remained constant throughout the
group’s 14- year, 24-album history.



And from the band's inception as England’s top rhythm and blues outfit, to its
present status as one of the world’s most powerful and influential rock and
roll bands, the Stones’ principal guitar player has been Keith Richards.



How did you and Brian Jones relate as guitarists?

Really fantastic. But, later, Brian got fed up with the guitar, and he started
to wander around to every other instrument. He found that he had this facility
for any instrument that might be lying in the studio. He’d play vibraphone,
marimba, or harp – even though he’d never touched them before.

He had this incredible concentration, where he could apply it all, and in an
hour or so, he’d have it down enough to be used on the record.



When you two first started playing together, who did what?

We were both feeling each other out, because we were all very much into
electric Chicago blues. Our styles varied a lot. I was personally more into the
commercial stuff from Chuck Berry, Bo Diddley, Muddy Waters, and Jimmy Reed.

For some reason, these were the people Brian had never heard of. He was more
towards Elmore James, B.B. King, and Howlin’ Wolf.


On the early Stones tracks, did you work more out of chord forms, or were
your lines based on scales or single- or two-string patterns?


I love two-string stuff. That was mainly the influence of Chuck Berry. What
interested me about him was the way he could step out of the rhythm part with
such ease, throwing in a nice simple riff, and then drop straight into the feel
of it again.



Obviously, a lot of your style comes from Chuck Berry.

Oh, without a doubt. When I was learning guitar, I spent so long learning from
him and his records.



Do you play off Charlie Watts’ drum accents?

We tend to play very much together. I have to hear Charlie, and I think he has
to hear me. I love playing with Charlie – he knocks me out every time.



How do you interact musically with Bill Wyman?

I don’t really know what to say about Bill, because he is, like, the perfect
anchor between Charlie and myself. To me, his strong point is that he’s always
there, but he’s always unobtrusive. And, for me, straight-ahead rock and roll
bass should be there, but you should feel it – it should never stick out so
that you actually notice it more than anything else.

A bass should be something that you can walk on, and not have to worry whether
there are going to be any holes there.

    

How was your playing relationship with Mick Taylor?

Always very good. It was a different thing for me. There is no way I can
compare it to playing with Brian, because it had been so long since Brian had
been interested in the guitar at all. I had almost gotten used to doing it all
myself – which I never really liked. I couldn’t bear being the only guitarist
in a band, because the real kick for me is getting those rhythms going, and
playing off another guitar. But I learned a lot from Mick Taylor, because he
is such a beautiful musician.

When he was with us, it was a time when there was probably more distinction
between rhythm guitar and lead guitar than at any other time in the Stones. The
thing with musicians as fluid as Mick Taylor is that it’s hard to keep their
interest. They get bored – especially in such a necessarily restricted and
limited music as rock and roll.

That is the whole fascination with rock and roll and blues – the monotony of
it, and the limitations of it, and how far you can take those limitations, and
still come up with something new.

             
You’re using a lot more chords onstage than you have in the past.

It’s true. Now – especially with [co-guitarist] Ron Wood – the band is playing
a lot more the way it did when Brian and I used to play at the beginning. We
used to play a lot more rhythm stuff. We’d do away with the differences between
lead and rhythm guitar.

It’s like, you can’t go into a shop, and ask for a “lead guitar.” You’re a
guitar player, and you play a guitar. What’s interesting about rock and roll
for me is that if there are two guitarists, and they’re playing well together
and they really jell, there seems to be infinite possibilities open. It comes
to the point where you’re not conscious anymore of who’s doing what.

It’s not at all a split thing. It’s like two instruments becoming one sound.
It’s never been the technique thing with me. I’ll never be a George Benson or a
John McLaughlin, and I’ve never tried to be. I’ve never been into just
playing, as such. I’ve been more interested in creating sounds, and something
that has a real atmosphere and feel to it.



Re: Post: Magazine Articles
Posted by: exilestones ()
Date: July 1, 2022 02:56

The Rolling Stones in Paradise Honolulu on $1700 a day
By BEN FONG-TORRES


ROLLING STONES; perform in HONOLULU, Hawaii in 1973.
Robert Knight Archive/Redferns/Getty

The Rolling Stones are in Hawaii. Aloha means hello and goodbye.
Mick Jagger hoists his first glass of 1957 Chateau Margaux to a table of 20. “To the shortest American tour in history,” he says.

* * *

The Rolling Stones, the heart of their Pacific tour cut out when Mick Jagger was refused a Japanese visa because of a 1966 marijuana conviction, are in Hawaii, where on January 1st, by previous vote of the electorate, possession of two ounces or less of marijuana was no longer a felony but, rather, a petty misdemeanor with maximum punishment set at 30 days and/or $500. “More likely a $25 fine, like a traffic ticket,” according to one resident.

The Stones, who don’t talk so much about free concerts any more since that one in 1969 in California, are in Honolulu, where on January 1st each year—since 1969—upwards of 75,000 persons have gathered for music festivals atop Diamond Head Crater, on land owned by the state and used by the National Guard. And perhaps because they’re Hawaiians, islanders, their Sunshine Festivals have been largely innocent parties, just the way their director, Ken Rosene, conceived them: “to get a lot of people together to have a good day.” In Hawaii you can talk like that, and keep a straight, have-a-happy-day face.

The Stones, no longer playboys after dark, stick close to their Hilton in Waikiki, the power side of town. Waikiki is the contempo melting pot, stalking and stomping grounds for prostitutes, gamblers and fighters, not to mention surfers, sunbums, and, ignoring it all, the tourists. The night before Sunshine ’73, while Copperhead is doing a sound check 760 feet up at the crater and entertaining the volunteers setting up, a man is killed in Waikiki. It was simple: A local, a beefy Samoan, working as a doorman at a club on the main drag, Kalakaua Avenue, got a little backtalk and hit the guy just a little too hard. Somewhere else in Waikiki, a local put out a doorman’s eye with a whiskey glass. A melting pot, all right, equal parts paradise, Manhattan, Miami Beach and Las Vegas.
“You don’t talk back to local cops here,” Ken Rosene is advising between Stones concerts. “They come back twice as strong.”

But Bill Graham will try anyone once. So while the kids, these mellow little suntanned specimens, float around smiling in their colorful lack of clothes, it is co-promoter Graham, from San Francisco, who gets the heat hot, trying to pull rank on a Honolulu cop and nearly ending up at the bottom of a beige-shirted pile of beef.

So Graham hoists his glass of ’57 Chateau Margaux at the 1 AM dinner, and Mr. Ready-Quip reflects the utter tiredness around the table, as he manages the basic toast: “To Hawaii.”
* * *
Thank you for your wines, Ah-no Lew-loo,
Thank you for your sweet and bitter fruit…
—Mick Jagger, “Sweet Virginia,”
first show, January 21st,
Honolulu International Center.
* * *
By the time dinner breaks up, at 4 AM, the Stones will have rung up a bill of $1700 for 20, mostly because Mick cleaned out all the ’57 Chateau Margaux left in the cellar here at Nick’s Fish Market, something like 16 bottles at $85 the bottle, plus other spirits and plenty of continental seafood. And yet it was kind of a high pointless night, everybody silent and nibbling, Charlie Watts and Mick Taylor smoking and drinking and chatting, ignoring the silver platters of hors d’oeuvres spread out in front of them; Keith Richard and Mick Jagger sitting together nearby, almost formal in their quiet. Keith looked wasted; he still had some of his nasty, pasty, deadeye make-up on. Mick’s was washed off, and he looked older, more fragile than he does onstage. When he smiles, he puts his whole face into the effort, teeth bursting up front over the famous labial-lookalike lips, sometimes a hand moving up to cover the throaty laughter while the eyes close or glisten, childlike. But here, at 1:30 AM, he is yawning, the hand keeps moving up …
* * *
On a warm Monday evening at five o’clock, this voice comes rising out from the patio of the Hawaiian Hilton. No guitars or ukuleles; no gourd rattles or coconut drums; just this lone voice from the bandstand, singing out to a cluster of tourists. All the matched and screaming shirts and blouses are stilled for the moment. It is the traditional torch-lighting ceremony, and today it is being preceded by the singing of the “Star-Spangled Banner.” Somewhere in Texas, the 36th President lay dead (Hey, hey, LBJ …). Somewhere in Paris, some kind of Vietnam peace was within some kind of grasp. And I’m looking down at this frozen little luau from an 11th floor balcony of the Hilton’s Rainbow Tower, where I’m still waiting for word from those five tourists, W. Grace, F. Truman, P. May, L. Hutton and T. Bailey, known up on the 30th floor as Mick Jagger, Keith Richard, Mick Taylor, Bill Wyman and Charlie Watts. Because aside from whatever else is happening, the Rolling Stones are in town.

Once again, the gathering madness. Chartered flights from San Francisco, Los Angeles and Denver. Stories in the local papers about kids waiting in line through Christmas Eve and Day for tickets, about how Don Norton, manager of a gas station in Pearl City, left his line Sunday morning at 2:30 AM because his wife Maria was having their first child. He got someone to save his spot, and he was back in line at the Honolulu International Center within two hours. A couple flew in from Boston to see the concert, explaining, very simply, “It’s the whole Mick Jagger thing.”

Imagined madness. The Stones people, as they always do, keep asking, “What’s the angle of your story going to be?” I think they know that there’s no real story. But if I am patient, the tour manager says, I will get to talk with Jagger, and he will tell me whatever news there is—about Japan and Jamaica, about the live album that won’t come out, the new studio album that will, The Beard, that won’t; the TV special, that will. I will ask about his place in the new high society, about his being a husband and father. But I must be patient, and I am, because, after all, there’s no reason—especially no journalistic reason—to be impatient.

And so, a few flashes on the way to Mick:
“It’s interesting,” says a 25-year-old schoolteacher from Waianae, ages and an hour away from the sunbum ambience of Honolulu. “All this activity”—she is observing the local boy ushers, the cops, the light, sound and stage crew members, the STP (Stones Touring Party) people—accountant, travel agency woman, baggage man, guitar caretaker, security guards, record company people, promoters Barry Fey from Denver in official tongue jacket, Graham in his blue volcanic tie-dyed tank-top, and local radio giant/promoter Tom Moffat, in Aloha shirt; tour manager Peter Rudge looking like a wired Paul Simon; stage manager Chip Monck onstage, walkie-talkie strapped to his walking shorts—and the kids, all glowing from another day on the beach, all jabbering away excitedly…all this activity—”just for one person.”

The first show, more than anything, was loud, to the point where Chip Monck would deride the sound crew who’s been with the Stones since the U.S. tour last year. “They seem to think the development of sound means getting it louder,” he said after the three concerts. By decibel measurement, the sound was 7 db short of the point at which ears shrivel. First act was Z.Z. Top, who took every available decibel and poured out an ornamented Grand Funk sound.

The Stones did their usual set, Jagger looking drunk, teasing the band, toying with the mike, evoking Rod Stewart with one move; Fred Astaire (the mike being Ginger Rogers) the next. Strong rhythmic support, as always, and superb work from Bobby Keys on sax and Jim Price on trumpet and trombone, and Nicky Hopkins and Ian Stewart alternating on piano.

Early on, a girl rose from her seat near the front row to do that shiver-wiggle dance that young maniacs have perfected over the years. A teenaged usher immediately moved to her row to stop her. Sure, she was obstructing the view, but the usher had this look about him. He seemed genuinely annoyed that people could do that, right in front of everybody. He sat in a chair in the aisle, facing away from the stage.

The next day, Monday, Lyndon Johnson has died, and the Stones are asleep, out shopping, or otherwise not around.

Newman Jones, a lanky kid who runs a guitar repair shop in Arkansas, talks about how he got onto the Rolling Stones’ touring payroll. “It’s hard to say why they call on anybody,” he says. “I was traveling through Europe last fall carrying this old guitar—one of the first Rickenbacker electrics—that I thought Keith might like. I went to his house in France, looked around, and he bought the guitar from me. Then they came to L.A. Well, in France someone stole his guitars, so he needed some work done on some new ones he’d bought. I came in from Tennessee, and now I’m on tour to do repairs, and I’m the guy that hands Keith his guitars onstage. He uses five different guitars during a set, and they all tune differently.” One of them is a beauty that Newman built: “Like a car with all the options,” he says, with a maple neck, cherrywood back, rosewood top, and just five strings, for open tuning, for the hard rockers like “Street Fighting Man” and “Jumping Jack Flash.”

Up in Peter Rudge’s suite, the tour manager continues to nurse the Stones’ wounds. They are not all over Honolulu and the outer islands, he says, because they are still so depressed about the Japanese cancellation. They are pissed, in fact. He is busy working out a modified budget for the rest of the tour, offering two-week vacations to STP staffers in exchange for a cut in salaries. “Japanese television is here to interview Mick,” he says. “They wanted to film the concert. Absolutely not. We still intend to go back to Japan. Next? Probably Europe next summer. Celebrate the Common Market, you know.”
* * *
For the first show Monday night, Mick Jagger wears a vintage LAND OF ALOHA shirt, a bluish silkie complete with hula dancers, surfers and sunshine, gathered at the waist, over his velvet jumpsuit. The shirt begins to look ludicrous soon enough, as Jagger suddenly begins a dramatic, nearly a capella introduction to “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” searing and reminding of Turner in Performance. Which is to remind us that, after all, Jagger is an actor. Mick, this time with yellow make-up above the eyelids, looks like an aged Fellini vamp. The set seems slow; the audience holds back. A young girl, having stood for the first number, is soon slumped back in her seat. “I think he looks tired and old,” she says to a friend.

The limos are ready to whisk the Stones back to the hotel between shows; Keith, moving quickly down the stage-steps, pauses at the door, recognizes the patient reporter. “We’ll see you at the hotel, right?”

At the hotel, I’m told by someone in Keith’s room that he is busy…something about a TV interview. At the suite where the Japanese crew is set up and waiting, all is hushed. At 9, on time, Jagger arrives, all washed up and dressed in white football jersey, number 86, and chartreuse bellbottoms. For the next 15 minutes, he is terribly civil, smiling in anticipation of each question, telling his Japanese audience how their government’s refusal of a visa for him made him “unhappy, very dishonored,” how he would still like to visit Japan, even if just as a tourist, “to go to the country as well as the town.” Asked about chopsticks, Mick formed his biggest smile, flashed the diamond set into one of his front teeth, leaned forward, and told how an “old Chinese gentleman” taught him to handle the sticks, how Mick still hadn’t learned to eat without letting the sticks touch his lips. The Japanese interviewer smiled automatically and moved on to the next question.

In the elevator, Mick laughed it up with Marshall Chess, president of Rolling Stones Records, imitating a Japanese accent. “That chope-stock bit,” he said, giggling, hand to the face, “that’s bullshit. I made it up.” He said we could talk at the party after the second show.

The second show Monday night is the upper, the breakthrough the Stones needed. All the charter-flown audiences are here raving it up. Honolulu meets San Francisco by way of Jerry Palmer, who looks to be the gay community’s queen bee, standing tall in black turtle-necked leotards, boosted by four-inch heels on white sequined slipper shoes. His nails are dipped in silver, his face and mouth in lava red. His glittering hair is shaped to give him the look of a Roman, with maybe a stardusted artichoke squashed on his head. And that dance she is doing, aimed at Mick, is not the Hula.

Chip Monck has the overhanging 10-by-40 Mylar mirror tilting back and forth, so that from backstage, where the seven super-trouper spotlights are fixed like anti-aircraft machinery, you see the people in repetitive waves, all seemingly flying backward, now forward, as they stand on their chairs. The house lights are up and the kids are allowed, as they have been the previous two shows, to move towards the stage. On “Street Fighting Man,” Keith pounds and sashays away on his five stringer, completes his break and rolls his eyes toward Mick, proud. Rose petals and orchids fly out to the audience, and the band members march down the stairs, into the sleek limos, one blue, one white, one black, sweeping out behind the flashing blue lights of the Honolulu police escorts. The Rolling Stones’ 1973 American tour is over.

Back at the hotel, the word spreads: There is no party. Instead, Nicky Hopkins will leave his wife Lynda and come down for a drink.

People have been wondering about this strange man who spells him on the piano now and then, this man with the middle-American look, with the monster-mashed face. There’s even a blowup photo of him pasted up in Peter Rudge’s suite, right next to the ice box. It is, of course, Ian Stewart, the Stones’ first roadie, a friend of theirs as long as Nicky’s been, and Nicky knew them back in 1962, when he was with the Cyril Davies group at the Marquee and the Stones were the “interval band” on R & B nights. “Stew,” Hopkins explains, “did ‘Sweet Virginia’ on the record; he recorded part of Let It Bleed. I was touring with (Jeff) Beck during Sticky Fingers, and he did that, except ‘Sway’ was mine. So he plays them onstage. Stew is a boogie piano player, an incredible rock & roll player. He knows every boogie piano record; he has every boogie piano record.”
And Mick Jagger?

“I think people just accept him for what he is.”
And what is he?

“I don’t know. Whatever people want him to be, or expect him to be.”

* * *

Tuesday morning, the band should be packing up and heading for the mainland before going off to Australia in early February, to prepare for the final quivers of this decapitated tour.

Near noon, out on the breakfast patio, Leroy Lennard, Mick’s security guard, has some news: There was a party last night—if you want to use such a festive word to describe a few people standing around drinking in Barry Fey’s room, and then a dozen or so Honolulu lulus—”models,” someone called them; “dancers,” Leroy had been informed—showing up and scaring off Mick and Keith, who ducked out to another guard’s room and watched TV. Anyway, the 30th floor is secure—some elevators have broken down, and besides that, Leroy’s removed the outside knobs from the fire escape doors, and he’s just checked in on Mick in bed: “He’s sprawled out like a lion after a kill.”

And Keith? Leroy pauses. “Keith is the one taking this Japanese thing the hardest. He’ll let out with this smile, and then…[Leroy lets his sample smile dissipate]. Man, I told him last night he was bullshitting. …”

* * *

Room 3001, Barry Fey’s room, looks more post-conference than post-orgy. Bill Graham is seated, using Fey’s phone, on the line to the mainland, negotiating for some future concert. Fey, the major rock concert promoter in Denver, was an assistant manager at a Robert Hall clothiers; his first promotion was a show in Rockford, Illinois, headlining Baby Huey and the Babysitters, to whom he paid $90. Last year, he did well by the Stones for ten Midwest dates, and now he is sharing in this paradise quickie, in a gross of $172,000 for three shows in a small hall, capacity 8500. “What an area to work in,” Graham exults. “A great balance. Work hard for a gig, and then rest.” Graham, shirtless and shoeless, does an impression of a 15-year-old blonde he saw last night, “in total orgasm, going from Mick Jagger …” unhhhHH…”to Mick Taylor. Nonstop.” Barry Fey, tubby and tanned, pats himself on the back, on his bed, for booking Z.Z. Top. “They got the people off, quick. Even got an encore. I made the right choice.”
“And neither of us owns a piece of them,” adds Graham.

* * *

Of all the Stones in Hawaii, it appears that Mick Jagger is the most resistant to sunshine. Charlie Watts and Bill Wyman had found some time to go speeding around on a catamaran, and everyone had ventured out of the Hilton Hawaiian Village at least once, to go shopping.

“Sho-ping,” sneers Mick. “What’s there to @#$%& buy in Hawaii?”

At two o’clock, Tuesday, he has finally awakened, and we’re about to kill two birds: let Mick have a good time and do a photo session. Jagger has been invited to take a cruise on The Flying Cloud, an 82-foot, restored 1929 schooner owned by George Walker, who came in from Kona, 100 miles away, to accommodate Mick Jagger.

George Walker. That’s—Right, from the Merry Pranksters. Ken Kesey…Neal Cassady…The Bus…nine years ago. And CLOUD—Right, the Beatle / Arab / Ringo / Help! / acid vision out of the Electric Kool-Aid book. George Walker had been thinking about the sea…about maybe trying out a $15,000 floater when he ran across this Rolls-Royce of a schooner, which he snapped up at the bargain price of $300,000 by selling off some inherited land. Now, the captain of the ship meets the Rolling Stone. George proceeds to fill Mick in on all the Hawaiian legends . . . about Captain Cook, and the Forbidden Island of Niihau, and Mick takes it all in. He’s come prepared for the sea. He’s wearing his aloha shirt, his lime pants, track tennies, sports watch, and a turquoise Afro/jockey cap to catch the wind. He meets the vegetarian crew, six men, two women, inspects the laboriously re-wooded deck, checks downstairs in the forecastle and the galley, where a tape is playing Crosby, Stills and Nash. As the ship moves off from the Ala Wai Harbor and smoothly gathers up speed, Jagger easily roams the deck, staying quiet, looking fragile. The ship heads out past Koko Head, into the Molokai Channel, begins to hit the wind, has to slice through mounting swells. Jagger holds on to the shrouds, posing here and there, old Mick and the sea….Six miles out, Walker turns The Flying Cloud around and offers the wheel to Mick. Jagger sits down, consults for a moment—”Aim for that big white building,” Walker instructs—and Mick becomes captain for the next two, three miles, discarding his floppy cap leaning from side to side, surely guiding the schooner through the 20-knot-per-hour winds back toward Honolulu. He is, he says, relaxed, and ready for dinner.

We decide on Chinese food. At the hotel, Charlie Watts and Mick Taylor are hanging around, nothing to do, shrugging, almost, to show their helplessness. It’s dinner for five at Wo Fat, this garish red and gold facility for baby luaus and Cantonese food. It is a social gathering and the talk is light. Taylor tells why he’s so quiet on the stage: “I don’t want to upstage Mick.” Jagger talks about the time he visited the gay Continental Baths in New York, and why he split in such a hurry: “Well, these guys in these towels, they’d walk up to me and drop their towels and just stand there.” He laughs about his arch-promoter Bill Graham: “You remember that dinner at Nick’s?” Ah, yes—Honolulu on $1700 a night. “And Bill and Barry are sittin’ there at the ‘ed of the table. And all they do is tell these promoter jokes that nobody else could understand. [Adopting a rough American accent:] ‘Hah! I booked so-and-so and paid this much, hahahaha.’ And that’s it, all night!”

Mick Jagger is seven months away from age 30, and he acts it, constantly on the edge, on stage and off. Writers have had out and out field days figuring him out, but almost always from a distance—the distance between stage and loge seat; the distance between protected pop figure and inquiring reporter, so that he is a devil, a unisexual zombie, a cockteaser, a man by turns ruthless, unhappy, fey, charming, quiet, generous, and sensitive. That’s what I had read, anyway.

On the mid-high seas, in Chinatown and, now, in his hotel room with an hour to kill, Mick Jagger is neither devil nor angel; yes, he looks like he’s got nasty habits; yes, it’s difficult to pin him down when the question hits too close to the nerve, and he does carry a mask at all times, he sashays, 24 hours a day. But also, he cares so little about what people say, and guess, about him. “The whole Mick Jagger thing,” indeed. In conversation, he smiles through my questions and through his own answers, implying, “You ain’t got much of a story, do you? Well, neither have I. But we both got a job, don’t we? [American accent:] AFTER ALL, THE PUBLIC WANTS TO KNOW.”

First, he denies the Stones being depressed, pissed, about the Japanese cutoff: “It’s just a minor sort of frustration. The main thing that bugs us is we got nothing to do for ten days, but that’s about all. It’s not a great financial loss.”

Second, there’s the live album, expected last November, from the U.S. tour, one album of the Stones, one album of Stevie Wonder and somewhere in there a couple of jams, Stevie singing “Satisfaction” and Mick winging “Uptight.” Then, according to Mick, Allen Klein and Decca, the Stones’ old business manager and British label, stopped the album. By contract, the Stones were prohibited from re-cutting any songs previously licensed to or released by the original label. And besides, Abkco and Decca and London had Christmas plans of their own: More Hot Rocks.

“Yeah, well,” says Mick, “they’re just greedy and stu-pid, cutting their own necks despite their noses. We’ll just put out a live album of something else, maybe some old tour stuff, maybe some new things, maybe a mish-mash”—and probably in the fall, since the Stones are now finishing up the new studio album for release in March or April.


What’s this about being a part of the high society Cat Pack in New York?

That’s just a magazine thing.



And the Best-Dressed List?

That too. I really do my best not to be well-dressed.


How has Bianca changed you, if she has at all?

I don’t like talking about women.



What about being a father?

I don’t want to talk about family either.



(Room service interrupts with coffee; I ask again about his baby daughter Jade.)

I don’t see the baby; I’m always @#$%&’ on the road. It’s my own choice, but I’m @#$%& negligent, I just am. But when I was a kid, my father was away a lot. It’s important to be there in the formative years of childhood, but I’m not there. And short of carrying the kid about in the next room, which I also don’t particularly dig, you just see your kid when you can, same as anyone else. [Changing voice:] IT’S THE AMERICAN WAY.


Then why did you choose to become a father?

I didn’t; that’s why I don’t want to talk about it. ‘Why do I have a child?’ I have lots of other children that I also like.

Charlie will talk about parenthood. Charlie will stay in South of France all the time. I just don’t. Even two weeks in one place gets to be a maximum. The only time we stay anywhere longer is to finish off an album. I could go back to South of France but I never liked it there; soon as we cut the first album we left; I left im-me-diately. I visit Ireland a lot; I had a house there for six months, and I prefer London, but I can’t go there. So I’m very happy moving every two weeks. I’ve got it down.

Onstage, on that shiny white floor, I see you as kind of a child, a kid playing in the kitchen, your older brothers standing around ignoring you.
(Mick, laughingsmiling smiley I was going to make popcorn on the side of the stage. This is the last year of the rose petal, actually.

See, we had a lot of different shows for Japan; we were just building up for that. We were going to do seven shows in one place—we’ve never done that before—and by the time you’ve done three or four, there’s all kinds of things you can do, @#$%& around. I was going to cook popcorn, hundreds of things, we were really mad, had it all going…But it needed two weeks rehearsal, and they never gave it, the State Department, God bless ’em.

Anyway, we didn’t do a @#$%&’ show in Japan, so it didn’t matter. I was actually more brought down because I would’ve really gotten it off and would’ve got all the popcorn up in crates and hundreds of other gimmicks and crap.
People always seem amazed to see you playing harmonica on “Sweet Virginia.” It’s lip-synched, isn’t it?

(Mick, laughingsmiling smiley Yes. I’m tolerable, but I’ve forgotten it all. You have to play every day for that—however, your mouth bleeds. That’s the problem. You go home to see your old lady and you’re bleeding. (Into a Manchester growlsmiling smiley “‘Ello, Dahlin’,” and your mouth is all covered with blood. …

I can just see Ralph Steadman doing your next album cover.
(Mick portrays Steadman submitting his worksmiling smiley “I’m not sure if this is really gonna sell the album!”…


So what’s the cover going to be like?

Aw, @#$%&, you know, some bullshit or other. (Brightly to the tape machine, to the publicsmiling smiley It’s what’s inside that counts. ‘Sgonna be quite a good album, folks. (Shrinking, into a wispsmiling smiley It’s gonna be a bit different from the last one. Ahh…it’s gonna be evocative, and romantic and tender and loving.
What about the song “@#$%&?”

That’s the only song with any slice of cynicism. All the others are into…beauty. (The violins swell as Mick continuessmiling smiley It’s very difficult to write about those sort of primitive emotions—without being cynical about it; that’s when you sound old. I mean, if you can’t go into a coffee shop and sort of fall in love with every glass of coffee, and listen to the jukebox—that’s difficult to portray in a song.

(Mick continues to dismiss himself as a songwriter and performer; he said the Forum benefit for the Nicaragua earthquake victims had good bits but was just a warm-up; so, in fact, were the Honolulu shows. Then after it gets good and revved up, slicing through the winds, the band coasts. And then there were the old dayssmiling smiley


You know what we used to do in the South? We would go on—and if the audience wasn’t very good, we’d do 15 minutes and go off.

Honolulu remembers that. I heard that in the 1966 show here you did 22 minutes and were drunk.

(Laughing againsmiling smiley Yeah, 20 minutes—but I wasn’t drunk. I’m usually pretty straight when I go on. You just do it automatically. You’re complete off your head. Completely around the twist. I mean, you can try and get @#$%& up if you want, but then, basically you’re @#$%& up anyway.


Mick, after the Japanese refusal of your visa—are you sorry that you ever took drugs?

(Laughing again, louder than ever, what kind of interview is this?smiling smiley NO! I’M GONNA GO AHEAD RIGHT ON TAKIN’ ‘EM! (Then, seriously, maybesmiling smiley I don’t take drugs. I don’t approve of drugs, and I don’t approve of people taking drugs unless they’re very careful. Most people can’t control themselves, they’re not happy enough just to get a big high; they’ve got to get @#$%& up all the time.
(A writer for UPI had asked Mick, mid-way through the last tour, “What is your sense of American audiences so far?” and Jagger had replied, “They don’t seem to be quite so stoned as they were….I think they’re more straight, possibly younger.” Now. he is saying there’s “more and more” hard drug abusers, “everywhere, soon as you get anywhere somebody’s got a bunch of smack, floatin’ around.” And just as Mick recalls his own abuses—”in the acid stage; looking back at it it was a bit of a laugh”—a Honolulu police siren begins to sound, 30 floors down …)


What about that report about all of you being arrested for using heroin in France?

That’s propaganda. That’s what propaganda is, isn’t it—a distortion of the real facts. That’s what @#$%& us up; everyone thought we’d been arrested on heroin charges. That’s bullshit. They’d love to have us on heroin charges, I’ll admit, that’s their dream. But so far they haven’t managed to. They’re jumpin’ the gun.


What about Keith?

Same. Completely jumped the gun. They’d like to arrest him and put him in prison, I suppose. Like to do it to all of us. (Poutingsmiling smiley But they can’t, in my mind…(long pause)…because they’re full of shit. (Laughing, again, then spitting, huffing out the wordssmiling smiley Disgusting people…fascist pigs. They really are!

What’s to be made of all this? The next time the Stones tour will probably be in Europe; the next time America gets to see them will be in spring, on TV, with a special scheduled on ABC in April, and in the film made by Robert Frank (“On-tour nonsense,” said Mick). The TV show, filmed at the Houston concert last year, may also include bits of backstage shots gathered by Frank. And after that, it’ll most likely be Mick in yet another costume. He’s just signed with CMA, who’ll be his agent in the matter of motion pictures, and he’s still reading scripts, trying to avoid the “period films,” looking to portray “a certain character,” no further explanation. Just: “I’ve got to stop doing rock & roll for a year.”

* * *

The last time I saw Keith Richard, he was heading out of the Rainbow Tower, heading, with Taylor, Jagger and Watts into a station wagon towards the Honolulu airport. Again, he turned to me, told me what hotel he’d be at next, how he really would like to cooperate. I said thanks and turned away to my own friends, still not sure what the story would be.

And now, back on the mainland, the phone rings. Hawaii calling. Ken Rosene, Sunshine Festival director, has been taking Chip Monck around Diamond Head Crater, talking shop, and now he’s got some news: Chip has quit the Stones tour; with all that optimism over Japan, in all that popcorn fever, he’d overspent by some $25,000, and there was a…meeting with Peter Rudge. So, since the Australian concerts are all outdoors, there’s no need for the Mylar and the super-trouper backlights, the Stones will just make do…coast…Rudge is off to Tokyo, to close the books. And Chip Monck, for one, is going off for a vacation—on Maui.

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