SIXTY YEARS A FAN

You’ve been a Rolling Stones fan for 60 years. What got you hooked?

Their arrogance. Their riffs may not have been as heavy as the Kinks—(You Really Got Me)—or the Who (Can’t Explain), but still, the sheer gall of following up bouncy chart topper It’s All Over Now with Little Red Rooster, a laid-back dirty dog whistle soaked in the blues, was a fuck-you to everything that a pop song was supposed to be. Just perfect for a young lad suffering a prescribed and sheltered life in a small village, craving radical culture.

What was the first Stones record you bought?

The Last Time dropped just before I turned 13. Stoked to spend some birthday money on the first song Mick and Keef wrote, with that jangly ear-worm of a riff, I went to the record store after school Monday March 15th and coughed up my 6 and 3, slipped the record into my satchel and went upstairs on the 142 bus home, feeling like the coolest kid in the world. In the seat in front were two older boys, sucking on their fags, discussing the weekend’s events. “Wen’ up t’ Rugby, saw the Stones,” says one. Was I ever King Shit.

 

What’s your favourite Stones album?

Aftermath.  For the Easter Holidays in 1966, my grandparents took me on a trip to the Netherlands, to Keukenhof for the Tulip Festival. It was my first flight and first time in a modern coach—plush armchair seats, tinted windows, air conditioning and piped music. As we sped across polders in the evening, I gazed at the sunset dreamily, listening to the music, which seemed familiar. It was the Stones’ new album! That blissful experience may account for the soft spot Aftermath has always had, deep in my amygdala.

 

Back of dust jacket, Mick: the Wild Life and Mad Genius of Jagger, by Christopher Andersen, Gallery Books, 2012.

When you were young, did Mick Jagger’s attitude towards women bother you?

In real life or lyrics?

Both.

If I was going to be upset by the behaviour of musicians, I’d not have much to listen to. He was a bit of a shit, according to Chris Andersen’s Mick bio, but we do make allowances for genius. As for the lyrics, it’s all an act of multiple personae (not to mention accents). Some just call him Lucifer, others, Jumping Jack Flash. And there’s autobiography too, Paint it, Black for instance, bearing the weight of depression. And flat out genre pieces. Sure, I noticed there were several harsh words for women on Aftermath—in Stupid Girl, Out of Time, Mother’s Little Helper and Under my Thumb, but it was him singing them, not me, and I wasn’t swayed, already being a confirmed feminist. Nonetheless, there’s a vicarious kick experiencing power and transgression in art, and that was the Stones’ thing, courtesy of Andrew Oldham.

How come you’ve only seen them live once?

That was the Hyde Park concert in 1969. I went down to London with my girlfriend. I don’t recall the show—we were a long way from the stage—but I do remember my gear: wide wale orange bell bottom hipster cords, 3-inch wide white leather belt with big round brass buckle, dark green double-vented double-breasted military style jacket with epaulettes, Chelsea boots, and beads. All bought on a shopping expedition to Carnaby Street with my mum, bless her heart! (Wish I had pictures, but we didn’t take many back then.) I stopped going to big concerts, preferring music in clubs, so as the Stones only played concerts, no more live Stones for me. I don’t like crowds.

Most critics consider Exile to be their best album, but not you?

Well yes, it is the best, but that’s not the same as favourite. Still, I love that album, such a magical, mythical America it evokes, and none of the tracks make you want to skip them. However, much as I enjoy the “inconvenience” of vinyl, double albums just don’t do it for me. Too much hassle switching discs, the packaging is always awkward to handle, and doesn’t wear well. Exile is especially like that. Mine is falling apart, I should glue it.

You say you’ve been a fan for 60 years, but there was a big gap from Undercover to Hackney Diamonds—40 years—when you didn’t buy any of their records!

That’s not true. I didn’t buy any of their new records, but I was still collecting their old albums on vinyl, and listening to their classic stuff. I never had Beggars Banquet back in the day, and had only heard it on cheap stereos or the radio. Then ten years ago I bought it on 180 gram vinyl, remastered, and wow, the first time I played Street Fighting Man, very loud, on my half-decent system, that was hair-raising! Your question has prompted me, I’ll have to get hold of Dirty Work and Blue & Lonesome, at least.

A true fan doesn’t stop at records. What else you got?

Oh dear, no hot lips t-shirts! But I do have plenty of literature. Keef’s Life of course, and Margotin and Guesdon’s massive reference work All The Songs. And of the Stones picture and history books, the best I’ve seen is Simon Wells’ 365 Days, designed by Kayhan Tehranchi, very proper creative concept, extremely tangible. It’s a Harry Abrams book, so you know it’s quality.

 

Were you surprised by Hackney Diamonds?

Fuck yeah. Those guys are 80 and rocking their asses off. Hell of an inspiration to this mere 72-year old. Jagger’s lyrics are spot on. “Why you angry with me?” follows the conventional trope of emotional dialogue in a personal relationship, and yet conveys the aggrieved sentiment of a baffled male, beset by social media for the sins of his kind. This is what every generation needs in song—fresh material about what’s going down now and how it feels, that’s relevant to our lives, that has some edge. Mess it Up follows the same scheme. Jagger and Richards are brilliant songwriters again, just like the old days. My favourite track is the nostalgic Whole Wide World with Mick strutting his punk cred, “The filthy flat in Fulham, the smell of rancid gas, never ever knew where I was sleeping next.” I’ve always loved the sweep of his lexicon, the code-switching. On one track he’s singing “The whole fuckin’ ship is sinkin’, sinkin’” and on another “When all your friends have let you down, and treat you with disdain.” Disdain? Oh My Sweet Lady Jane! ●