THE GQ&A: KEITH RICHARDS
Warning: Fifty years of smoking, boozing, snorting, touring, and screwing will kill you. Unless you are Keith Richards
I meet Keith Richards at his office. Yes, the guy has an office.
You don’t picture Keef having an office, like the kind of place with a receptionist and FedEx supplies and an intercom. But he does. Probably for tax reasons or something. It’s on the eleventh floor of an old building in SoHo, in New York City, overlooking Broadway and guys cooking food on the street.
I was told to show up at four in the afternoon. I ended up sitting for an hour in the waiting room, which looked sweetly tacky—less like Keith Richards’s waiting room and more like some suburban dude’s rec-room Stones shrine. There were some tattered old People mags on a black metal TV-less TV stand, an empty pair of Moroccan candleholders, and a bunch of framed album covers (Steel Wheels, Voodoo Lounge) and photos. One wall had a poster for the movie Chuck Berry Hail! Hail! Rock ’n’ Roll. (Tagline: “The whole world knows the music. Nobody knows the man.”) There was even a dusty Ronnie Wood bobblehead doll. It all felt very eBay-ready.
At one point an employee, a little fluffy white dog trailing at her heels, walked through and headed into the kitchen that was next to the waiting room. She apologized—not for my having to wait but for interrupting my waiting—and explained, “I need to prepare something for Mr. Richards.”
She opened the freezer, cracked some ice cubes into one of those red plastic Solo cups, and filled it to the brim with Ketel One.
More minutes went by. Maybe fifteen. At which point, the employee returned and told me Keith was ready. I was led back to his office. Keith was standing there, holding that red Solo cup, a cigarette dangling from his lips like only Keith Richards can make a cigarette dangle from his lips. He was wearing a green leather motorcycle jacket over a green velvet vest over a green T-shirt. He had on black jeans. And on his feet, purple Uggs.
“Howya doin’, mate? Sorry I’m late,” he said. And then he plopped onto the green velvet love seat and kind of folded in on himself, like an unstaked scarecrow. He patted the cushion next to him. “Have a seat, mate.”
*****
How long have you had this place?
I have no idea. [laughs] We were up in Broadway by Carnegie Hall for many, many years, and then the lease ran out.
And you couldn’t afford it, right?
[laughs] I very rarely come to the office.
That’s a shocker.
Yeah, that’s me. A real nine-to-fiver.
(Excuse me, reader, but I’d be remiss if I did not interrupt here to tell you briefly about how Keith speaks. It’s not speaking, actually. Or at least not what you think of as speaking. It’s more of a slur-mumble. Words run together and then get coated in cigarette smoke and that thick accent. It makes you wish he provided his own subtitles. I mean, when I transcribed the tapes from this interview, I had to listen to each sentence maybe three times to decode it. Further complicating matters was the incessant ambient noise: the clatter of the ice cubes as he swirled his drink between sips. And then there’s the way he loops out his answers in, well, let’s say a uniquely…Keith way. You’ll see what I mean.)
So, I just saw the new movie—the concert movie by Scorsese. And it got me thinking about the Stones’ history with documentary-film makers.
…You’re talking Robert Frank here. Cocksucker Blues—
Yeah.
[big laugh]
After that movie—and all the controversy with it and everything it caught on film, the groupies, the drugs—I’m surprised you ever let another filmmaker in. Was there trepidation about letting Scorsese in?
I think it was the fact that it was Martin. We’ve got enough on our hands. We’ve got a show to do. And usually when he’s filming, you look around on the stage and think, Who of us is aware he’s making a movie and who of us just wants to put on a good show for people? But you’ve got, you know, Mick, the prima donna: “Oh no, we shouldn’t do it.” [laughs] I have to tell him, “Get that outta your head, boy! We’re just gonna do a show, and Martin’s gonna capture it.” And that’s the whole point. I just wanted to see what Martin Scorsese could make out of the Stones. I really didn’t want to interfere. I said, “I’m gonna do my bit, Martin. You do yours.” The first time we met, he was like: [affects Scorsese’s hurried voice] “I just wanna shoot a show.” [laughs] Charlie Watts is brilliant [makes praying sign with his hands and looks toward heaven] as usual for just going on and playing. He’s like, “If he can make a movie out of that, good luck!”
Between Martin and Mick, you have to deal with two control freaks.
Exactly. Which is why I was not gonna put my aura in. I was just gonna give Martin what it was he wanted, which is a damned good Rolling Stones film. That’s the gig.
When was the last time you watched one of the old Stones documentaries?
Not very often, I must say. When Cocksucker Blues turns up, I do.
You don’t own a copy?
No, I don’t. I mean, I guess I do, but it’s probably buried. Hell, I’m not a big one for watching myself.
What are your memories of working with Jean-Luc Godard on Sympathy for the Devil?
[conspiratorially] Like working with a French bank clerk. [laughs] I mean, he was out of his depth in England. Just like William the Conqueror! He might’ve taken the place over, but he was out of his depth. I mean, I knew Godard’s movies from before, and I was like, “Oh, Jean-Luc Godard!” And I realized he must have hit a middle-aged crisis or… What he was trying to make of England, in England, was, uh… Did you ever get the drift of that movie? It’s like some Marxist students got ahold of him. And this is a guy who’s made some incredible movies. And you wonder, you know, where the stupidity creeps in. He should have stayed with French novels.
Could the Rolling Stones of the ’60s have survived this paparazzi tabloid culture? Or would you have been crushed by it?
It’s very interesting, because the Stones, along with [Stones manager] Andrew Oldham, that demon, we went out in order to manipulate the press. You know, “Would you let your daughter marry a Stone?” Andrew realized that perception is more important than what actually is. I mean, all you really have is two guitar players, a bass player, and a singer. And they’re quite normal chaps. But…I will say this about the Stones, just as an aside: Given the circumstances, we’re probably four of the most straight-up, moral guys you could actually meet.
How do you mean that?
We’re guys who’ve not really taken advantage of what we could have. Or what we could have done. It’s always been that it’s just too obvious. [laughs] I mean, the odd groupie here and there. Which we actually used to look upon as, uh, gas stations.… “Uh, we’re in Cincinnati, so…we need to fill ’er up a little.” And the other thing about groupies, it wasn’t just boinky-boinky. They used to take care of you. They used to rub Vicks on your chest if you had a cold. Sometimes you’d never do anything. Sometimes they were just…nasty. [laughs] Get my drift? [laughs]
Do you miss them?
I don’t miss them.
Everyone has their fiction of what it was like, is like, to be a Stone, and…This is one of those things I’ll never know, which is other people’s perceptions of it. But it depends on who you are talking to when you ask, “What does the Stones mean?” I mean, you could ask a bunch of 12-year-old guitar players, and they’d say one thing. And then there’s the aura, the rock ’n’ roll sexual aura. And also, it just keeps changing. I mean, the weird thing is—is that holding a band this long together… Actually, they won’t leave me. [laughs] But what I’m trying to say about this is, this band, man…it’s nonsensical, in a way. Because now I realize this band is what I always thought it was. This is Count Basie. This is Duke Ellington. I mean, guys that keep bands together that long, there’s a meaning. I’m just looking for the meaning.
Let’s talk about women. Specifically, you and Brian and Anita Pallenberg in Morocco, when you stole her from Brian.
I had no intention of stealing his woman. I was trying to heal certain things that had been going on, on the road with Brian. To me, somebody in the band needed to deck him. But, um, that whole area gets into… I’m hanging with Brian and Anita and having a good time, and then I thought, Eventually, I’ve got to get her out of here before she kills him. I’m trying to save my band here, and she’s so much tougher than him. And he’s asking for trouble. Look, every time they had a fight, I called up for bandages, and it turns out I’d have to send them round to Brian. [laughs] Actually, what I guess I’m saying is that there was a conflict there that had to be broken. And I broke it. I said, “C’mon, girl, get out of here. This is no fun.” Now, that didn’t help my chances with making up with Brian.
Yet you did make up.
Yes, in a way. The real break came because Brian just insisted on keeping on being Brian. You feel it when you’re out in the middle of the Midwest, playing Tulsa or somewhere, and your other guitar player ain’t there. He’s sacked out in a hospital in Chicago because he got too stoned. When you’ve been on the road for 350 days a year—it might seem like a minor thing now, as I speak to it—but when you’ve been on the road and you’ve got to cover for him, things get a little antsy, you knowwwww? [growls]
Where do you think Mick Jagger would be if he’d never met you?
Nowhere! [big laugh] He’d be just another wannabe. And so would I. There is an incredible chemistry with the Stones. I don’t want to analyze it. I don’t want to dickle in it. To me, Charlie Watts is the foundation of it all, because that’s what I work off of, and we’ve been doing it all our lives. [Rolling Stones founder] Ian Stewart—I must give my man Ian, and I think Charlie would agree, on a good day—it’s Ian Stewart’s band. We’re just keeping it together for him. It was his vision. It all comes from purity, you know? Which sounds really weird coming from me, right?
You mention morality. Let’s talk about you as family men. The image of you guys in the South of France in a château, doing drugs, guzzling wine, creating Exile—and yet the whole family is there. Wives. Kids. It wasn’t exactly Parenting 101.
I suppose my kids will tell you they were raised by a father who was a bit of a nomad, and there were times when we’d all be together, and there are times when you aren’t. It’s a bit of Herman Melville, you know. “Off to whaling. See you in three years!” Or not. And I don’t think any of us have found it that difficult. If you check out the record of the Stones’ kids—my kids, Mick’s kids—they’re pretty stable cats.
What advice have you given them?
None at all. If they’ve got problems, get in touch with me. Or if not, just come and see me anytime. If I’m in Australia and you’re having a problem, come on over. I mean, I’ve never gone that far.… My kids came to me when I bashed my head stupidly in Fiji, and it’s the worst place in the world to have brain damage. And almost before I was transferred to New Zealand, my kids were there. Because there’s love. And that’s what I teach. Love. You know, you can fuck up and…well, look at Dad! [laughs]
Obviously, your daughters have brought guys home to meet you.
I know loads of their ex-boyfriends.
I’d think a guy would get pretty psyched out, having to come and meet you.
I’d hope so!
Do you go out of your way to break their balls?
I always threaten to chop ’em off! [laughs] But what dad doesn’t, eh? “You want to keep that, kid?” Whack!
Didn’t Mick screw around with Anita?
Possibly yes. Probably during the making of that movie [Performance].
How did you and Mick get past that?
At the time, I didn’t know and I didn’t really care.
You didn’t?
No. I mean, Anita and I, it was never like we were ever married. And, uh, you don’t try and ride a bitch like that, baby, without thinking that they’re not gonna—you know. Had it. Been there. It’s a load of crap, you know? I mean, I’ve done Mick’s chicks, too.
How many chicks do you think you guys have in common?
After Marianne [Faithfull], it’s a stable. [laughs]
More than five?
No. I don’t want to mention other bitches’ names, because I’ve stolen quite a few off of him and, uh, he’s nudged his way into my lot, but not significantly. After the Anita thing, I made a point of stealing every bitch he had. [laughs]
But not his current one?
[whispers] I wouldn’t take that one on!
At Mick’s gayest, how gay was he?
It was camp.
Camp?
Yeah. It was all… I really have no idea if anyone ever shoved it up the shitter.
Not even Bowie?
No. I mean, dickering and dangling… I’m not there watching it every day. You know what I mean, mate? But there was, at the time, a load of excruciatingly painful campness that went on.
Did you want to smack him?
No. I mean, it was limp-wristed sort of… [affects Truman Capote–ish mumbling] But I mean, how does a bunch of guys stay together this long without letting certain things just wash over? We wouldn’t be here if we weren’t doin’ what we gotta do. Which is having to come up with great records and songs and play to people. The reason you’re here is because, above and beyond anything, you want to get out there and turn people on. Including yourself, of course. [laughs]
Most guys I know consider you the soul of the band. And you talk about a moral center—
Well, I have one! [laughs]
But everyone thinks you’re the dark, tortured soul.
There’s a lotta soul in the band. I mean, it’s a matter of how much you wanna bury it. I guess that’s my declension. I’m—
[At this point, Richards, as he is talking, absentmindedly reaches his hand to his side and draws his shirt and jacket back to scratch himself near his hip bone. It’s then that I notice that wedged against his hip and the top of his trousers is something that looks like the handle of a revolver. “That’s not a gun you’re carrying, is it?” I ask. Keith pauses. “This?” he says, reaching for the handle. “Nah, this is a knife.” At which point he pulls it from his waistband, flips it open, and reveals a shiny blade five inches long. Richards considers the blade for a moment, in silence, then snaps the knife closed and tucks it back into his waistband and explains, “I use it to keep me pants up, because I’ve been losing weight, baby.” Richards has also had a few health problems over the past couple of years, most notably when he fell off a tree branch while vacationing in Fiji in April 2007 and hit his head on the root of the tree, which was incorrectly reported as falling out of a coconut tree. Richards suffered swelling, and fluid built up in his skull, requiring surgery.]
Let’s talk about Fiji. You had to be trepanned—you had a hole drilled into your skull.
Yeah, yeah.
So what was that like?
It was a trifle weird, lying on a gurney on Vicodin, and I’d been there like ten days by then, and they were going through the motions, and by this time I’d got to know this doctor pretty well. He said, “Now you’re stabilized; you can now fly to Manhattan or London, because you’re gonna need an operation. That stuff needs to be drained out of your head.” And I said, “I ain’t goin’ nowhere! We’re doing it now! Here. I ain’t goin’ through all of that and traveling and flying.” But I said to the anesthetist, “Listen, it’s pretty hard to put me out.” [laughs]
Did you have strange dreams after?
The first six months, I was a little off-balance…a little less patience with some of my friends. [laughs] But basically, no. It was like going in for a broken rib. I’ve done all the ribs. I’ve done the head. There’s nothing else left to break. [laughs] Doctors all over the world want my body when it finally goes.
You should sell your body on eBay.
Yeah, I think so. Apparently, I do have an incredible immune system. I had hepatitis C and cured it by myself.
How?
Just by being me.
The legendary blood transfusions?
That’s all bullshit. Bullshit. I put that out because I was gonna have to clean up from all the dope. There’s nothing like legend.
Like your immune system—legendary.
It’s above average, yes.
That’s a fact of medical science?
Yes. They want it so they can study it and figure out how to make other people much better. [laughs] I mean, I eat everything wrong. I shove terrible things inside me.
Yet you won’t eat cheese.
No! Cheese is very wrong.
Why’s that?
Look at everybody. [makes bloated face]
Do you have any other phobias?
As far as bodily, no. Cheese is a no-no for me. Everybody else, go eat it. Just take a look at yourself. Fermented milk is not the ideal choice for everyday eating, that’s all. [laughs]
Is there one moment in your life that you will always remember above all others?
The Marlborough Street thing, when the judge’s gavel hit the table and “Ten pounds for the charge!” [In 1973 he and Anita Pallenberg were busted at their London home for drug possession.] That was a seminal moment when I thought I was going to jail. You try saying “Guilty” twenty-five times. I could get very spiritual here, but I’ll never forget walking out for lunch that day.
Where’d you go?
Somewhere where the cops weren’t going. I never saw myself being a target for the system. And suddenly you realize you are. It never occurred to me that just because I did a little of this [he pretends he’s injecting his arm] or took a little of that [he mimes a toke], that I was gonna get this heat, you know? And then I realized I’d been targeted. And then your mind takes on other things. I still look out the window to see if there are any unmarked cars. [laughs] It puts fear in you. Suddenly, you feel like a criminal.
Did you ever talk with John Lennon about that?
Yes. He felt he was hunted. That it was high-profile hunting. And then you realize that it doesn’t really matter if you’re doing it or not. They’ll shove it in your pocket. And you think, It’s not a game now. This isn’t just rock ’n’ roll. They’re afraid of you. And that was the thing that intrigued me. They’re actually frightened. I mean, I grew up in the British Empire and bop-bop-bop God Save the Queen, and you realize this whole edifice actually thinks you’re a threat to it? And you realize how paranoid they must be that if they get rid of a guitar player or two, everything’s gonna be cool in the empire? All they did was illustrate their fragility.
Did you ever steal any fashion tips from your wife, Patti?
I steal women’s clothes. Charlie Watts got really pissed at me a few years ago. There was some page in Vogue, and I was a fashion icon. I was actually wearing Anita’s clothes. And Charlie, who spends half his time on Savile Row, said, “You? A fashion icon?” I’m the kind of guy, when I wake up I’m not aware of anything for half an hour. I pick up whatever’s around and put it on. I don’t think about it. I mean, I said to Charlie, “Look at that picture in Vogue and you’ll see the buttons are on the wrong side of the shirt. All I did was put on Anita’s clothes.”
Do you regret not moisturizing your face?
No. I leave that up to other people.
Ever think about getting Botox?
No one’s ever talked me into doing that. You’re lucky if you walk out of there alive. God bless you.
Are you still cutting your own hair? You’ve done that all your life, right?
Yes. I did this bit here yesterday. [holds up a few strands on the side of his head] Also, I’m letting the dye grow out, since I’m not on the road. If the wife likes it, I’ll keep it.
She has to like everything, huh?
Yeah.
What’s the key to a good marriage?
Depends on the woman. Given that, I think children. I mean, outside of getting enormously successful…to watch the kids grow is the greatest pleasure. Grandkids are even a better thing, because you can hand them back! It’s a continuity of life. When I was younger, I said, “If I live to 30, I’ll shoot myself.” You reach 30 and put the gun away. It’s a fascinating process, just growing up. And it doesn’t matter—anyone who’s 15 today, in thirty, forty years…it’s gonna take ’em a bit of luck to hit 65. It’s how you deal with that process. Unfortunately, our lives are sometimes bombarded with, you know, decay…and what it comes down to is, it just depends on your relationship with other people, including your own family. Hey, you can screw up. I have. Life doesn’t get any easier as you get older. It just becomes more complex. At the same time, one starts to discern certain threads which are important to follow.
Which threads did you discern as you got older? I mean, you’re speaking of wisdom, right?
I’m not calling myself wise. I refuse to grow up. But there are certain threads. Whether you connect the threads together, well… And really, there’s nothing quite like having your kids or your grandkids or the people you know and love still say you’re okay, because quite honestly I don’t know if I am or not. I mean, I’m just gonna do what I’ve got to do, and I’ve gotta live with the consequences, which I have quite often—including, you know, people like Brian dying—and thinking, you know, Did I cause that? Because I’ve never killed a man. Yet. Knowingly. And I don’t wanna… I mean, I’m getting to retirement, whether I want it or not. Do you know that I actually have a bus pass? In England? I’ve reached the age where I am given a free bus pass. [laughs] I feel like going to England right now and riding every bus I can get! [pause] There’s a certain thing about growing old, which is I’m still getting used to it. It’s a whole new experience.
How do you feel you’re growing old?
Because you are. I mean, it’s like how to deal with it. You know, you say to yourself, do you want to do this in private or do you want to do it in public?
And what do you think?
[pause] I’ll do it in public. What I do, I’m nowhere without a crowd. And every crowd has a silver lining. [laughs]
Is there anything you’d tell your grandkids about growing old?
Yeah. Go for it. Yeah. Don’t try and stay young. Don’t try and rush it. I was there. I mean, I still remember the idea of being 25 was horrendous.
You were never an angry young man, were you?
Yeah, I was, but I had no target. If I was, I think, coming from my generation, I was angry that things were still the same in the late ’50s. When I was growing up and 13, 14 years old and nothing changed. Especially in postwar Britain. They didn’t clear the rubble for a long time. And you got used to growing up in this kind of moonscape. What I gotta do right now is take a pee.
[Richards gets up from the love seat and shuffles to the corner of the room, where a large white wee-wee pad is laid out for the little fluffy dog that roams the office. Richards stares at it for a moment, then mutters, “I could just do it there, I suppose.” He laughs and leaves. I sit alone in the room, staring at the walls, just about every inch of which is covered with more memorabilia: a photo of him with Lennon, a photo of the Beatles circa 1965, a photo of Muddy Waters. Tucked into a corner is an unboxed Wii Guitar Hero. After maybe five minutes, Richards wanders back into the room, laughing. “Sorry, mate,” he says. “I got lost. I don’t come here often!”]
Why do you think some people live and some die?
Lack of breath?
But there’s that line between recklessness and stupidity, and you—No, you bring up a good point, which is very hard for me to answer, because I’ve probably crossed that line more times than most. Um, I’d say you have to know yourself. To yourself, you’re not crossing the line. Anybody else? Whoa, you gone way over the top, boy. If you don’t know yourself, then you get into this terrible position of “Well, I made it over there,” and now you’re expecting to—you know, you think you’re Evel Knievel. And that’s not what it’s about. I think it’s about a little bit of introspection and having a sort of physical contact with the mind and the brain. Having some connection. And not one running things or the other running things. I don’t know what you’d call it. Call it religion? [laughs] Or just call it lucky?
You seem like a man with incredible self-knowledge.
Yeah.
So you’d admit that?
Yeah.
Despite your persona.
Yeah. I think most people should check in with what’s in here [points to heart] and then see how you can deal with what’s out there [points outward]. If I’ve come to any conclusion after many, many years of not knowing what the hell I’m doing, it’s to just do it. You know, people say, “What the hell are you doing here?” because I’ve done everything that should have had you in an early grave. But—not to me. What dangers I thought I was in…how much I was pushing things to the edge…see, to me the edge was always a little further. I mean, if I was wrong, bollocks, right? Fine. I’ve never had inner turmoil about all this. I’m not some sort of Kurt Cobain. [Richards leans back and sticks an imaginary shotgun barrel in his mouth and pulls the trigger.] Boom. I’ve never had death wishes. I do feel wished to death, at times. [laughs] I was number one on the list for years, of people who were supposed to die. But, um, I didn’t really take any notice of it. I didn’t say, “Oh, I’m wished to death, therefore I will not die.” Because it’s not in your hands. I do think a certain amount of self-knowledge would help people, rather than being always distracted by exteriors. You find a lot of people these days who cannot stand to be alone. And boredom? To me, that’s an illness. You could lock me up in solitary for weeks on end and I’d keep myself amused. All these gadgets now—it’s all about anything to defy the interior, to defy dealing with yourself. I’ve had to deal with it so much I hate his guts. [laughs]
In those moments when you’ve gone up to the edge, what do you remember being in your mind?
It’s kind of like something that isn’t an edge.
But does your life really flash before your eyes?
Oh, I’ve been there a few times. No, my life—at least for me—didn’t flash before my eyes. It was more like what could’ve been. At the same time, I had this weird perception that—I mean, I don’t know if it’s sheer cowardice or not, but you leave the body. And you think, Oh, my God, I’m dead. And suddenly you can watch it quite dispassionately and objectively from twelve, fifteen feet above. And I once crashed a car, a convertible. Anita was with me. No seat belts—she was seven months pregnant. Three tons of car. A convertible. Rolled over three times. After the first roll, I was out of the car, watching. My only recollection of the whole thing is looking down very cold-bloodedly.
Do you think the Beatles are overrated?
Oh, definitely. So are we.
Why?
In that moment, the Beatles… But how can you—I mean yes. I’ll say yes. As a musician, yes. As a breath of fresh air and an injection of life into society, no, they were certainly not. They were exactly what was needed. It was a great enema.
What does that make you guys?
A great toilet bowl. [laughs]
Any secrets you will take to the grave?
I’ll let you know. You need to be there on the deathbed! I’m not looking forward to dying, but I’m not really looking forward to living. [laughs]
Why? You’re not gonna die soon.
Well, I feel like I have to defy it now. There were plenty of times I could’ve given up the ghost. But it just seemed such a cheap way out.
What does? OD’ing or something?
Yeah. Just kind of that “Fuck it, don’t do anything about it.… I don’t want to go through it, the shit of building me back again.” But at the same time, I tried my best to test this thing, and it still beats me. It says, “No! You’re around for a little bit longer, boy.” And I say, “Oh shit. I mean, okay.”
In moments like that—moments when you are in a dark place, moments when you are at the edge—who is your one phone call? Who do you call in that moment?
I’d say Patti. Yeah. [pause] I mean, I woulda said me mum until last year, but dammit, she croaked on me.
You—Keith Richards—would call your mother in those dark moments?
If it was bad, I would, yeah. Just to let her know. But unfortunately she didn’t live. [pause] Me mum, that’s another thing, man. [Gets choked up] I went… I went… We knew me mum was going, and so my daughter Angela says, “Dad, take the guitar out. Play to her. Go into her room.” So I went up there and sat on the hospital bed and played my best. And she’s out on morphine, anyway, unconscious. And I played the old songs, the old dance-hall songs. The next morning, she came out of her sleep for a moment, and my daughter was there and asked her, “Did you hear Daddy play for you last night?” And me mum says, “Yeah, he was out of tune.” [laughs] So let’s put it that way—my family is… There’s never a giving moment.
Always taking the piss out.
Yeah, all the way. Yeah. The last thing I said to me pa was “Save a seat for me at the bar, mate.” I had to see him off, too. [sighs] It’s rough. But then, it’s normal. I mean, the last thing my dad said to me before he went was “At least things are going in their natural order.”
Of course. It’s terrible to bury a child.
Yeah, I’ve done that. [sighs…silence] The things they throw at you. [Pallenberg and Richards lost their third child weeks after he was born, in 1976.]
What’s been the hardest thing they throw at you?
Tomorrow. [laughs]
What’s your best love song?
I haven’t written it yet.
Which one do you play for the ladies? I mean, since so many guys have scored to Stones songs, what do you score to?
You can say “Angie,” but that’s kind of… “Sleep Tonight.” That’s one. Oh, “Thief in the Night.”
“Wild Horses”?
I would go there, too.
Is there a Stones song you feel is the best articulation of your philosophy?
It’s hard to put it into a two-and-a-half-minute song. But I think “Tumbling Dice.”
Will you have them play that at your funeral?
I hope so. Just as long as I’m not there. [laughs]
