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As they put it in their humble slogan, the Rolling
Stones are the greatest rock 'n' roll band in the
world.
They're on the road again after an eight-year
hiatus, with a Colorado concert planned for sometime in
October.
I suppose I should be thrilled. Back in 1965, when pop
radio offered little but meaningless bubblegum music, the
snarling lead-in to Satisfaction
opened a whole new
world where songs could actually say something. In 1968,
when rock music was overblown and pretentious, they gave us
Jumpin' Jack Flash
-- elemental loud and dirty rock
'n' roll that made you crank the volume knob up to eviction
levels.
An early manager fired Ian Stewart, their pianist,
because he looked too normal.
They fought with Ed
Sullivan about Let's Spend the Night Together
and
with their record company about the cover of Beggars'
Banquet.
They got arrested for urinating on the wall of
a gas station which refused them use of the restrooms. They
went through drug busts and deportation hearings, engaging
in legal wars on several continents.
They became the quintessential rock 'n' roll band: Charlie Watts, the bombhead drummer who never missed a beat; Bill Wyman, the bassist who appeared to able to sleep on stage; Mick Taylor (since replaced by Ron Wood), the virtuoso lead guitarist who never got enough time to show off his talent; Mick Jagger, whirling, jumping and thrusting, improving on the moves he'd stolen from James Brown and Tina Turner.
And of course, Keith Richards. Forget the savage rhythm lines he could coax from a guitar, because there are scores of good musicians and skillful song writers.
What was significant was that Keith Richards was the epitome of what your parents told you was wrong with rock music. His hair was long and his face was haggard from his legendary hard living. A cocaine spoon dangled from his neck and he pumped heroin into his arm. He never met a groupie he didn't like -- for an hour or two, anyway. He trashed hotel rooms, guzzled Wild Turkey, chain smoked, did everything they told you not to do.
And by all accounts, he enjoyed every minute it.
The Rolling Stones have performed in Colorado several
times. But there's only once concert that anybody talks
about -- Moby Gym in Fort Collins in 1969. Everyone who was
there has a story to tell, such as sneaking a peek during
the afternoon sound checks, or meeting the band when they
stopped at the Holiday Inn for coffee after the concert,
or, as I did, getting cheap tickets at the last minute, and
then finding myself in the sixth row when the sharp opening
lines of Jumpin' Jack Flash
emerged, so loud and
deep the music had to be exploding inside me somewhere.
However, that was 1969, and this is 1989. The Rolling Stones may still put on a show, but they ceased being a vital band about 15 years ago. Baby Boomer nostalgia is getting tiresome, although it must be profitable.
The Rolling Stones will gross about $65 million for this tour. Tickets will cost $28.50; in 1969, it was $6 for not only the Stones, but B.B. King too. Stones tickets appreciate by 8 percent a year, better than the common stocks of many corporations managed by professionals. Jagger must have been quite the student before he dropped out of the London School of Economics.
I don't begrudge them the money. They once suffered for their art, starving and freezing in cold-water flats because no London clubs would hire a scruffy blues band. They've paid their dues and they're welcome to the reward.
But none of that reward is coming out of my pockets this time around. There wasn't much that happened in that dismal year of 1969 to be nostalgic about, and there isn't enough money anywhere to recreate the few good times.
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