“It’s not all sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll. A lot of it is hard fuckin’ work.”
Keith Richards Interview
For more than 30 years, Keith Richards has been the soul of the Rolling Stones and their unique brand of raw, energetic rock ‘n’ roll. Yet it seems like only yesterday, in 1960, that he ran into an acquaintance from his childhood, Mick Jagger, at a Dartford, England, train station. The 17-year-old Jagger, a scholarship student at the London School of Economics, was carrying two record albums — Rockin’ at the Hop by Chuck Berry and The Best of Muddy Waters. The two struck up a conversation about music. Like Jagger, Richards was fascinated by American rock ‘n’ roll and rhythm and blues, and the two musical soul mates decided to form a band.
They subsequently enlisted drummer Charlie Watts, pianist Ian Stewart, rhythm guitarist Brian Jones, and bassist Bill Perks. After honing their craft, they began playing steadily at the Ealing Club, a West London blues joint owned by the British bluesman Alexis Korner. At the time, American blues was the British Bohemian antidote to the syrupy pop that had saturated the airwaves in the wake of Elvis’s Army stint, Eddie Cochran’s untimely death, and Jerry Lee Lewis’s marriage to his 14-year-old cousin. The blues was the medium, and the Rolling Stones — as the newly formed band would call itself — was its messenger, soon developing a cult-like following.
The band, sans Stewart and with new bassist Bill Wyman, signed with Decca Records in 1963 and eked out some minor hits with Chuck Berry’s “Come On” and “I Wanna Be Your Man” — a tune given to them by John Lennon and Paul McCartney. In the meantime, Richards’s impeccable guitar playing and Jagger’s whining, blues-tinged harp mastery continued to define the band as a major proponent of the raw beauty of rock ‘n’ roll and rhythm and blues.
The duo also began writing material for the group, and in the summer of 1965, one original composition in particular would catapult them into the stratosphere. That tune was “Satisfaction,” whose catchy opening guitar riff and the line “I can’t get no satisfaction” were actually dreamed by Richards in his sleep. The song climbed to the top of the British and American charts, placing the Stones in the rock ‘n’ roll hierarchy with Elvis Presley, the Beatles, and Bob Dylan.
Throughout the mid to late sixties, the band continued to crank out chart-toppers and, in the process, became synonymous with the spirit of rock ‘n’ roll and its in-your-face attitude — sometimes to their detriment. In 1967 Richards and Jagger were arrested for possession of cannabis and amphetamines at Richards’s country house. Shortly after, Jones was also busted for possession of illegal substances.
Nevertheless, the band played on — and hard. Richards’s song writing prowess and lean-and-nasty guitar playing continued to offer the Stones’ music a distinct bite and edge. In 1969, however, two tragedies hit the group particularly hard. Brian Jones was found dead in his swimming pool, and a young black man carrying a pistol was murdered by a member of the Hell’s Angels who was working as security at a Stones concert at Altamont Speedway in northern California.
The early 1970s were an especially productive period for Richards and the Rolling Stones. In 1971 the band, with Jones’s replacement, Mick Taylor, recorded Sticky Fingers, which contained the hit single “Brown Sugar.” Then, in 1972, they hit the States again in a whirlwind tour on the heels of the release of Exile on Main Street, regarded by many critics and fans as the quintessential Rolling Stones album.
In the mid to late seventies, however, Richards again found himself in trouble with the law. In 1975 he and the new Stones guitarist Ron Wood, who had replaced a disenchanted Mick Taylor, were arrested in Arkansas on weapons charges. And as if that weren’t enough, in 1977 he was busted in Toronto for possession of heroin. He got off scot-free by agreeing to perform public-service concerts for the blind.
In 1978 the band released Some Girls, which contained the dance hit “Miss You” and Richards’s heroic “(I’m Gonna Walk) Before They Make Me Run.” That was followed in 1981 by the release of the harder-edged Tattoo You, which featured “Start Me Up,” an infectious rocker that Microsoft has recently adopted as the theme song — at a licensing cost of $2 million — for its multimillion-dollar Windows 95 ad campaign.
On December 18, 1983 — his 40th birthday — Richards married the American model Patti Hansen, who was instrumental in motivating him to clean up his hard-drug habit. But while things looked bright for Richards on the domestic front, his relationship with Jagger began to sour. In 1985 Jagger released a solo album, She’s the Boss, then toured with a pickup band that rehashed some of the Stones’ classics. Richards was infuriated. Sessions for the next scheduled Rolling Stones release, Dirty Work, were tense indeed. To make matters worse, Jagger refused to go on tour after the album was completed.
Richards alleviated his anger and resentment by burying himself in other projects. He backed up Bob Dylan at the Live Aid concert, did some session work with Jerry Lee Lewis, played guitar on Aretha Franklin’s recording and video of “Jumpin’ Jack Flash,” contributed the liner notes to a Robert Johnson anthology, and put together a band for a Chuck Berry tribute documentary titled Hail! Hail! Rock and Roll.
While coordinating the music, Richards began jamming with some of the musicians he’d enlisted — guitarist Waddy Wachtel, bassist Charley Drayton, drummer Steve Jordan, and keyboardist Ivan Neville. Richards subsequently asked them to accompany him on a solo project. The record was called Talk Is Cheap, and the band became known as the X-Pensive Winos.
In 1988 Richards and Jagger patched things up, and the Rolling Stones once again entered the recording studio, beginning work on Steel Wheels. The album, which contained the hit “Mixed Emotions,” was released in 1989 and garnered widespread critical acclaim. In 1994 the band delivered another one-two punch with the release of Voodoo Lounge. That album (which featured new bassist Darryl Jones, who had replaced Bill Wyman) was loaded with guitar, and critics compared it to Beggar’s Banquet, Let It Bleed, Sticky Fingers, and Exile on Main Street. Voodoo Lounge has already exceeded five million copies in worldwide sales, and the accompanying 18-month tour — which is still in progress — has grossed more than $300 million, making it the most lucrative tour in rock ‘n’ roll history.
“We were certainly anti-pop, anti-radio, and anti-everything. We just wanted to play the blues and fuck you.”
And now the Rolling Stones have just released Stripped — a 14-track gem that features acoustic versions of Stones’ classics recorded live at club dates in Paris and Amsterdam , and during rehearsals. The enhanced CD offers computer users equipped with a CD-ROM drive a number of interactive features, including interviews, a Rolling Stones discography, and performance footage.
Richards is a walking encyclopedia when it comes to music. Whether talking about Mozart, Louis Armstrong, or blues legend Robert Johnson, his eyes light up as one possessed by both passion and reverence for the masters. Richards speaks candidly about Mick Jagger, the Rolling Stones, technology, radio, and the state of rock ‘n’ roll today.
The Rolling Stones’ new record, Stripped, has a bare-bones, intimate feel to it. How did the idea for the material and the approach come about?
Richards: In a way, I kind of look at it the easy way. I say that the songs chose themselves. And in a way, they kind of did.
The germ of the idea came from rehearsing for the tour. We rehearsed for six weeks in a school gym in Toronto. And of course we were recording during rehearsals, because the sound guys wanted to get their shit together. And every night we’d rehearse ten songs and then go back and listen. And every night, it’s getting better, and I’m saying to myself, You know, you could actually just throw this bunch into a room — with no separation and all this high-tech stuff — and get back to where Louis Armstrong was in 1925. Just throw a hot band around one mike and go. Technology has proven to me that you don’t need half of all this stuff.
Nobody in the band thought they were making a record. They just thought they were rehearsing. Everything was live and was done in one take. What you hear is what you get.
Nobody wanted to do this knee-jerk reflex thing of doing a tour and then two months later, out comes this stadium-show recording of Voodoo Lounge live. And the next idea was “Unplugged,” which really confused me because I hadn’t seen many of them. I watched a few, and they’re all live and very, very electric. So now I’m going, “Hmmm. Am I missing something here?”
At that point, the record company said their magic word, “acoustic,” and it suddenly all became clear.
I never thought we’d recut “The Spider and the Fly” and “I’m Free,” let alone do “Street Fighting Man” acoustically. And “Wild Horses.” All those notes that you wished that you’d put in. I think the new record is a good way of touching base — kind of like, if you didn’t catch it the first time around. Maybe we didn’t get it the first time around.
Basically, we’re still a very acoustic band. Always have been. And this kind of record points it out. I mean, all of those songs basically have the same lineup as when we [originally] recorded them — two or three acoustic guitars. There have always been a lot of acoustics, and maybe we’d forgotten that.
How was the material for Stripped chosen?
Richards: You can have not enough songs or too many. And always, the better of the two problems is too many, and at the same time, the process of cutting that baby out can be bloody. And people are leaving the band for one song. “If that doesn’t go in, I’m leaving the band.” One day, I’m gonna secretly film one of these sessions where the Stones sit around and decide what’s gonna not go on an album. It’s murderous. Here’s Mick with his list. “Hands up for number three.” And I’m going, “I believe the album will find itself.” And Ronnie’s goin’ yapyapyapyapyapyapyap — ten miles a minute. Charlie’s going [makes grumbling sounds]. It’s such a funny thing. I definitely wouldn’t recommend it to a major corporation.
The live tunes were recorded at small clubs. Isn’t that quite a switch for Mick, who likes playing the big arenas?
Richards: But don’t ever forget that he learned how to work a space the size of this coffee table. And never forget that we would never start a tour without first playing small clubs. It’s a ritual. If you can’t do it in a small joint, you ain’t gonna do it in a big one.
And it’s also a matter of scale. Rock ‘n’ roll bands normally play in garages, clubs, bars, and juke joints. Try and translate that into a football stadium. I think maybe we’ve gotten the closest with the Voodoo Lounge tour and with one of the toys that I thought would cause me to lose my head, which is that huge screen. I just sort of thought that that thing was gonna fall on my head and kill me.
But somewhere during this tour, we realized that you can actually turn a football stadium into a kind of intimate place with that screen. [But] you’ve got to remember that when we’re playing, we never see it. If I turn around and look at the screen, I see the back of my head. “Yeah, you look great today.” You can only learn how to use it by the audience’s reaction.
I’m also very skeptical. At the beginning of every tour, there’s always a new toy out there. Some work and some don’t. You’ve gotta prove it to me. I’ve been recording for 30 years, and the first place where high-tech shit turns up is in the recording studio. First there was two-track recording, then four-track, then eight-track, then 16-track, and now 24-digital-billionth whatever.
What’s your view on CD-ROMs and the Internet as a means of spreading the gospel of rock ‘n’ roll? The Rolling Stones already have a Voodoo Lounge CD-ROM on the market.
Richards: I see it beyond just rock ‘n’ roll. See, I was very skeptical at first. They had to convince me. I said, “Another toy. What is this? Another idiot tool for a computer?” I’m not a computer guy. But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate its uses. If it’s a tool, I’ll use it. Only an idiot wouldn’t as far as I’m concerned.
With the Rolling Stones CD-ROM, suddenly I’m going, “Forget the Rolling Stones. Forget Voodoo Lounge.” For rock ‘n’ roll, this is an encyclopedia. This is the teacher you never had. This puts the fun back into learning.
Suddenly, I looked upon it as, “I get your message now, CD-ROM.” It’s above and beyond the Rolling Stones. Through this, you can learn about Muddy Waters, Robert Johnson, Son House, Little Walter Jacobs, and Chuck Berry — the cats who turned us on. Suddenly I saw it as fun, because we were learning things at the same time, which is really what life should be like.
And I liked the graphics. They did a great job on it. From the guy who was the total “anti,” I became the prophet for it. This thing’s gonna be a big thing. At least it’s a damn good tool to learn things in conjunction with education. And it doesn’t have to be about the Rolling Stones. It could be about biology, geometry, or space, or anything. Anything you want to get into.
The Rolling Stones have been recording and touring for more than 30 years. What keeps you going?
Richards: When I was 20 or 21 years old, we were doing 20 minutes on stage if we were lucky. Usually the shows were in shambles after ten minutes and we were rushed off. If we did the full 20 minutes, we were fuckin’ exhausted. I do two and a half hours on stage now.
On the first tour, we opened for Little Richard, Bo Diddley, and the Everly Brothers. This was my education. This was the first time I had ever been on a theater stage. We started out in London and went all over England. And we’re learning every night. I mean, we’re hanging from the rafters watching Little Richard’s entrance. He would play “Lucille,” and they would black out the whole theater. Then he’d come down the aisle, and we’re learning show business at the same time.
But within six weeks, they’re going, “Stones, Stones, Stones,” to the point where we’re getting embarrassed for the Everly Brothers. You can’t get a better-matched pair in the world. But when they came back to England, we were the heroes. They couldn’t stop us. I’m feeling bad for them, but at the same time, I’m feeling good for myself.
But every night we were studying. We’d go up and practically break our necks hanging from weirdo bits of old buildings just to watch Bo move or watch how Little Richard hits that chord. It’s not all sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll. A lot of it is hard fuckin’ work, man. Yeah. It’s a love.
What’s your take on the state of rock ‘n’ roll today?
Richards: Too much rock and not enough roll. That’s their problem. It ain’t called rock ‘n’ roll for nothin’. Rock to me means all this folk rock or new rock or pseudo-rock or alternative rock and blah blah blah blah blah. Whaddaya got against the roll?
Roll means to be light and heavy at the same time. A feather touch. And that’s what nobody really wants to know about, because it’s too difficult to learn. That’s why I have Charlie Watts and Steve Jordan. The cats know how to take off. It ain’t just bashing the thing. Yeah, you need all that energy [in rock]. But hey, you gotta get off.
The roll is too difficult for most. I think we should actually go to a university just for the roll. If anybody out there really wants to play this stuff, listen to the main cats. Listen to Earl Palmer behind Fats Domino, Little Richard, and Chuck Berry. Listen to the rhythm, baby. Yeah, it’s as hard as can be, but it flies.
Now it’s all marching music. This bashin’ head-bangin’ bum boom boom. Rap …. Wrap it in lead and bury it.
Do you think music means as much to teenagers today as it did to you?
Richards: I’m sure it means as much to kids now, but what do they know? Who’s selecting what they’re hearing? I’d like people to think a little about who’s censoring what you hear. Where would radio be without music? But the new station managers are the ones who decide what you’re gonna hear.
There was a chance in the sixties, when radio went from AM to FM. FM was suddenly a breath of fresh air, right? Suddenly, cats were playing everything we wanted, and it was a great feeling. But sure enough, in a few years, the same choke hold went on again. They’re choking your music and they’re choking your life.
Do you think it’s harder now for new bands to break through?
Richards: Yeah, without a doubt. It was never easy. It looked impossible to us. We weren’t even expecting to do it because we were certainly anti-pop, anti-radio, and anti-everything. We just wanted to play the blues and fuck you. You’re gonna sweeten me to be a pop star? Good luck, sweetheart.
“Now it’s all marching music. This bashin’ head-bangin’ bum boom boom. Rap …. Wrap it in lead and bury it.”
But there are people out there that we ain’t hearing. And they’re rammin’ shit down your throat. Radio has the opportunity of giving all kinds of different guys a break. Radio could be on the front, just knowing what these cats are doing around the corner, you know? “We took a little tape.” That’s how radio used to work. That’s what happened with Elvis. It was Dewey Phillips going out and bumping it in there. [Phillips, a Memphis disc jockey, hung out with local musicians and was the first to play Elvis’s debut smash “That’s Alright Mama.”]
It can’t be any easier for bands now than it was for us, I’m sure. It’s probably more difficult because it’s such a big business now. There are more walls that you have to break through. But at the same time, I tell you, when we started it was a pretty invincible system.
What was it that prompted you to get into rock ‘n’ roll?
It had nothing to do with me. It’s only due to rock ‘n’ roll. I heard “awopbopaloobop, alopbamboom” [singing the first line to Little Richard’s “Tutti Frutti”]. For me, the world then went from black and white to Technicolor. Just like that — there it is! That’s 9s concise as I can put it, man. It’s the best bit of English I’ve ever heard written.
And then, suddenly, everything made sense. Then I understood Shakespeare. Then I understood Byron. Then I understood Mozart. In a way it was a release.
Who were some of your guitar-playing and songwriting influences?
Richards: Let’s say Robert Johnson for starters. You can’t go wrong mentioning the name. He was playing guitar and singing and writing songs with lyrics. Very self-contained, incredible guitar playing. He’s got the lyrics, and he’s got the moves. For me, that is the inspiration.
But he wasn’t the first guy I heard. I had to work my way to Robert. Muddy Waters came straight out of Johnson. But Johnson’s more versatile. He’s the epitome. Then there’s Blind Blake. The incredible Blind Willie McTell. I could go on all night mentioning cats. This is just the tip of the iceberg. I’ve no doubt there are probably ten other guys that are even better, who never even got recorded or heard. And I’ve no doubt that there are guys out there right now in the same position.
The twentieth century’s quite amazing. How long has this human race been around? We don’t even know, right? They keep finding that we’re older than we thought. The first music probably came from a guy beating on a rock. “Here comes a tiger.” That’s your first beat. “Warning.”
But in only the last 100 years were sounds recorded and played back. Music is still going through the equivalent of, like, Hiroshima. Like an earthquake. Everybody takes recording for granted today. It’s like, “Oh, you push that little switch there.” Suddenly we can read music, record it, play it back, overdub it, twist it, turn it around, and even phone it in. It’ll take more than one century for music to come to terms with the fact that you can do all this because musicians naturally are weird.
You’ve had the opportunity to play alongside a number of your musical heroes, such as John Lee Hooker, Chuck Berry, and George Jones. What were those experiences like?
Richards: Great. Naturally great. Man, I’m thinking, “Is there anybody else who would have done that movie with Chuck Berry?” Like, it wasn’t easy. It was like darting bullets. I know he’s a mother, and I knew that even before I went in [laughs]. But I couldn’t let anybody else do it.
How was working with country-music legend George Jones?
Richards: Fantastic. I had a great time. What a guy. It was my first real legit country session, and it took me back to my days with Gram Parsons [former member of the Byrds and godfather of country rock]. Gram had taught me [about country music]. I’ve always loved country music. It was always a part of my consciousness. But Gram brought out how much I really loved it.
And one of the songs George and I did on the album is “Say It’s Not You,” a tune that Dallas Frazier wrote and that George had done before. And Gram and I loved it. So now 20 years later, George Jones calls me up and says, “I’d like to do a track with you.” It was “Say It’s Not You.”
The weirdest thing about it is, I had such a great time with George. But it was a privilege for me to play with the guy, and I treasure it. I did it for Gram, I did it for George, and I did it for me. And I got the chance to play with James Burton, the king of the Telecaster.
Did you ever record anything with Gram Parsons?
Richards: You know what? Gram and I were so out of it that we wouldn’t even know if a microphone was set up or not. We did most of our singing trying to clean up our act. We’d go through cures together. They always failed. We would do it by trying to sing ourselves out of our misery. “Excuse me while I throw up.”
Gram ran ahead of the guys. He was so far ahead of his time. I mean, what did he do? He never had a hit record in his life. But there’s a Gram Parsons Memorial Foundation — and a very, very big one. A lot of people recognized his talent. He’s almost unique. He made three or four albums, and none of them were huge. There were some minor hits with the Flying Burrito Brothers. “Grievous Angel” didn’t fare well. But when you heard him, you knew that guy. Once touched, never forgotten.
I found that out when he died. I was with Bobby Keys in a bog [toilet]. I’m takin’ a leak, right. Backstage in Innsbruck, ‘73. I’m pissin’. Bobby says, “I just got some bad news. G.P.’s dead.” I stopped pissin’. I knew I didn’t wanna hear that.
“What an asshole,” I said. “How dare he.” You know when you get mad at times? I figured I’d be hangin’ with him now. Close to the heart — Gram. He was a lovely guy, man. How dare you die on me. I felt the same about Otis [Redding]. I felt the same about Buddy Holly. I felt the same about Eddie Cochran. How dare you leave me here alone. Thanks a lot, asshole. And Brian [Jones], too. “Oh great, Brian. Yeah, you took the short cut, heh.”
Of all the Rolling Stones’ albums, which ones are your favorites?
Richards: It’s always hard to pick favorites. I would say, hey, I love the first one. No title. Boom. I do particularly appreciate Jimmy Miller’s period with us. Beggar’s Banquet through Let It Bleed, Sticky Fingers, Exile on Main Street, Goat’s Head Soup. Fruitful period. I like Some Girls a lot. I like Dirty Work a lot actually, even though it’s fragmented. Even though it was made under difficult circumstances. Now and again I listen to it. It’s got some good stuff on it. Those would probably be the ones.
But then I’m leaving out, like, Aftermath and other babies of mine. And it gets so very difficult. To bring it right up to date, I love Voodoo Lounge and I love this new one.
Without wanting to, like, lump anybody out of it, sometimes the Stones find the right guy to work with. At the moment, I think Don Was and the Stones are really on a good track together. I know that I can leave tracks with Don and not have to worry about them. That’s the way I felt with Jimmy, and that’s the way I feel with Don.
“The [original] line was “suck my dick. I gotta get a licker.” It took us six months to come up with “shocks my dear” to cover it up.”
Otherwise, Mick and I decide to produce it ourselves, which is always biting off more than you can chew. Maybe for one album you can manage that. But you can’t be behind the glass and then in front. Our blessing is that the guys are the right guys at the right time.
How do you and Mick write songs for the Rolling Stones? Do you sit down and work out tunes together, or do you compose separately?
Richards: All different ways. Maybe we haven’t seen each other for months, and so you start with, “I’ve got this song,” or “I’ve got this lick.” Or there may be bits, and then you start to work back and forth together, and then you might say, “Ah, remember that bit you played for me the other night? Is this the other bit?” And you play something, and that fits with that. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle.
At other times, you might be sitting there and everybody wants to eat and you don’t. So you just keep going, and suddenly … incoming.
The thing is to recognize the song the minute it comes. You don’t write ‘em. Anybody who thinks they created something has got a God complex. The most you can be is an antenna. A receiver. Polish it up. Make it look good and trust it. If you’re assuming that just because it came out of the end of your pen or your fingers, you wrote it, that’s bullshit.
Music is for fun. It’s for enjoyment. It’s a love. I don’t just sit down and try and write a song. I sit down to play “Pain in My Heart” or “Maybe Baby.” I sit down and play them. And then, someway, this other thing comes in and interrupts my whole schedule. I think the art of songwriting is to recognize the song as it passes through you. Go and grab it. Say, “Come here. I got you by the tail and neck. Whomp.” You wanna beat it into shape and then transmit it.
It’s none of this high-flown, intellectual-like “I wrote that” or “I created this.” Otherwise, you’re dead set for problems, like with Brian Wilson and Bob Dylan. They’re both brilliant. Wilson’s one of the best songwriters I ever heard in my life. During the second half of this century, his stuff is amazing. But he doesn’t know where he’s coming from.
Dylan’s the same. A tune like Bob’s “Like a Rolling Stone.” I would have recorded it the day he wrote it if it wouldn’t have made us feel so gratuitous. He could have said “like a Monkee” or “like a Beatie” or “like a Beach Boy.” There would have been no problem, but it took us over 30 years to get over “like a rolling stone.”
Actually, we nicked [Rolling Stones] off of Muddy Waters in the first place. The only reason we’re called the Rolling Stones is we placed an ad in a little magazine. Brian [Jones] then gets a call, and as he’s holding the phone, he tells us, “We’re going to be playing at the Crown and Anchor.” The guy on the other end then asks Brian, “Well, what are you called?” We never even thought of a name. And there was an album cover lying on the floor, and it was The Best of Muddy Waters and the first track was “Rolling Stone Blues.” So we’re going, “Rolling Stones, Brian. Tell him Rolling Stones.”
A favorite tune among fans and musicians alike is “Honky Tonk Women.” How did you and Mick write that one?
Richards: Mick and I did that on the veranda at a Brazilian ranch in early ‘69. All I had was a little guitar I bought off of some guy in Rio. A beautiful little Dobro thing. And we were on the veranda and there were gauchos. We were in deep country. The next day we polished it up. “You met her where?” Most of the time we were just kidding around.
Songwriting alone is another thing. But you’ll notice that most great songs — or at least a good bunch of them — are written by him and him. There are always two. Steve Jordan and I were working on a tune and the phone kept ringing, and it was always for this person Eileen. “What are we gonna do tonight, Eileen?” I said, “She’s not here.” Then I asked Steve, “What’s this song called, Steve?” “Eileen.”
In other words, you’re picking up on things all the time. Sometimes there’s a line there somewhere, and meanwhile you’ve written so much shit. You’re knee-deep in it. But that’s the fun of it. It’s the quest. The search.
For example, the [Winos’] song “I Could Have Stood You Up.” Actually, the [original] line in that song was “suck my dick. I gotta get a licker.” It took us six months to come up with “shocks my dear” to cover it up [laughs]. The hardest job we ever had was covering up “suck my dick.”
Tom Waits and I write together. Now and again he calls me up and once every ten years or so we sit around and write. We wrote “That Feel” together, and we also wrote about ten others that we won’t let see the light of day. We’d get crucified for them. They’re too sick.
Your ups and downs with Mick have been well-publicized. How are things between the two of you now?
Richards: Of course we’ve had our ups and downs. We’re two very volatile characters. Very different. Maybe that’s the chemistry. That’s what makes it work. It’s like, how do you get a pearl from an oyster? It’s that little bit of grit.
Sometimes we despise each other. He hates me for yelling. I hate him for being so bland. Well, if you gotta get passionate about something, man, you might as well get passionate about what you do. But hey, we’re great friends. Probably better now.
We went through the big fight — World War III — in the late eighties. And it was a five-year fight. The Rolling Stones were a millstone around his neck while we were making Dirty Work. His very words.
And so, in a way, we had to just smash it all up and break it. Then see if it comes back together again.
The Stones are that strong. Steel Wheels was putting it back together. Voodoo Lounge was like, yes, it can still go down the road. This new one is a reaffirmation of the Stones. We’re on track, we’re online, and we’re coming in your Goddamn face, baby.
To paraphrase, and by that we mean blatantly copy, “well, they’re big rock singers; they got golden fingers, and they’re loved everywhere they go.” (Thank you Dr. Hook.) Honestly, we have always wondered that if they put The Rolling Stones on the cover of “Rolling Stone,” wouldn’t that be redundant? If we ever get a chance to ask Keith Richards that ourselves, we promise to let you know what he says.
