The first time I saw the Rolling Stones was in the summer of ‘75. My friend Lori and I were at the beach that day, and there was traffic coming home, so some freaked-out FOMO ensued, lest we miss one second of the show. Luckily, the subway got us to NYC’s Madison Square Garden in time. We had nosebleed seats, but didn’t bother finding them — we snuck, we squished, we crawled, we cajoled our way onto the floor, where we swooned, screamed, and wiggled with joyous abandon.
Guitarist Ronnie Wood, new to the lineup (Mick Taylor having recently quit), looked like he belonged with the band. And if anyone could rival Mick Jagger for pure fabulousness it was Billy Preston on keyboards. They played our favorites, but the song I remember best is the naughty “Star Star,” during which Mick mounted the enormous inflatable phallus that erected itself onstage. That night was the highlight of my sixteen years on this planet.
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My Stones Saga Continues
The second time I saw the Stones was 19 years later, in Los Angeles. By then I earned my keep as an entertainment journalist (the tickets were comped, the seats excellent), so maybe I was a bit more blasé.
Back then, Jagger — at age 51– moved, well, like Jagger for more than two hours straight.
“Not at all!” claims my plus-one Robin. “We were both pretty excited and on our feet the whole time.” We loved that they opened with the Buddy Holly tune “Not Fade Away” (the Stones’ first Top Ten single in America) and how Bobby Keys wailed on sax. Some songs came off better than others, and the theatrics — including what Ira Robbins, in The Los Angeles Times, called “enough opening and closing fireworks to incinerate a small town” — felt silly. But Jagger, at age 51, moved, well, like Jagger for more than two hours straight.
Now it’s 30 years on, and the Hackney Diamonds tour is being sponsored (how can it be?!) by AARP. Will I be attending? I considered it seriously, but they wouldn’t be hitting my closest arena and, frankly, after two decades of countless concerts, I simply wasn’t compelled to pay the price, endure the crowd, and travel to and from New Jersey.
Reasons Why I Just Can’t Quit This Band
That said, I was, am and always will be a devoted Stones fan — for the music and more. Here’s why:
Mick’s 2019 heart valve surgery might’ve led another aging idol to throw in the mic stand scarf, but look how he bounced back!
They start me up. Jagger, Richards, even the relative newcomers could all probably retire to an ancient castle or private island by now. Mick’s 2019 heart valve surgery might’ve led another aging idol to throw in the mic stand scarf, but look how he bounced back! That these lads are still at it must mean they enjoy it.
And I relate. I still write — because I want to. I want to communicate. I want to entertain. I want to express myself. It’s my art form, damn it! The Stones’ continued recording and touring are motivation, and they remind me that not every project has to be a masterpiece. Consider the lyrics for “Casino Boogie,” more patchwork quilt than poetry. “We just wrote phrases on bits of paper and cut them up,” Jagger told Uncut. “You throw them into a hat, pick them out and assemble them into verses.” So “million dollar sad” doesn’t mean anything…or does it?
They keep me going. There’s a Stones’ song — hell, a whole playlist — for just about every mood I’m in and activity on my agenda. With a whopping 31 studio albums since their eponymous debut, there are tons of tunes to choose from. Of course, I listen to other music but I’m decidedly partial to Mick’s distinctive moan, Keef and Woody’s casually stinging guitar interplay and the whole down-and-dirty thing they perpetuate. It’s only rock ‘n’ roll, but I like it!
Back in 1965, in the middle of the Civil Rights era, the Stones refused to perform unless Howlin’ Wolf shared the stage. Anyone with convictions can appreciate that.
They respect their roots. It’s only rock ‘n’ roll, but at their core, the Stones are a blues band, and they’re known for giving credit where credit is due. They’ve paid tribute to and performed with the greats that inspired them, Howlin’ Wolf, Muddy Waters, B.B. King, Buddy Guy, and John Lee Hooker among them. Back in 1965, the middle of the Civil Rights era, the Stones refused to appear on the ABC program Shindig! unless Howlin’ Wolf shared the stage. Anyone trying to stay true to her convictions can fully appreciate that.
They’re female-friendly. Say what you will about “Some Girls” and “Under My Thumb,” but to my mind, the Stones have long been woman-positive, from their early support of Tina Turner (who opened for them in the Sixties, when she was still with Ike, and as a solo artist in 1981) to their uplifting session with Lady Gaga (and Stevie Wonder) for Hackney Diamond’s “Sweet Sounds of Heaven.” The current tour features an eclectic lineup of ladies as opening acts: pop-punk quartet the Linda Lindas, hard rockers the Pretty Reckless (fronted by Taylor Momsen), reigning country queen Lainey Wilson, and indomitable soul goddess Bettye LaVette.
They take me back. When I was a kid, the Beatles were the great equalizer: Everyone loved the Beatles. Beyond that, the Grateful Dead were too laid back for me, disco felt too contrived, and prog rock went over my head. But the Stones? The Stones were as tough, sexy, and cool as I longed to be, to cloak the confused, vulnerable creature I actually was. When a boy broke my heart or my friends left me flat or my own attempts to accomplish something flopped, I had Sticky Fingers, Beggars Banquet, and Exile on Main Street. I had the Stones.
Yes, I grew up, found true love, made real friends and did some stuff I’m proud of, but I’m still not sure who I am and I still don’t quite feel what I know. Fortunately, I still have the Stones.
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