Drugs, women and song - as the rocker is published autobiography, Neil McCormick remembers wild nights with Keith Richards. My life has been devoted to avoid trouble, "Keith Richards once said," so it's pretty funny to see how many I have known. "
When he laughs, you can hear the crackling around the chest and throat. Five decades have made him the edge of the living embodiment of all the most extravagant myths of sex, drugs and rock n 'roll. He is the man Riff, the elegant world of wasted human being, survived the rock. Or so the story goes, endlessly recycled in rock magazines and unofficial biographies. "As for me, is all the Brothers Grimm fairy tales," according to the man himself.
Now Keith is telling his own story in his autobiography, Life (published by Little, Brown & Co October 26). It was written with James Fox, author of White Mischief, which Richards has been known since the 70's. According to Rolling Stone editor Will Dana management, "Keith is nothing new. It's funny, garrulous, profane and moving ... Out of the Chronicles of Bob Dylan is probably the best rock has been written memory . "
When the legendary life of debauchery, you might think Keith can not remember much. The truth is that he remembers everything, but not always in the right order. I met him a couple of times over the years, most memorable when he practically kidnapped me two days in Los Angeles in the early 90s, driving me around in his limo and talk with me till dawn. But the first time I interviewed a young journalist in the '80s, I was afraid it was a disaster. He had the wrong side of the bottle of Jack Daniels and all, but was confused, talking about a long, healthy prices, just a little 'common sense. But when I got home and listened to the tape, I started to put together jigsaw fashion. I knew I had a great interview, in bulk.
Keith shot from the world of publicity photos with the courage of someone who really has "been there and done it." In person, it is smaller, looser, paunchier, softer than you would expect. His face is a mass of lines and wrinkles. Sometimes, listening to him talk is like watching a drunk staggers into a hallway and down the vocal cadence, your change of address of the sentences. You are never sure whether to do so in the end without collapsing. In a way, yes.
When he laughs, you can hear the crackling around the chest and throat. Five decades have made him the edge of the living embodiment of all the most extravagant myths of sex, drugs and rock n 'roll. He is the man Riff, the elegant world of wasted human being, survived the rock. Or so the story goes, endlessly recycled in rock magazines and unofficial biographies. "As for me, is all the Brothers Grimm fairy tales," according to the man himself.
Now Keith is telling his own story in his autobiography, Life (published by Little, Brown & Co October 26). It was written with James Fox, author of White Mischief, which Richards has been known since the 70's. According to Rolling Stone editor Will Dana management, "Keith is nothing new. It's funny, garrulous, profane and moving ... Out of the Chronicles of Bob Dylan is probably the best rock has been written memory . "
When the legendary life of debauchery, you might think Keith can not remember much. The truth is that he remembers everything, but not always in the right order. I met him a couple of times over the years, most memorable when he practically kidnapped me two days in Los Angeles in the early 90s, driving me around in his limo and talk with me till dawn. But the first time I interviewed a young journalist in the '80s, I was afraid it was a disaster. He had the wrong side of the bottle of Jack Daniels and all, but was confused, talking about a long, healthy prices, just a little 'common sense. But when I got home and listened to the tape, I started to put together jigsaw fashion. I knew I had a great interview, in bulk.
Keith shot from the world of publicity photos with the courage of someone who really has "been there and done it." In person, it is smaller, looser, paunchier, softer than you would expect. His face is a mass of lines and wrinkles. Sometimes, listening to him talk is like watching a drunk staggers into a hallway and down the vocal cadence, your change of address of the sentences. You are never sure whether to do so in the end without collapsing. In a way, yes.
No comments:
Post a Comment