I spent the last three weeks immersed in Keith Richards' autobiography "Life" when I wasn't immersed in Kirtan Camp, California dreaming, and landing back in the hot humid un-reality of Florida! It was one of those books I did not want to end and have been going back to it for days re-reading different parts of it that struck me the most. I actually had a piece of paper that I kept tearing in half over and over marking another page, then another and another. What a great heart. So honest, such simple straightforward eloquence and deep appreciation. Such a deep love and appreciation for music, for the people in his life- family, friends, acquaintances, fellow musicians- and for his memories of a very packed life.
I have to share some of this. "For many years I slept, on average, twice a week. This means that I have been conscious for at least three lifetimes." This book is so full that it is like reading about three lifetimes and pretty much every moment of it is captivating- at least it was for me.
When he was little his grandfather Gus would take him out on his wanderings. "His warmth, his affection surrounded me, his humor kept me doubled up for large portions of the day. It was hard to find much that was funny in those days in London. But there was always MUSIC!... You had no idea where you'd end up. Little shops around Angel and Islington, he'd just disappear into the back. 'Just stay here a minute, son. Hold the dog.' And then he'd come back saying, 'OK,' and we'd go on and end up in the West End in the workshops of the big music stores, like Ivor Mairants and the HMV. He knew all the makers, the repair guys there. He'd sit me up on a shelf. There'd be these vats of glue and instruments hung up and strung up , guys in long brown coats, gluing, and then there'd be somebody at the end testing instruments; there's be some music going on. And then there'd be these harried little men coming in from the orchestra pit, saying, 'Have you got my violin?' I'd just sit up there with a cup of tea and a biscuit and the vats of glue going blub blub blub like a mini Yellowstone Park, and I was just fascinated. I never got bored. Violins and guitars hung up on wires and going around on a conveyor belt, and all these guys fixing and making and refurbishing instruments. I see it back then as very alchemical, like Disney's The Sorcerer's Apprentice. I just fell in love with the instruments."
But my absolutely most favorite part of the whole book is one beautiful paragraph where he describes Roy Orbison. He's talking about when the Stones are in Dunedin, New Zealand, very early on in their career- 1965, and it's been an incredibly long day and it's wet and dark and they're all totally depressed. As he puts it, "Boredom is an illness to me, and I don't suffer from it, but that moment was the lowest ebb. 'I think I'll stand on my head and recycle the drugs.'" And then...
"But Roy Orbison! It was only because we were with Roy Orbison that we were there at all. He was definitely top of the bill that night. What a beacon in the southernmost gloom. The amazing Roy Orbison. He was one of those Texan guys who could sail through anything, including his whole tragic life. His kids die in a fire, his wife dies in a car crash, nothing in his life went right for the big O, but I can't think of a gentler gentleman, or a more stoic personality. That incredible talent for blowing himself up from five foot six to six foot nine, which he seemed to be able to do on stage. It was amazing to witness. He'd been in the sun, looking like a lobster, having a chat, smoke and a drink. 'Well, I'm on in five minutes.' We watch the opening number. And out walks this totally transformed thing that seems to have grown at least a foot with presence and command over the crowd. He was in his shorts just now; how did he do that? It's one of those astounding things about about working in the theater. Backstage you can be a bunch of bums. And 'Ladies and gentlemen' or 'I present to you,' and you're somebody else."
I have to share some of this. "For many years I slept, on average, twice a week. This means that I have been conscious for at least three lifetimes." This book is so full that it is like reading about three lifetimes and pretty much every moment of it is captivating- at least it was for me.
When he was little his grandfather Gus would take him out on his wanderings. "His warmth, his affection surrounded me, his humor kept me doubled up for large portions of the day. It was hard to find much that was funny in those days in London. But there was always MUSIC!... You had no idea where you'd end up. Little shops around Angel and Islington, he'd just disappear into the back. 'Just stay here a minute, son. Hold the dog.' And then he'd come back saying, 'OK,' and we'd go on and end up in the West End in the workshops of the big music stores, like Ivor Mairants and the HMV. He knew all the makers, the repair guys there. He'd sit me up on a shelf. There'd be these vats of glue and instruments hung up and strung up , guys in long brown coats, gluing, and then there'd be somebody at the end testing instruments; there's be some music going on. And then there'd be these harried little men coming in from the orchestra pit, saying, 'Have you got my violin?' I'd just sit up there with a cup of tea and a biscuit and the vats of glue going blub blub blub like a mini Yellowstone Park, and I was just fascinated. I never got bored. Violins and guitars hung up on wires and going around on a conveyor belt, and all these guys fixing and making and refurbishing instruments. I see it back then as very alchemical, like Disney's The Sorcerer's Apprentice. I just fell in love with the instruments."
But my absolutely most favorite part of the whole book is one beautiful paragraph where he describes Roy Orbison. He's talking about when the Stones are in Dunedin, New Zealand, very early on in their career- 1965, and it's been an incredibly long day and it's wet and dark and they're all totally depressed. As he puts it, "Boredom is an illness to me, and I don't suffer from it, but that moment was the lowest ebb. 'I think I'll stand on my head and recycle the drugs.'" And then...
"But Roy Orbison! It was only because we were with Roy Orbison that we were there at all. He was definitely top of the bill that night. What a beacon in the southernmost gloom. The amazing Roy Orbison. He was one of those Texan guys who could sail through anything, including his whole tragic life. His kids die in a fire, his wife dies in a car crash, nothing in his life went right for the big O, but I can't think of a gentler gentleman, or a more stoic personality. That incredible talent for blowing himself up from five foot six to six foot nine, which he seemed to be able to do on stage. It was amazing to witness. He'd been in the sun, looking like a lobster, having a chat, smoke and a drink. 'Well, I'm on in five minutes.' We watch the opening number. And out walks this totally transformed thing that seems to have grown at least a foot with presence and command over the crowd. He was in his shorts just now; how did he do that? It's one of those astounding things about about working in the theater. Backstage you can be a bunch of bums. And 'Ladies and gentlemen' or 'I present to you,' and you're somebody else."