50 Licks Read online

  Peter Thomas Fornatale:

  For my father and my daughter;

  it’s a damn shame you never got to meet.

  Bernard M. Corbett:

  To my Aunt Canu. The hand-me-downs

  (Aftermath, Between the Buttons,

  December’s Children) were a perfect fit.

  CONTENTS

  Introduction

  1. Start Me Up

  2. 2120 South Michigan Avenue

  3. Come On

  4. I Wanna Be Your Man

  5. Street Fighting Man

  6. Sing This All Together

  7. Rip This Joint

  8. (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction

  9. Get Off of My Cloud

  10. Paint It Black

  11. Little T & A

  12. Waiting on a Friend

  13. Let’s Spend Some Time Together

  14. Ruby Tuesday

  15. 2000 Light Years from Home

  16. Mother’s Little Helper

  17. Jigsaw Puzzle

  18. Rock and Roll Circus

  19. Let It Bleed

  20. Gimme Shelter

  21. Honky Tonk Women

  22. You Can’t Always Get What You Want

  23. Sympathy for the Devil

  24. Brown Sugar

  25. Like a Rolling Stone

  26. Sticky Fingers

  27. Wang Dang Doodle

  28. Tumbling Dice

  29. Let It Loose

  30. On with the Show

  31. Dancing with Mr. D

  32. Angie

  33. Time Waits for No One

  34. It’s Only Rock ’n’ Roll

  35. All Down the Line

  36. Around and Around

  37. Before They Make Me Run

  38. Some Girls

  39. Miss You

  40. Send It to Me

  41. Hang Fire

  42. Black Limousine

  43. Had It with You

  44. Not Fade Away

  45. Mixed Emotions

  46. In Another Land

  47. New Faces

  48. Don’t Stop

  49. Rough Justice

  50. Shine a Light

  Epilogue: Memory Motel

  Acknowledgments

  Cast of Characters

  Source Notes

  Footnotes

  Image Credits

  Also by Pete Fornatale

  About the Author

  About the Coauthors

  INTRODUCTION

  BACK in 1977, when Love You Live came out, the question on the table for Charlie Watts was, “Do you still see a real long future ahead for the Rolling Stones?” His answer was as prescient as it gets:

  CHARLIE WATTS: It’s really funny because I just said to some guy, and he must be about twenty-four, and he said, “You’ve been going a long time.” And I said, “Yeah, but you know Duke Ellington had a band with the same personnel virtually for fifty years.”

  And now it has come to this: somewhere near the end of the twenty-first century, some pop cultural music superstar will be asked how long they can keep doing what they’re doing, and the answer will be, “Hey, the Rolling Stones were a band with the same personnel virtually for fifty years!” Fifty years. Half a century.

  How ironic that rock ’n’ roll—whose imminent demise was predicted as early as the mid-1950s—has produced a band whose longevity has defied all odds and given it a stature unmatched by any of its peers, including its sometimes rival/sometimes doppelganger—the Beatles.

  The first record I ever played on my debut program at WNEW-FM in July of 1969 was a Stones tune, “Sing This All Together,” from Their Satanic Majesties Request. I wanted something upbeat and memorable that made the case for the role progressive FM radio was playing in people’s lives at the end of the ’60s. Who better than the Rolling Stones?

  Fifty years ago, in the early days of the British Invasion, the Stones played devil’s advocate to the sainted Beatles. Their brand of rock ’n’ roll was always a bit blacker, a bit bluer than the Fab Four’s, and had more of a jagged (Jaggered?) edge to it.

  50 Licks will be a raucous, rollicking celebration of the rock ’n’ roll roller-coaster ride that is the Rolling Stones. We will take you on a thrilling journey Through the Past, Darkly, with all of the highest highs and lowest lows, all of the hairpin turns and screeching Steel Wheels befitting the still aptly described “Greatest Rock ’n’ Roll Band in the World.” We’ll look Between all the Buttons, put the Ya-Ya’s under a microscope, and, finally, place the Aftermath in historical perspective. Consider this observation by a certain Academy Award–winning director:

  MARTIN SCORSESE: For me, their music is part of my life, particularly during the ’60s. I’d never seen the band perform until maybe the early ’70s. I experienced this music by seeing it in my head, by listening to the records . . . the chords, the vocals, the entire feel of their music inspired me greatly. It became a basis for most of the work I’ve done in my movies, going from Mean Streets on through Raging Bull, all the way up through Casino to The Departed.

  Mick and Keith were born in 1943; Charlie in 1941; and Ron, a mere pup, in 1947. So far the band has always managed to overcome any and all obstacles placed in its path, and come back bigger and stronger than ever. And there is always a ready and waiting audience for whatever it is the Stones choose to do. Amazingly, in this fickle world, they have held on to their fans from the early days, and just continue adding new ones.

  There are very good reasons for this. First and foremost, there is the music—a gutsy, guitar-based, blues-drenched raunch ’n’ roll that is uniquely their own. Then there is the legendary Mick Jagger persona—the pouting, prancing, posturing prototype for every young vocalist who dares to dream about becoming lead singer in a rock ’n’ roll band. Finally, they are almost more defiant on the precipice of old age than they were in middle age and as young adults, albeit in different ways. They do not bow to trends or hot new acts but instead turn out worthy albums and memorable performances that remind people of exactly what it was that made them fall in love with the group in the first place.

  The proof that the Stones still matter is everywhere. Contemporary artists mine their catalog for great gems to cover and record. Advertisers scramble to use memorable Stones classics to sell cars, financial services, and candy bars. And when it’s time to put up or shut up, the Stones routinely deliver. Mick Jagger’s first appearance at the Grammys was in 2011, and it was a command performance. Right there in the Land of Gaga and the Kingdom of Bieber, Mick the Magic Jagger stole the show singing his tribute to the late Solomon Burke—“Everybody Needs Somebody to Love.”

  We began this prologue with Charlie Watts’s observation in 1977 about the potential longevity of the Rolling Stones. I wrote about it and made my own prediction in my 1986 book The Story of Rock ’n’ Roll: “(Charlie) once marveled in an interview at the continuing vitality and energy of musicians from the big band era who still make relevant and vibrant music well into their sixties and seventies, often with their original bandmates. I’m betting the Stones will do likewise.”

  And as this book will attest, the Stones keep rolling on.

  CHAPTER 1

  START ME UP

  EVERY GREAT STORY has to start somewhere. So where does this great story start?

  July 12, 1962, was the first time that an entity publicly described as “Mick Jagger and the Rolling Stones” took the stage. It happened at the fabled Marquee Club in London, opening for the late, great Long John Baldry (known for a tune that went, “Don’t try to lay no ‘boo-jee woo-jee’ on the king of rock ’n’ roll!”).

  Wait a minute. “Mick Jagger and the Rolling Stones”? In the early days, the Rolling Stones were very much Brian Jones’s band.

 
DICK TAYLOR: Brian Jones pulled Mick and Keith and then myself into the band. We were definitely Stones at that point. All the elements were there, apart from Bill Wyman, because at various rehearsals Charlie played.

  Brian’s head must have exploded when he saw that billing, but it is explainable.

  BILL WYMAN: Brian was the leader of the Rolling Stones for a year and a half. He formed the Rolling Stones.

  CHARLIE WATTS: He worked very hard, Brian.

  BILL WYMAN: He organized the whole thing when nobody would accept us, nobody would book us in clubs, nobody. He used to write letters to the magazines and things.

  HOW LITTLE BOY BLUE AND THE BLUE BOYS BECAME THE ROLLIN’ STONES

  DICK TAYLOR: Mick and I first met when I was eleven. Myself and another guy, Robert Beckwith, were both into rock ’n’ roll and rhythm and blues. We met Mick and we had a mutual liking of such music. When we got to be about thirteen, we were all very much into that. Eventually, we started a little band where Mick sang and Robert and I played guitar, and a guy called Allen Etherington had a little drum kit. We had a little band that didn’t really have a name.

  Keith knew that I was doing this band and he was too shy to ask if he could come to rehearsal. Then, he met Mick again at Dartford station—they had known each other when they were very young. And one of them had a Chuck Berry record. They started talking and Keith came up to our next rehearsal. So we then had Keith, Mick, myself, occasionally Allen Etherington, and Robert Beckwith, and we were all playing together.

  One night we all piled in Mick’s father’s car to watch Alexis Korner and Blues Incorporated play the Muddy Waters–type stuff. We thought we could do at least as well as that. Prior to that, we recorded stuff and we needed a name so we just decided on Little Boy Blue and the Blue Boys.

  What happened next was we met up with Brian Jones. Mick went along to Brian’s band. Brian, at that time, had a guy called Brian Knight singing, Geoff Bradford on guitar, and Ian Stewart on piano. Mick dragged Keith along. Brian asked me about playing bass. We needed a name. Someone said, “How about Rollin’ Stones?” I think it was Brian. I can’t really swear who it was. I think it may well have been Brian.

  CHARLIE WATTS: I was in this very strange situation with the Rolling Stones because I used to play in a band that the Rolling Stones used to knock because they had all the gigs: Alexis Korner. We had somewhere to play. It was a bum jazz night, which was Thursday, a no-money night, and Alexis turned it into the biggest night of the week financially for the club, which was a big thing in London. And there was a helluva lot of animosity about it all. And Brian thought that the Rolling Stones were as good as Alexis’s band and he wanted the club owners to give his band a chance. Alexis got all these people together really. He gave you a stage to play on. I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about when I used to play with him. It was a really good band at one time, but you’re talking about real history now. That’s when Brian was really fighting.

  As Charlie points out above, actual Thursday night residency at the Marquee belonged to Alexis Korner’s Blues Incorporated, but on this particular July Thursday the group was booked for a very high-profile appearance on the BBC Jazz Club broadcast. So Baldry was bumped up to headline at the club, and an opportunity was thus created for this shiny new ensemble revolving around Brian Jones, Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Ian Stewart, Dick Taylor, and Tony Chapman. But still, shouldn’t it have been “Brian Jones and the Rolling Stones”? Or rather “Elmo Lewis and the Rolling Stones,” since Jones was still using his pseudonym at the time?

  THE GREAT DRUMMER MYSTERY

  We can pinpoint five of the musicians who took the stage at the Marquee Club on July 12, 1962:

  Mick Jagger—vocals, harmonica

  Elmo Lewis, aka Brian Jones—guitar

  Keith Richards—guitar

  Ian Stewart—piano

  Dick Taylor—bass

  There was a sixth musician on that stage, sitting right behind the drum kit. Before we get to who it was, a little background:

  ALAN CLAYSON: A drummer was a very prized commodity in early ’60s beat groups in Britain. Partly because the amount of money you had to spend on a drum kit was considerable. And often, drummers were taken on regardless of their skills simply because of their ownership of the right equipment.

  Who drummed for the Stones in the early days?

  ALAN CLAYSON: The Stones had a very movable feast of drummers. Tony Chapman was a traveling salesman and often absent. Carlo Little was straight out of the army and playing with Screaming Lord Sutch and the Savages.1 Carlo tended to be a Rollin’ Stone when his commitment to Lord Sutch was not pending. Mick Avory, a rising sap of puberty, came from South London, looking for an opening in a pop group. The drummer the Stones most wanted to recruit was Charlie Watts. He was very reluctant to commit to being anything more than a semi-professional musician. He was a draftsman and he thought the late nights would affect the steadiness of his hand.

  As for our mystery man, even though Keith Richards (and an ad from that week’s Jazz News) claim it was Mick Avory, later of the Kinks, in doing our research, we received word from Mick Avory himself that it wasn’t him. Both Dick Taylor and Alan Clayson told us it was possibly Charlie Watts—surmising that he might have been excluded from the Alex Korner BBC session. But Charlie himself has confirmed that he was at the Beeb that night. Here’s how we handicap this particular horse race: 90 percent it was Tony Chapman; 10 percent it was none of the above.

  Since earlier in the year, Mick had been a regular vocalist with Korner’s ensemble band. But the BBC budget only allowed for a total of six musicians, and Mick was the odd man out for Jazz Club and didn’t make the trip. Since his name was already known to the Marquee Club regulars, it was slapped onto the blurb about the gig. It signaled some sense of Thursday night continuity: in Korner’s absence, the club would be serving up business as usual. Needless to say, it was anything but “business as usual.”

  So how does a band get from one good gig to the biggest stages in the world—for half a century? Well, it’s a process of mix and match, trial and error, charisma and chemistry. Let’s not forget addition and subtraction. For instance, subtract Chapman and Taylor; add Charlie Watts and Bill Wyman.

  DICK TAYLOR: There were various little things which nudged me towards not continuing. Basically, the bass thing was one of them, because I felt I always wanted to play guitar. I think if I had been the guitarist in the Stones . . . But I must say, there was no personality clashes or anything like that. We all got on very well. That’s one of the things that I think everybody should know, that while I know that they had their problems later between Brian and Keith, in that time everybody got on very, very well.

  The early days were not easy. Keith Richards tells a story about collecting cans for their deposits so he could buy guitar strings.

  BILL WYMAN: Those first six or nine months it was really hard to get gigs.

  CHARLIE WATTS: Then you joined, then I joined and we had nothing, man.

  Brian, Mick, and Keith lived together in a flat in Edith Grove (along with another roommate, James Phelge, who would go on to provide half of the Stones’ nom de plume in the early days, Nanker Phelge). The place was a notorious dump.

  DICK TAYLOR: I couldn’t believe it. I’d been to a few places that were a bit squalid. I think Edith Grove really took the biscuit.

  BILL WYMAN: Nobody would book us, they were all into traditional jazz. And some blues groups. Brian used to write to the BBC to ask for auditions. And we went down for an audition, to play, and afterwards they rejected us. They said the band is OK, we could use them for American musicians that come over, blues musicians, but the singer’s no good, he sounds too colored. That was the reason they rejected us. And Brian would write to the music papers letters saying what he thought blues was, and he was in a band that played a Chicago form of blues, and he would really get involved in all that when everybody else was almost giving up. And nobody had any money. The
band was almost breaking up at different points. There were people coming and going, different musicians.

  CHARLIE WATTS: I was out of work at the time. Because me and him are the only two people who actually had jobs. And I was out of work and I used to hang around with Brian and Keith, and their days used to be mad. They’d just sit around all day, actually they’d sleep all day, and sit around all night listening to Jimmy Reed, the same record. I can remember listening to these records. And I’d never heard of Jimmy Reed at that time. Well, I had but it was very new to me. They showed me how good those people were.

  A picture of the Stones circa 1963, note Ian Stewart on the upper right.

  BILL WYMAN: I used to borrow records, learn them by heart, and sell them for breakfast.

  The hard work and blues obsession eventually started to pay off as the new lineup, including Charlie and Bill, started to build a following.

  JOHN MAYALL: I heard them first on a Sunday afternoon at a club where they had a residency. It was very professional. They had a really good repertoire. They were a really exciting band and they had it all together. The thing that struck me was the reaction of the audience. They were really getting off on it and everybody knew there was something happening.

  Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves, though. On this first night of going out publicly in front of approximately 150 people, most of whom could be described as middle class bohemian blues purists, stick to the basics. Build on the shoulders of the masters who got you here in the first place. No one expects any original compositions from a fledgling entry on the R&B circuit. No one wants attempts by someone with future songwriting potential to slow down another blues-drenched Thursday. In fact, quite the contrary. They want tried-and-true classics to propel them into the last workday of the week, so they can pick up their paychecks and make their plans to party for the entire weekend ahead. That means selecting a repertoire that leans heavily on those acknowledged masters, and covering the hell out of them for your entire time on stage.