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| Ten Thousand Motels |
The night I fell in love with Mick
by JANE FRYER, Daily Mail
22:23pm 13th July 2006
A sweltering Tuesday night in Milan’s San Siro stadium and I am involved in a bizarre, heated and highly unlikely argument with the very sweaty man in the next seat.
‘I love Mick Jagger,’ I declare, more than a little surprised at myself.
‘No, I love Mick Jagger,’ he replies.
‘Well, I love him most,’ a touch firmer.
‘No, I do. And I’ve been to loads of his concerts — you’re a Jagger virgin.’
‘But you’re a man. And you’re not even gay. That’s not fair.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Just look at him.’ So we both do.
And there he is, in silver lamé tail coat, black drainpipes, diamante belt and what look suspiciously like stacked trainers, leering and gurning as he prances about like a cockerel.
His huge, fleshy lips pucker and his arms windmill as he waggles his 62-year-old crotch (a crotch which has, admittedly, done some energetic work over the years — seven children by four beautiful women and countless leggy beauties in between).
Behind him, two old blokes in drag lurch about clutching guitars, smoking and gesticulating, while a white-haired man with a face made of alabaster plays the drums.
I have come here to witness the launch of the European leg of the Rolling Stones’ £120 million A Bigger Bang Tour, which arrives in the UK next month.
I have never seen the Stones perform before. Indeed, I’ve never felt the urge to.
At first blush, they’re a pretty tragic-sounding bunch, aren’t they? A national joke, some might say.
Why pay the best part of £100 a ticket to see four skinny, drug-ravaged old knackers with a combined age of about 3,218 perform songs they’ve been belting out for 44 years?
What’s the appeal of men who dye their hair, dress like teenagers, act like something out of Spinal Tap and are forever falling heavily and spectacularly off the wagon or injuring themselves in increasingly bizarre ways?
Just months ago, Keith Richards, 62, underwent brain surgery in New Zealand after falling out of a tree supposedly ‘picking coconuts’ on holiday in Fiji, and delaying the start of the European tour by more than six weeks.
Previously, he has electrocuted himself on stage, nearly severed his finger on a guitar string and, not so long ago, suffered three broken ribs and a punctured lung when he fell from a ladder when reaching for a book in the library(!) of his Connecticut mansion, again forcing the group to postpone £2million-a-night concerts.
So what is it about the Rolling Stones?
Forget the fact their concerts are sell-outs, they’re the richest group in rock music, have earned a staggering £1.3 billion in the past 16 years and, since last August alone, have performed live before more than four million fans.
Extraordinarily, and against my better judgment, the thing that makes them cool is that in the (very wrinkled) flesh, they still ooze charisma, charm and, yes, I’m ashamed to admit it, sex appeal.
On Monday, as they swaggered into the pre-concert Press conference, I found myself craning, staring and cheering like a star-struck groupie.
‘God, they’re cool,’ muttered the bearded man next to me as ‘Keef’, looking like an extra from Pirates Of The Caribbean (eye-liner, crazy hair and lashings of rather tired-looking bling), giggled and smirked like a naughty teenager with Ronnie Wood, 59.
The latter was fresh from yet another stint in the Priory after his annual tumble off the wagon. Last year, at his wife Jo’s birthday dinner, he ended up crawling around the restaurant on all fours, snapping at the ankles of fellow diners.
Then came Charlie Watts, recovered from throat cancer but still looking morgue-fresh in his immaculate pinstripes and crisp white shirt. And, finally, in strode Jagger, resplendent in violet blouse and eye-wateringly tight dove-grey satin suit, and sporting clean, fluffy, freshly-dyed hair.
In barely ten seconds I am utterly won over by this crumple-faced caricature of a sex god. And clearly, I am not alone.
‘Oh my God, just look at him,’ comes a stage whisper from a pretty Dutch reporter in front. ‘Oh Jesus! I’ve never seen anything like it…’
Safe to say, Jagger’s tailor can be in no doubt as to which side his famous client dresses (to the left, for any interested parties).
Together, the Stones are the very essence of Rock Gods — the genuine article in an industry stuffed with pale imitations.
They answer barely ten questions and say nothing of particular interest but everyone leaves on a high, grinning like idiots, clutching their free CD and chattering excitedly about that evening’s gig.
These days, their pre-concert preparation is reportedly less sex, drugs and booze and more soya milk, mineral water and a quick check that the backstage heart defibrillator is fully charged. But in true rock ’n’ roll fashion, they don’t stint on the 300-strong entourage.
Their hotel — Milan’s poshest — is swarming with clipboard-wielding PRs, fitness trainers, dieticians, stylists, masseurs, physiotherapists, a chef poached from the Four Seasons Hotel chain and tonnes of organic food.
And then, of course, there are the band’s own WAGs and daughters — this week including Ronnie’s wife Jo and daughter Leah, Mick’s 6ft 4in American stylist girlfriend L’Wren Scott and Keith’s wife Patti Hansen and daughters Theodora and Alexandra, who are all in attendance later that night as the concert gets under way.
Say what you like about the Stones, they still seem to like their work.
Fags hanging from mouths and shirts open to the waist, Keith and Ronnie are grinning like idiots as the crowd roar their appreciation. Even Charlie cracks the smallest smile. And, despite the 35-degree heat, Jagger is spinning, strutting and windmilling with gusto.
Before long, the sweat-drenched crowd are down to micro bikinis and shorts, jumping about like mad things and having the time of their lives as these oldies bash out more than two hours of thunderous rock.
Honky Tonk Women, You Can’t Always Get What You Want, (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction — the hits come one after the other, before tens of thousands of pounds of fireworks explode overhead for the finale.
So, for all their extraordinary dancing, pelvic thrusts and teenage gesticulations, are they too old, wrinkled and money-obsessed to be taken seriously?
Not a bit of it.
Because, somehow, and God only knows how, rather than a bunch of granddads indulging themselves to everyone’s excruciating embarrassment, the Stones remain a living, breathing (albeit wheezily) rock force, unrepentant and unapologetic.
After all, who cares about a few missed notes and a couple of wobbly riffs when you’re having such a good time?
Certainly not Brighton-based band The Kooks, who are due to play support to the Stones in Cardiff in August and who were alongside me on the courtesy bus back to the hotel.
Tired and emotional from over-excitement and plundering the complimentary VIP bar, frontman Luke Pritchard, 19, declared the Stones are still ‘the best ****ing thing in the ****ing world’, before making a grab for anything female nearby.
I wonder where he gets that from.
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| LadyJane |
Outstanding article.
Clearly we are the not the only people who "get it."
LJ. |
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| Gazza |
I love to read about converts to 'the cause'.....especially when theyre British journalists
"Behind him, two old blokes in drag lurch about clutching guitars, smoking and gesticulating, while a white-haired man with a face made of alabaster plays the drums. "
FUNNY!
[Edited by Gazza] |
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| PartyDoll MEG |
Very entertaining read!!!!  Finally someone who writes with some originality. Good find, Mr. Motels!! |
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| Ten Thousand Motels |
quote:
PartyDoll MEG wrote:
Very entertaining read!!!!
Well, it sure beats reading about Jacko chasing around leprechauns. |
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| Ten Thousand Motels |
quote:
Ten Thousand Motels wrote:
Tired and emotional from over-excitement and plundering the complimentary VIP bar, frontman Luke Pritchard, 19, declared the Stones are still ‘the best ****ing thing in the ****ing world’,
LOL. Smart kid. BTW never heard them, is his band any good??? With an attitude like that he'll do just fine. |
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| Martha |
I remember the night I fell in love with Mick and the rest of the band. It was my first Stones show we had (free) tix in the nosebleed seats and the minute the lights went down.....I was a gonner.
Fuck Yup!
GREAT article TTM!
Stones are STONES!
xxoo,
MM |
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| Joey |
quote:
PartyDoll MEG wrote:
Finally someone who writes with some originality.
Bless you PartyDoll
As you and myself well know , being a great writer is not easy and is DEFINITELY a heavy burden .
It is not easy being ..... us !
.....................
[Edited by Papa ]
[Edited by Joey] |
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| GotToRollMe |
Great read! Thanks, TTM! |
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| PartyDoll MEG |
quote:
Joey wrote:
Bless you PartyDoll
As you and myself well know , being a great writer is not easy and is DEFINITELY a heavy burden .
It is not easy being ..... us !
.....................
[Edited by Papa ]
[Edited by Joey]
No one...absolutely NO one can be YOU!!!
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| Joey |
quote:
PartyDoll MEG wrote:
No one...absolutely NO one can be YOU!!!
Come To Joeykins ........
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| Bruno |
Great article but somebody who went to Milan can tell what she meant with
"After all, who cares about a few missed notes and a couple of wobbly riffs"
Which riffs? |
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| MrPleasant |
Did somebody stick his/her head in Mick's ass? |
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