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| Monkey Woman |
Jean-Marie P�rier, a French photographer, followed the Stones in their '60s and '70s tours of America. This is an extract of his book 'Mes Ann�es 60' (My Sixties), scanned by Caro. The translation is mine.
"I remember a deafening noise in a 50 000 seats stadium. I am trying to find my way in the overheated crowd, holding the many sesames better known as passes. I reach the backstage door, besieged by a pack of enraged girls hoping to enter. They all know they have no chance but every one of them believes in miracles: of course, we are in America. The blue pass works and I am in the hall of the warm-up act, full of roadies and various musicians. Jaded by the endless excitement, they only talk by codes and quasi-military eye-contact. The green pass takes me to the hospitality room for friends of the Stones. Giant buffet and all kinds of drinks. The band is not far, but they are not "here". In this quite ugly corridor, the priviledged look at each other and laugh very loudly. Each one is trying to believe that these flying instants are nothing exceptionnal, but their eyes have a look of childish amazement at being mere meters of "where it's at". Two girls in crushed velvet, arrived yesterday from Denver, promise me I'll have the night of my life if I let them use my red pass, which give access to the room of the Stones themselves. They have the right to dream. In the next room, Keith is still barefoot and shirtless, as he emerged from his suite at the Hilton. This is how he crossed the tarmac at the airport, asking where he was, and then, without waiting for an answer, got on the band's private Boing under the Colorado sun, followed by his personnal physician, who clutches a magic bag full of various substances in case his client would feel down. Eyes lost in dream, Keith tunes his guitar once more, holding it against him as a girlfriend, the only one who understands him. The thousands of feet wich stamp impatiently remind him he will be on stage in an hour, he will know where he is then, and he smiles in anticipation. At the end of a corridor, there is a little door flanked by two bodyguards, who signify me with their thick fingers that I have to leave. I flourish the purple pass, which works wonders: the right-hand giant pushes the door ajar with a disgusted look, and I enter a little and quite dark room. The shouting of the audience is a little abated. On the wall, the stage clothes hang from a peg. Mick is seated, alone in front of a mirror in which he looks without emotion at the most beautiful mug of his generation. And as I ask him what's the matter, he answers: "Nothing, I'm bored, that's all."" |
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| caro |
Yay MW! that was fast!! Great job, thank you...
and here's the pic that goes with the story
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| Monkey Woman |
Amazing picture! We need it for the Superbowl thread!  |
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| caro |
LOL, I knew you'd like it!
BTW, here's a link to some more P�rier pics
www.photo12.com
(start search "perier rolling stones") |
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| Monkey Woman |
P�rier is one of the great Stones photographers. He took some of their famous pictures. The Stones on the Champs Elys�es, for instance:
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| Monkey Woman |
And *that* one!!! That must be the craziest pic of Mick around... 
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