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'K' for Keith Richards? He wouldn't thank you
By Jim White
(Filed: 08/12/2003)
When I was contributing to the music magazine Q in its early days, the editor, in a satirical swipe at the growing pop establishment, would insist we referred to the more senior of our rock citizens by laughably obtuse titles.
There was Count Ozzy of Osbourne (recognised for dedicated services to the brewing industry), Sir Sting (elevated for charitable work preserving dinner plates in the lower lips of rainforest dwellers) and Lord Phil Collins of Drumkit.
No title was deemed sufficient in scope for David Bowie, and Ringo Starr was belatedly granted a gong for his work narrating Thomas the Tank Engine. Eric Clapton, meanwhile, needed no such elevation. He remained known simply as God.
Fifteen years on, as is so often the case, the habit turned out to be less humorous dig than clairvoyance. Cliff Richard, Elton John and Paul McCartney have all subsequently been knighted. Sting is so frequent a diner at the Prince of Wales's he has his own place setting (though he is rumoured to prefer to take along his own plate).
And this week, in a move the boldest of satirists would have been wary of suggesting back then, Mick Jagger is heading to the Palace for an appointment genuflecting in front of the Queen.
Arise, Sir Mick. Or, now that he has finally arrived at the end of a 40-year quest for total acceptance, will he ditch the surly diminutive and insist on being known as Sir Michael? We will discover on Friday. Initially, the Stone was due to roll in for his knighthood on Wednesday.
But Jonny Wilkinson is receiving an OBE that day, so Jagger, fearing an unseemly media ruck forming around the nation's new darling, asked for his appointment to be postponed. Some wholly uncharitable cynics suggested this was less to avoid the cameras than to ensure that attention is not diverted away from the street fighting man on to the drop-kicking boy.
And so the co-author of Sympathy for the Devil, Paint it Black and Brown Sugar (which, whatever else it may be about, is not a peon to the delights of demerara) finally gets his reward for what is termed "services to music".
Quite right, too, say those of us who have thrilled to the Stones' career. Jagger has been partly responsible for delivering far more to the Exchequer and the balance of payments than any of the Whitehall mandarins lining up alongside him on Friday, waiting to be knighted for services to time-serving.
But it is the "partly" bit of that previous sentence that casts a cloud over Friday's investiture. If Jagger is to be honoured, what about the man equally responsible for the Stones' canon, Keith Richards?
What about the geezer with the crumpled nail bag of a face, his hair decorated with feathers, bones and other objets trouv�s, giving it the appearance of a Chapman brothers Turner Prize entry? What about the only 60-year-old in the country who can wear a bandana and a fedora simultaneously without looking remotely ridiculous? It is about time someone launched a campaign to lobby for a K for Keef.
As Jagger's humiliating attempts to forge a solo career (the last album shifted marginally fewer copies than Iain Duncan Smith sold of his novel), Mick is nothing without Keith.
From their partnership emerged the greatest rock band in history. Like Gilbert and Sullivan (both knighted), like Rice and Lloyd Webber (one knighted, the other wreathed in ermine), the extraordinary chemistry that sprung up when they sat down together to write popular tunes cannot be quantified.
Besides, if the music industry is about performance, Keith has given us a performance all right: his entire life has been one. The drug busts, the dalliances with the wife of the Canadian prime minister, the drug busts, the other drug busts: he has done the lot. And when he shambles on to stage, guitar slung so low down his hips he is in danger of knee-capping himself every time he hits the high notes, that's when the Rolling Stones are complete.
Sure, Jagger can prance and pout. But much of the joy of seeing the old timers perform in their latter days has been the frisson of expectation that runs through the audience every time Keith appears, the collective wonder if he really is going to make it through the show.
Fans turn out in much the same frame of mind aficionados attend Formula One: of course they don't want to witness an accident, but the distinct possibility that Keith will keel over even as he pumps out the riff to Gimme Shelter makes a Stones concert a visceral experience.
Perhaps because of his past, these days, so we are told, Richards leads a blameless life. Round his way, hell remains defiantly subterranean. No movie premieres for him, he prefers to spend his time quietly in his Sussex estate, donating weighty sums to keep the local village hall from crumbling.
No palimony suits or pricey divorces, either: unlike Mick, Keith believes in treating the old lady with respect. Hard as it is to believe about a man around whom an urban myth once circulated about checking into a Swiss clinic once a year for a total blood transfusion, it appears he likes nothing better than to be tucked up in bed every night with a mug of Ovaltine.
Which is where the campaign to have him recognised reaches a somewhat tricky pass. Such is his desire for privacy, Keith would turn down any honour. Not in an ostentatious manner, like the journalist Yasmin Alibhai-Brown who returned her OBE when short of copy to fill her column.
But he'd discreetly let it be known that it wasn't his bag, man. That's the sort of thing Jagger does, takes the glory, struts and preens and lords it and forever embarrasses his mate with his futile fight against chronology. Meanwhile, Keef quietly gets on with it. Gets on with being the finest rock and roll institution in the land.
� Copyright of Telegraph Group Limited 2003. Terms & Conditions of reading.
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| glencar |
It wouldn't suit him. |
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| TheSavageYoungXyzzy |
"Discreetly let it be known?" Keith's shouted it from the rooftops and kicked Mick in the balls countless times for doing it!
-tSYX --- War, children... |
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| glencar |
LOL Good point! |
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| jb |
Keith is a ass!!! Mick carried him this tour and this is the thanks he gets...what a turd! |
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| tumblingdice01 |
The article's author should check his facts.
Keith never had a dalliance with the wife of the Canadian PM. Although the truth is not clearly known, it is clear that it was either Mick or Ronnie that had a tryst with Margaret Trudeau. NOT Keith. Keith was too busy with the police and lawyers. |
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| glencar |
I always thought it was Ronnie. |
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| Monkey Woman |
quote:
Sugar (which, whatever else it may be about, is not a peon to the delights of demerara)
Whatever it is about, it can't be a peon. That's spanish for peasant, if I remember correctly. The author obviously wanted to use the word "paean", which is an hymn or chant of praise, though it's pretty irrelevant in the context of rock 'n' roll and totally ridiculous when applied to Brown Sugar... 
Jim White and the Telegraph editor should not only check the facts but also the language! |
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| Doxa |
"Nice" to notice that somebody still buys Keith's image and myth. Hah, mr. Riff is as much an ego poser and hungry for recognition as mr. Lips. Sometimes even worse nowadays as far as movie premieres are concerned.
And shit, at least me, I never attend a Stones show to see Keef to collapse. I will surely not get any extra pervert thrill of being afraid of that!! A sick thought. The stupid and tasteless comparision to Formula just sucks.
Doxa |
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