The Glimmer Twins, circa 1989
La producción neta de los Rolling Stones en las últimas décadas no ha sido precisamente de la mejor calidad. Cada nuevo disco después de “Exile in Main Street” trae un par de chispazos de su glorioso y decadente esplendor. Nada más. A pesar de eso, la banda ha logrado navegar entre ese mar lleno de tiburones de su negocio. Giras multimillonarias, tiquetes agotados, buenas ventas de discos mediocres, documental de Scorsese. Dada la mezcla de personalidades dentro de la banda y los eventos que los han acompañado, su permanencia ha sido casi milagrosa. Igual ha sido su entrada al panteón de dioses venerados del rock. Muchos han sido echados de él por hacer menos.
La recién aparecida autobiografía de Keith Richards ayuda a aclarar cómo los Rolling Stones han sobrevivido a casi medio siglo de excesos. Especialmente para saber cómo ha sobrevivido Richards tanto tiempo, metido de lleno en ese ritmo mítico de rumba.
Dos artículos muy buenos sirven como introducciones al libro. Ambos son excelentes parodias. En The Guardian, John Crace escribe lo que sería un resumen del libro, tal como lo narraría Richards, mientras que en Slate Bill Wyman -un ‘tocayo’- escribe lo que sería la respuesta de Mick Jagger. Hace mucho no me reía tanto con artículos sobre música. Las muestras:
Keith
France. Mick was starting to fuck us all off. He got off on flattery. I got off on smack. And how. Exile was epic. Anita looked after Marlon. Yeah, I had a kid. Cool. Perfect accessory for stashing my drugs. I had discovered open tuning. So I played these chords. Mick would sing something in the basement. Bill and Charlie would be in the kitchen. Someone else would be twiddling knobs somewhere. Then someone would move a mike a quarter of an inch. Yawn.
Mick
It is said of me that I act above the rest of the band and prefer the company of society swells. Would you rather have had a conversation with Warren Beatty, Andy Warhol, and Ahmet Ertegun … or Keith, his drug mule Tony, and the other surly nonverbal members of his merry junkie entourage? Keith actually seems not to understand why I would want my dressing room as far away as possible from that of someone who travels with a loaded gun. And for heaven’s sake. No sooner did Keith kick heroin than Charlie took it up. In the book Keith blames me for not touring during the 1980s. I was quoted, unfortunately, saying words to the effect of “the Rolling Stones are a millstone around my neck.” This hurt Keith’s feelings. He thinks it was a canard flung from a fleeting position of advantage in my solo career, the failing of which he delights in. He’s not appreciating the cause and effect. Can you imagine going on tour with an alcoholic, a junkie, and a crackhead? Millstone wasn’t even the word. I spent much of the 1980s looking for a new career, and it didn’t work. If I had it to do over again I would only try harder.
…But let me ask you to imagine yourself, as I was, unimaginably, partnered with the writer of “Satisfaction,” “Paint It Black,” “19th Nervous Breakdown,” “Honky Tonk Woman,” etc. And then imagine that your partner, seemingly overnight, lost some essential part of his talents.
Not, as is commonly supposed, sometime perhaps in the 1980s, when the Rolling Stones’ decline in creativity was on obvious display, but earlier. A lot earlier. Like, say, 1972 at the latest.
Si el libro es la mitad de bueno vale la pena conseguirlo.
