RIP, Charlie Watts. Despite your fame, we hardly knew you. Keith Richards, meanwhile, is engraved on our collective psyche and will outlive our children. This biography is entertaining and intelligent from start to finish. It’s jammed full of colorful stories and devoid of the self-serving preciousness that ruins so many rockers’ writings.
The music-related musings are golden (the impossibility of recreating the canned blast of the SATISFACTION guitar intro; the wet blankets draped over wall-facing speakers in order to produce a new sound). The personal memories are refreshingly self-deprecating (Keith’s legendary refusal to go on stage unless someone brought him a shepherd’s pie; his matter-of-fact prescription for avoiding a heroin overdose). Most of all, even though the Stones were an amazingly hard-working band, this memoir doesn’t labor in any way whatsoever. It’s crisp and honest-sounding and it captures his voice perfectly—one of the best rock memoirs on the market. Reviewed on Aug. 26, 2021