Life

by Keith Richards

  That first night I got lots of phone calls from neurosurgeons around the world, from New York and LA, people who wanted to be involved. “Oh, just wanted to check. I’ve spoken to such and such a person, and you’ve got to be sure you do this and that and this and that.” And the next morning I said, look, Keith, I can’t cope with this. I’m being woken in the middle of the night by people trying to tell me how to do a job that I do every day. And he said, you talk to me first and you can tell everyone else to get fucked. Those were the actual words. And that took all the weight off me. It was easy then, because we could make the decisions together, and that’s exactly what we did. Each day we talked about how he was. And I made it very clear what the signs would be for when we’d have to operate.

  In some people with acute subdurals, the blood clot will dissolve over about ten days and you can remove it through little holes rather than a big window. And that was what we were trying to do, because he was well. We were trying to manage him conservatively or with the simplest operation. But the scan showed a decent-sized blood clot, with some shift in the midline of his brain on that first scan.

  I didn’t do anything, I just waited, and then Saturday night, after he’d been here a week, I went for dinner with him and he was just not looking good. The next morning he rang me, saying, I’ve got a headache. I said, we’ll arrange a scan on Monday. And by Monday morning he was much worse, very headachy, starting to slur his words, starting to have some weakness. And the repeat scan showed that the clot had got bigger again, and there was quite significantly more midline shift. So it was an easy decision, and he wouldn’t have survived if he hadn’t had it removed. He was really quite sick by the time he went to theater. I think we operated about six or seven o’clock that night, 8 May. And it was quite a big clot, about a centimeter and a half thick at least, maybe two. Like thick jelly. And we removed it. There was an artery that was bleeding. I just corked that artery, washed it up and put it back together. And then he woke up straight afterwards and said, “God, that’s better!” He quickly had relief of pressure and felt much better after surgery, immediately, on the operating table.

  In Milan, the first concert he did after the surgery, he was nervous and I was nervous. Language was what worried me most, both receptive and expressive language. Some people say the right temporal lobe plays more on musical ability, but it’s the dominant hemisphere of your brain, the eloquent part of your brain. The left side in a right-handed person. We were all worried. He might not remember how to do it, he could have a fit on stage. We were all very tense that night, everyone. Keith didn’t let on, but he came off the stage euphoric because he’d proved he could do it.

  They said you won’t be able to work for six months. I said six weeks. Within six weeks I was back on stage. It was what I needed to do. I was ready to go. Either you become a hypochondriac and listen to other people, or you make up your own mind. If I felt that I couldn’t make it, I’d be the first one to say so. They say, what do you know? You’re not a doctor. And I say, I’m telling you I’m all right.

  When Charlie Watts miraculously appeared back on the scene within a couple of months after his cancer treatment, looking more perfitz than ever, and sat down behind the drums and said, no, it really goes like this, it was like a huge sigh of relief across the room. Until I got to Milan and played that first gig, they were also holding their breath. I know that because they’re all friends of mine. They’re thinking, he might be all right, but can he still deliver? The audience were waving inflatable palm trees, bless their hearts. They’re wonderful, my crowd. A bit of a smirk and an in-joke. I fall out of a tree, they give me one.

  I was put on a drug called Dilantin, which thickens the blood, which is why I’ve not taken bump since, because cocaine thins the blood, aspirin too. Andrew told me about that in New Zealand. Whatever you do, no more bump, and I said OK. Actually, I’ve done so much bloody blow in my life, I don’t miss it an inch. I think it gave me up.

  By July, I was back on tour. In September, I played my debutante role as a cameo actor, playing Captain Teague in Pirates of the Caribbean 3—Johnny Depp’s father, as it were—a project that started off with Depp asking me if I minded his using me as a model for his original performance. All I taught him was how to walk around a corner when you’re drunk—never moving your back away from the wall. The rest was his. I never felt I had to act with Johnny. We were confident with each other, just looked each other straight in the eyes. In the first shot they gave me, two of these guys were having a conference around this huge table, all these candles, some guy says something, and I walk out of this doorway and shoot the motherfucker dead. That’s my opening. “The code is the law.” They made me feel very welcome. I had a great time. I got famous for being two-take Richards. And later that year Martin Scorsese shot a documentary based on two nights of the Stones at the Beacon Theatre in New York, which became the film Shine a Light. And we were rocking.

  I can rest on my laurels. I’ve stirred up enough crap in my time and I’ll live with it and see how somebody else deals with it. But then there’s that word “retiring.” I can’t retire until I croak. There’s carping about us being old men. The fact is, I’ve always said, if we were black and our name was Count Basie or Duke Ellington, everybody would be going, yeah yeah yeah. White rock and rollers apparently are not supposed to do this at our age. But I’m not here just to make records and money. I’m here to say something and to touch other people, sometimes in a cry of desperation: “Do you know this feeling?”

  In 2007, Doris began to sink from a long illness. Bert had died in 2002, but his memory was revived a few weeks before Doris died in a big press story generated by a journalist reporting that I’d claimed to have snorted some of my father’s ashes along with a line of bump. There were headlines, editorials, there were op-eds on cannibalism, there was some of the old flavor of Street of Shame indignation at the Stones. John Humphrys on prime-time radio was heard to ask, “Do you think Keith Richards has gone too far this time?” What did he mean this time? There were also articles saying this is a perfectly normal thing, it goes back to ancient times, the ingestion of your ancestor. So there were two schools of thought. Old pro that I am, I said it was taken out of context. No denying, no admitting. “The truth of the matter”—read my memo to Jane Rose when the story threatened to get out of hand—“is that after having Dad’s ashes in a black box for six years, because I really couldn’t bring myself to scatter him to the winds, I finally planted a sturdy English oak to spread him around. And as I took the lid off of the box, a fine spray of his ashes blew out onto the table. I couldn’t just brush him off, so I wiped my finger over it and snorted the residue. Ashes to ashes, father to son. He is now growing oak trees and would love me for it.”

  While Doris lay dying, the Dartford council was naming the streets in a new estate close to our old home in Spielman Road—Sympathy Street, Dandelion Row, Ruby Tuesday Drive. All that in a lifetime. The streets named for us only a few years after we were being shoved up against the wall. Maybe the council changed their minds again after Dad’s ashes. I haven’t checked. In the hospital, my mum was very cheeky with the doctors and everything, but getting weaker. And Angela said, we know what’s happening, the girl’s going, we all know that, it’s just a matter of what day, really. So Angela said, take up a guitar, play to her. Good idea, I hadn’t really thought about it. You get a bit confused when your mother’s dying. So our last night together, I took the guitar up there and I sat on the foot of her bed, and she’s lying there, and I said, “How you doing, Mother?” And she says, “This morphine’s not bad.” She asked me where I was staying. I said Claridge’s. She said, “We are going up in the world, aren’t we?” She was drifting in and out of this opiate state, and I played a few licks for her of “Malagueña” and the other stuff that she knew that I knew, that I’d played since I was a kid. She drifted off to sleep, and the next morning my assistant Sherry, who looked after my mother with love and devotion, went
to see her, like she did every morning, and she said, “Did you hear Keith playing for you last night?” And Doris said, “Yeah, it was a bit out of tune.” That’s my mother for you. But I have to defer to Doris. She had unerring pitch and a beautiful sense of music, which she got from her parents, from Emma and Gus, who first taught me “Malagueña.” It was Doris who gave me my first review. I remember her coming home from work. I was on the top of the stairs, playing “Malagueña.” She went through to the kitchen, did something with pots and pans. She began to hum along with me. Suddenly she came to the foot of the stairs. “Is that you? I thought it was the radio.” Two bars of “Malagueña” and you’re in.

  Acknowledgments

  My thanks to the following for their help with Life, then and now:

  Jerry Ivan Allison

  Shirley Arnold

  Gregorio Azar

  Neville Beckford

  Heather Beckwith

  Georgia Bergman

  Chris Blackwell

  Stanley Booth

  Tony Calder

  Jim Callaghan

  Lloyd Cameron

  Gretchen Parsons Carpenter

  Bill Carter

  Seymour Cassel

  Blondie Chaplin

  Barbara Charone

  Bill Chenail

  Marshall Chess

  Alan Clayton

  David Courts

  Steve Crotty

  Fran Curtis

  Sherry Daly

  David Dalton

  Pierre de Beauport

  Stash Klossowski de Rola

  Johnny Depp

  Jim Dickinson

  Deborah Dixon

  Bernard Doherty

  Charley Drayton

  Sly Dunbar

  Alan Dunn

  Loni Efron

  Jackie Ellis

  Jane Emanuel

  Ahmet Ertegun

  Marianne Faithfull

  Lisa Fischer

  Patricia Ford

  Bernard Fowler

  Rob Fraboni

  Christopher Gibbs

  Kelley Glasgow

  Robert Greenfield

  Patti Hansen

  Hugh Hart

  Richard Heller

  Barney Hoskyns

  Sandra Hull

  Eric Idle

  Dominic Jennings

  Brian Jobson

  Andy Johns

  Darryl Jones

  Steve Jordan

  Eve Simone Kakassy

  James Karnbach

  Vanessa Kehren

  Linda Keith

  Nick Kent

  Bobby Keys

  Chris Kimsey

  Tony King

  Hannah Lack

  Andrew Law

  Chuck Leavell

  Fran Lebowitz

  Richard Leher

  Annie Leibovitz

  Kay Levinson

  Michael Lindsay-Hogg

  Elsie Lindsey

  Prince Rupert Loewenstein

  Michael Lydon

  Roy Martin

  Paul McCartney

  Earl McGrath

  Mary Beth Medley

  Lorne Michaels

  Barry Mindel

  Haleema Mohamed

  Kari Ann Moller

  Kate Moss

  Marjorie Mould

  Laila Nabulsi

  David Navarrete

  Willie Nelson

  Ivan Neville

  Philip Norman

  Uschi Obermaier

  Andrew Oldham

  Anita Pallenberg

  Peter Parcher

  Beatrice Clarke Payton

  James Phelge

  Michael Pietsch

  Alexandra Richards

  Angela Richards

  Bill Richards

  Doris Richards

  Marlon Richards

  Theodora Richards

  Lisa Robinson

  Alan Rogan

  Jane Rose

  Peter Rudge

  Tony Russell

  Daniel Salemi

  Kevin Schroeder

  Gary Schultz

  Martin Scorsese

  Simon Sessler

  Robbie Shakespeare

  June Shelley

  Ernest Smatt

  Don Smith

  Joyce Smyth

  Ronnie Spector

  Maurice Spira

  Trevor Stephens

  Dick Taylor

  Winston Thomas

  Nick Tosches

  Betsy Uhrig

  Ed Victor

  Waddy Wachtel

  Tom Waits

  Joe Walsh

  Don Was

  Nigel Waymouth

  Dennis Wells

  Lil Wergilis

  Locksley Whitlock

  Vicki Wickham

  Warrin Williamson

  Peter Wolf

  Stephen Yarde

  Bill Zysblat

  Contents

  Front Cover Image

  Welcome

  Dedication

  Photo Insert

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Acknowledgments

  Photographs

  About the Authors

  Copyright

  About the Authors

  Keith Richards was born in London in 1943. A guitarist, vocalist, songwriter and cofounder of the Rolling Stones, he has also released solo albums with his band the X-Pensive Winos. He lives in Connecticut with his wife, Patti Hansen.

  James Fox was born in Washington, DC, in 1945 and has known Keith Richards since the early 1970s, when he was a journalist for the Sunday Times in London. His books include the international bestseller White Mischief. He lives in London with his wife and sons.

  * He recorded in his Little Black Book from a memo dated 6/28/72: “For your information, the following is a list of damage that resulted from the visit of the Rolling Stones: The White rug in the Red and Blue Room bathroom was burnt and needed to be replaced; the toilet seat was also burnt and had to be replaced; two bath mats and four towels were also burnt; Red Room chair and couch are stained, possibly to the point of needing reupholstering; Red Room bedspread is badly stained. We are hoping it will come out in cleaning.”

  * The boys’ adventure series written by Richmal Crompton.

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2010 Mindless Records, LLC

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Little, Brown and Company

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.

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  First eBook Edition: October 2010

  Little, Brown and Company is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The author is grateful for permission to quote lyrics from the following songs: “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction.” Written by Mick Jagger & Keith Richards. © 1965 Renewed, ABKCO Music, Inc. www.abkco.com. Used with permission. All rights reserved. “Get off of My Cloud.” Written by Mick Jagger & Keith Richards. © 1965 Renewed, ABKCO Music, Inc. www.abkco.com. Used with permission. All rights reserved. “Gimme Shelter.” Written by Mick Jagger & Keith Richards. © 1970 Renewed, ABKCO Music, Inc. www.abkco.com. Used with permission. All rights reserved. “Yesterday’s Papers.” Written by Mick Jagger & Keith Richards. © 1967 Renewed, ABKCO Music, Inc. www.abkco.com. Used with permission. All rights
reserved. “Salt of the Earth.” Written by Mick Jagger & Keith Richards. © 1969 Renewed, ABKCO Music, Inc. www.abkco.com. Used with permission. All rights reserved. “As Tears Go By.” Written by Mick Jagger, Keith Richards & Andrew Oldham. © 1964 ABKCO Music, Inc. Renewed U.S. © 1992 and all publication rights for U.S.A. and Canada—ABKCO Music, Inc. / Tro-Essex Music Inc. Used by permission. International © secured. “Can’t Be Seen.” Written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. Published by Promopub B.V. “Torn and Frayed.” Written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. Published by Colgems-EMI Music Inc. “Casino Boogie.” Written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. Published by Colgems-EMI Music Inc. “Happy.” Written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. Published by Colgems-EMI Music Inc. “Before They Make Me Run.” Written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. Published by Colgems-EMI Music Inc. “All About You.” Written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. Published by Colgems-EMI Music Inc. “Fight.” Written by Mick Jagger, Keith Richards and Ron Wood. Published by Promopub B.V. and Halfhis Music. “Had It with You.” Written by Mick Jagger, Keith Richards and Ron Wood. Published by Promopub B.V. and Halfhis Music. “Flip the Switch.” Written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. Published by Promopub B.V. “You Don’t Have to Mean It.” Written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. Published by Promopub B.V. “How Can I Stop.” Written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. Published by Promopub B.V. “Thief in the Night.” Written by Mick Jagger, Keith Richards and Pierre de Beauport. Published by Promopub B.V. and Pubpromo Music.

  ISBN: 978-0-316-12856-8