Been listening to some teenage favorites.
Principally, the Rolling Stones. “Moonlight Mile,” “Gimme Shelter” (that bonechilling vocal, after the guitar solo, by Merry Clayton), “Dead Flowers,” “Stupid Girl,” the live version of “Midnight Rambler” (so menacing).
The trouble with being a recording artist is that you’re just trying to make art, but so many of your listeners relate to you as a symbol of their memories. Weirdly, my memories of these late 60s recordings are of the dorm of a hippie school in the mid-1980s.
I loved Keith Richards and hated Mick Jagger. How strange, considering I went around singing the songs in my head without relating them directly to Mick. Just completely blanked him out as a creative force, which was absurd.
My room’s wall was covered with pictures of the 60s-70s Keith. So I guess becoming a heroin addict was a teenage ambition.