Book review: Keith Richards' 'Life'
Ever wondered what’s the longest Keith Richards had stayed up while pursuing a song, drugs, kicks, the next misadventure?
Nine days, it turns out.
“I have been conscious for at least three lifetimes,” Richards writes in his fast-paced, pull-no-punches autobiography, “Life” (Little Brown), estimating that he sleeps on average twice a week. The Rolling Stones guitarist has built a well-deserved reputation for indestructibility in those three lifetimes, surviving drug addiction, legal shakedowns, life-threatening accidents, a parade of unsavory companions and unstable lovers, and his own reckless nature. Along the way he cowrote some of the greatest songs in rock history and created an archetype of cool that seems only to expand with the years. In a culture awash with impermanence, the guitarist with the skull ring and the half-cocked smile endures as a symbol of outlaw integrity.
Underpinning it all is a devotion to music, and an innate musicality as a guitarist, songwriter and band leader that make all the rest seem like a series of distractions. For what really matters about Richards is the sound of those records he created with the Stones at their best, and this book unpacks the secrets of that quest with a passion as searing as the guitar solo on “Sympathy for the Devil” or the ringing, distorted riff that ushers in “Gimme Shelter.”
Richards has always been a great interview, in part because he never seems to have an agenda beyond telling it like it is. His transparency stands in stark contrast to his partner in the Stones, Mick Jagger, the guarded, glib celebrity half of one of rock’s most enduring, if fractious couples.
That relationship is at the heart of “Life,” and it is a complex and often unsettling one. Richards is brutally frank about his own shortcomings, but nor does he spare Jagger. They move from close-knit blues fanatics to rock’s decadent Glimmer Twins to warring divorcees to alienated co-CEOs presiding over a multimillion-dollar corporation that lumbers into stadiums around the world every few years to play 30-year-old songs for fans paying as much as $500 a ticket.
The pair bonded in London during the early ‘60s on a mutual love of the hardest-edged of Chicago blues; they were part of a small but soon-to-be powerful sect of callow British youth transformed by the sounds of the first generation of Southern blues men who migrated North in search of jobs after World War II. For them, these artists were deities whose every musical note demanded their absolute attention.
“You were supposed to spend every waking hour studying Jimmy Reed, Muddy Waters, Little Walter, Howlin’ Wolf, Robert Johnson,” Richards writes. “That was your gig. Every other moment taken away from it was a sin.”
Jagger, Richards and Brian Jones were roommates who played blues covers with a certain attitude, a spirit that set them apart from their more academic counterparts on the nascent British blues scene. When Jagger-Richards became a songwriting team, Jones was marginalized and eventually ousted from his leadership position. Three weeks after departing the band, he was found dead in his swimming pool. Even more than 40 years after Jones’ death, Richards refuses to indulge in any false sentimentality or regretfulness.
He is equally unsparing of former lovers, wives, advisers, bandmates. The tone may be cruel, but it also comes across as unfailingly honest. Not for nothing does Richards insist that he still carries a knife.
He sounds disingenuous only when addressing the Stones’ infamously sexist (misogynist?) attitude toward women in songs such as “Stupid Girl,” “Under My Thumb,” “Stray Cat Blues,” “Some Girls” and countless others: “Maybe we were winding them up. And maybe some of the songs opened up their hearts a little, or their minds, to the idea of we’re women, we’re strong.”
Richards is at his best when digging into the reasons he plays music, and how he creates it. He remains an appreciator of bands, and the mechanics of how they interact, whether Muddy Waters’ quintet or James Brown’s Famous Flames. He would sit for hours listening to their records and dissecting how they worked, then applied these principles to the Stones. For Richards, it wasn’t about separating the guitars, bass and drums but allowing the sounds to bleed together to create one forceful entity. He saw silence as a vast canvas, and his mission was to leave spaces in the music for the distortion and drone to drift through like phantoms that haunt and resonate. The Stones, he insisted, must be minimalists. He began shaping sounds on a five-string open-tuned guitar, at last tapping into the vastness he heard on Elvis Presley’s “Heartbreak Hotel” or Jimmy Reed’s “Little Rain.”
He is frank about the group’s decline. His drug use caused him to check out through much of the ‘70s, a period when Jagger assumed dictatorial control over the band. When Richards got clean in the ‘80s, his rift with Jagger only widened, and by the ‘90s the two former mates who once wrote classic songs head to head in their manager’s kitchen now couldn’t even stand to be in the recording studio at the same time. Richards expresses his disappointment in Jagger, but his attitude toward his partner has never been a secret; in one interview with the Tribune in the ‘90s, Richards was so disgusted with his songwriting partner that he referred to Jagger only as “she.”
People grow apart, and Richards acknowledges that he’s at least partially to blame when friends and lovers drifted from his life. Only music never let him down, in part because “there is no ‘properly’ ” in how to play his beloved blues. Within that vast, lawless space, Keith Richards created his sound, which in turn shaped one of the greatest characters rock ‘n’ roll has ever known.
greg@gregkot.com
I'm about 50 pages in, and I'd say you've nailed it, Greg.
It's refreshing to read a celebrity autobiography in which the subject is as unsparing of himself as he is of the others in his life.
Posted by: Hieronymus Murphy | October 28, 2010 at 10:04 AM
All one has to do is read that first chapter to get a taste of the bizarre and astonishing adventures that have encompassed Keef’s life. Just that one short passage had me shaking my head. A late-night cruise with Hunter Thompson would, by comparison, almost have seemed like a quiet afternoon in nursery school.
Posted by: Chuck | October 28, 2010 at 12:34 PM
I was alive. I remember the events. So far I've read up to his teenage years. So far? Boring. Egotistical. Don't know how I'll feel at the end. But so far - I'm thinking the guy is a first class jerk!
Posted by: CapStormfield | November 01, 2010 at 01:43 AM
Brilliant book start to finish, i don't think hes egotistical at all as the above reviewer has written, he just does what he is known for: to 'tell it like it is'. 5/5
Posted by: adam | November 18, 2010 at 06:42 PM
I believe Keith's words, why not?
I just pray Anita recieved the 7 million dollar advance.
Posted by: Allison | November 27, 2010 at 08:23 PM
I learned so much from this book about how rock bands function as teams. I appreciated his brutal honesty (except, I agree, his evasiveness about the sexism accusations) mixed with his colorful language and outlook. Check out my post "Top 10 Management Secrets from Keith Richards" on hhtp://www.therockbandproject.com. It's amazing how many of the advice and examples he gives are actually right on!
Posted by: Ruth Blatt | December 01, 2010 at 11:22 AM
I was so keen to read this book after reading snippets in Rolling Stone. I'm not disappointed in any way: I have been able to re-evaluate the process by which the Stones came together and became who they are - lots of ammunition either way to make both argument and amends. I have always been cautious about using certain adjectives but, yes I love the Stones: they epitomise my youth and I cant wait to see them again next year, but this time with my mid 20s kids!
Maybe the last time? I dont know. You wont live forever Keef but the neither will I - God Bless.
Posted by: Andrew Dutton | December 09, 2010 at 05:19 PM
I just finished the book and I'm amazed at how ludicrous Keith is. For instance he complains that Mick is "always distancing himself from the band." Really Keith? I wonder why. I mean it can't have anything to do with the fact he's fronting a band of drunks, junkies, and crackheads who get busted every other night for illegal drugs. You carry a loaded weapon at all times with you and when there is a scheduled recording session for noon, you might get started by 1am the next morning. Not to mention you set fire to countless hotel rooms, homes, bathrooms, and brought along for the ride countless drug addict losers. So no, I can't understand how Mick would have the nerve to distance himself from that.
Posted by: Jonathan | January 07, 2011 at 08:33 PM
I can some up this book in one paragraph...
Heroin, pot, meth, Mick is a jerk, alcohol, acid, coke, smack, arrested, Mick is a bad friend, drunk, stoned, passed out, detox, addict, junkie, Mick is selfish, drugs, jack daniels, speed ball, junk, heroin, mick, heroin, mick, passed out...
Posted by: Jonathan | January 07, 2011 at 08:36 PM
I'm loving the book; and the man. The ultimate bad boy of rock, guitar player and artist with a profound taste for his own brand of truth and purity.
I'm living my rockstar dream vicriously through this moost excellent of tomes. Thanks Keith! Love and praises!
Posted by: T. Frayed | January 22, 2011 at 02:36 PM
"Life" A/V readalong here:
http://appendixa.net/tag/life-keith-richards/
Posted by: Appendix A | February 03, 2011 at 09:23 AM