COPYRIGHT
an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
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First published by Elm Tree Books/Hamish Hamilton 1984
Paperback edition published by Penguin Books 1993 Updated edition by Sidgwick and Jackson published by Pan Macmillan 2001
This updated edition published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2012
FIRST EDITION
© Philip Norman 1984, 1993, 2001, 2012
A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
Philip Norman asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
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Source ISBN 9780007477067
Ebook Edition © September 2012 ISBN: 9780007477074 Version 2016-11-01
FOREWORD
I began researching The Stones in 1981, just after publication of my Beatles biography, Shout! I’d never been a particular admirer of the Rolling Stones, quite the opposite in fact, but chronicling the Beatles had shown me how closely the two bands’ histories were intertwined; so, having ‘done’ the Liverpudlians it seemed logical to move on to the Londoners.
As a journalist I’d interviewed the Stones only once, in 1965 when I was on a small evening paper in north-east England and they appeared at the ABC cinema in Stockton-on-Tees. It was the zenith of their British notoriety, just post-‘Satisfaction’; I expected surly Neanderthals but, even to a provincial nobody like me, they were perfectly nice. I talked to Mick Jagger sitting on a cold backstage staircase (he wore a white fisherman’s-knit sweater and swigged from a Pepsi-Cola bottle; such different days!), then to all five in their dressing-room.
Brian Jones was the friendliest, telling me in his quiet, educated voice about the constant hassles they faced between gigs in hotels and restaurants, not for any real bad behaviour – that didn’t come until later – but ‘just because we’re us’. When I requested an autograph for my sister, they all obliged, then former graphic designer Charlie Watts drew a decorative border around their signatures, adding ‘the Rolling Stones’ in case there should be any confusion.
In later years, as a roving correspondent for the Sunday Times Magazine, I’d written about rock, soul and blues legends from Johnny Cash, Bill Haley, the Everly Brothers, the Beach Boys and Fleetwood Mac to James Brown, Little Richard, Stevie Wonder, Diana Ross, Wilson Pickett, B. B. King and Sleepy John Estes – but never a word about the Stones. There seemed far too many experts on the subject already, turning out miles of copy about them, not least for the magazine named Rolling Stone in their honour.
However, just as I’d previously found with the Beatles, what at first looked like formidable competition soon melted away. The vast slush-pile of articles on the Stones had, by and large, swallowed their mythology whole. The books published about them to date were either partial, highly suspect memoirs by former friends (such as the drug-dealer ‘Spanish Tony’ Sanchez) or glossy pulp for the fans. There had never been a real biography of a band that shaped the Sixties as much as the Beatles did, perhaps even more, and who, to general amazement, were soon to celebrate 20 years together.
Fortuitously, just as I committed to the project, the Stones announced a 20th anniversary world tour, to kick off at the John F. Kennedy Stadium, Philadelphia, on September 25, 1981. With the Sunday Times (and now also Shout!) behind me, I was given accreditation to cover its American leg.
When one says one has been on tour with the Rolling Stones, people’s eyes tend to light up with visions of Bacchanalian orgies. Actually, it was one of the most arduous, frustrating and, often, humiliating experiences of my career. Unlike previous chroniclers such as Truman Capote and Terry Southern, I was not embedded with the tour: I had to make my own way to each venue, then apply for show-tickets and backstage access to the Stones’ American publicist, Paul Wasserman.