LEFTFIELD FM

A history of interesting rock & pop music with a lot of odd holes in its memory. Dragging itself slowly from 1967 to the present day.

[sternfleck]

A cosmic tribute to my current favourite comment in YouTube history

[0ddoblivion]

Decided to paint outside in a storm to see what would happen.

[0ddoblivion]

I gave her flowers so maybe she won’t haunt me.

[leftfield-fm]

Scott Ross says of that evening:

The first time I dropped pills was with Brian. I think I knew even then that one day he was going to kill himself with an overdose. He went at it in a crazy way, mixing ups and downs, red pills, yellow pills, pills with stripes on them. “You ought to try this,” Brian said, handing me a fistful of multi-coloured capsules. I don’t think even he knew what they were. Somebody had given them to him and Brian was the kind to try anything. …a party was going on, had been going on for four days. Brian popped four of the pills into his mouth. “Groovy,” he said. I took two of them and they were groovy all right! When we walked back into the party a little later, I felt like I was the tallest one in the room. “Let’s go over to my hotel,” Brian said. “I’ve got some of the good stuff, straight from Mexico.” I had never smoked marijuana, but the mood I was in, anything sounded good. As Brian’s chauffeur-driven Cadillac was heading crosstown, the street-lights began to look brown to me. I figured it was the pills. But then they went out altogether. The lights in the stores were out, too. I rolled down the window. Women were screaming. “Maybe the world is coming to an end,” Brian said. The traffic lights weren’t working and the limousine slowed to a crawl. Automobile headlights were the only illumination on the streets. At last, our driver weaved his way through the snarl to the hotel. I wouldn’t have believed it. In spite of the weird, blacked-out city, there was a group of teeny-boppers in front of the main entrance waiting for Brian to come back. “There he is!” they shouted. “Quick!” said Brian. He pushed me through the service door and waved to the man on duty. Obviously, the guy had been through this before, because he had the door locked behind us almost before we were through it. He handed us a candle and showed us how to get up to the lobby since the elevators weren’t working. The lobby, too, was candle-lit. We climbed a lot of flights to Brian’s suite. We were taking our coats off when there was a knock on the door. Brian took the candle and opened it. It was Bob Dylan with a bunch of people. “It’s an invasion from Mars,” said Bob. They all came in and we stood at Brian’s windows looking out over the dark city. It was wild, like Glasgow in the war. “Let’s turn on,” said Bob. “What better time? The little green men have landed.” Brian rolled me my first marijuana cigarette. Neither he nor Bob could believe that I had never smoked pot. By now, they were saying on the transistor radio that the blackout was probably nothing more than a massive power failure. But we knew better. It was the end of the world and we were going out on cloud nine.

That night, Brian took part in a jam session with Dylan, Robbie Robertson and Bobby Neuwirth in his room. They played acoustic guitars by candle-light, but there was no power to record the music: this session was always referred to later as “The Lost Jam.”

excerpt from Bill Wyman's memoir, Stone Alone

[leftfield-fm]

Everything in the Rolling Stones’ garden is very nice at present. But despite their heights of appeal, they haven’t got the staying power of the Beatles. Because of changes in taste in popular music, the Stones cannot hope for lasting popularity. The very nature of their music precludes drastic change… It is difficult to see or discover which direction they are travelling in. Where do they go from here?

Melody Maker, January 1966 - as quoted in Bill Wyman's memoir, Stone Alone

[leftfield-fm]

In Glasgow, more than seventy teenage girls were treated by ambulance attendants for hysteria and fainting. It was during these two shows that we met Joan Baez for the first time backstage. The missiles chucked by British fans were not always as harmless as the toilet rolls favoured by American audiences. At Stockton-on-Tees on 8 October [1965], a coin struck Mick over the right eye and he finished the performance dabbing at the cut. He appeared onstage next night at Leeds with a large piece of sticking-plaster and a big bruise. Most alarming of all, a fan carrying a double-barrelled shotgun tried to get into the Liverpool concert on 10 October. Twenty teenagers fainted, thirteen were treated for bruises, and eight were taken to hospital with wounds caused by stiletto heels; stampeding girls climbed over the orchestra pit, and the management lowered the curtain on the last number.

It was Keith’s turn to be hit when we reached Northampton on 16 October. During the opening song, a hail of sweets, cigarettes and other objects hit the stage and something caught Keith in the face. He spun round, staggered for a moment, crashed on an amplifier and slid down to the stage, face downwards and motionless. Mick, in mid-gesture, dropped the mike and ran to him. Brian waved for the curtains to be closed while I switched off the electrical equipment. The curtains closed to the odd shout of “fake” and a few boos, but mostly silence as the compère Ray Cameron told jokes. After a few minutes, Keith recovered, regained his nerve and we continued the show.

excerpt from Bill Wyman's memoir, Stone Alone

[leftfield-fm]

We escaped to Germany on 11 September [1965], where two excellent concerts in Münster marked our debut in what turned out to be a never-to-be-forgotten tour. At Essen, mounted police charged 2,000 yelling teenagers, who stood on seats, unbolted the tubular chairs to wave in the air and throw toilet rolls. A German policeman told the Daily Mail: “I have seen nothing like this since the old days of a Nazi or Communist rally.”

Hamburg, next night, was worse. During two great shows for a total audience of 14,000, there were riots outside by kids who hadn’t been able to get seats. Baton-wielding police on horses charged the fans. Between shows, we watched these riots from the dressing-room windows. Later, police announced that forty-seven had been arrested and thirty-seven injured in the street fighting. We could not believe the level of police brutality; backstage, too, the cops were wandering around armed to the teeth, trying to scrounge drinks from everyone. Keith took a half-filled whisky bottle, peed in it, shook it and passed it to the cops standing outside our dressing-room. They proceeded to pass it around to each other, taking swigs, toasting our health.

excerpt from Bill Wyman's memoir, Stone Alone

[leftfield-fm]

We flew to Dublin on 3 September with a film crew of three hired by Andrew to shoot a documentary on the Stones. The idea was partly to promote our next single on television. Many years before the video explosion, we felt there was something static about such programmes as Top of the Pops. There was always much talk of a major Stones movie, with a budget of £1,700,000 bandied about by Klein and Oldham, but this never happened. No doubt the Beatles’ 1964 success with A Hard Day’s Night enthused people. Our quickly made fifty-minute film, later entitled Charlie is My Darling, was mostly interviews with us and fans; shots of us travelling in limousines to and from theatres and hotels; footage of our concert showed us performing… and the film gathered dust.

We did two shows at the Dublin Adelphi that night.

Between concerts, we were relaxing in our dressing-room when we were suddenly disturbed by two boys who, having climbed three storeys outside the building, popped their hands through the open window and calmly asked us for autographs. We duly signed and they returned to the ground the same way.

The second show was riotous. As we finished playing “Satisfaction,” fierce fighting broke out between fans and theatre attendants, stopping the show. I was knocked to the floor against a piano, sustaining a badly sprained arm as screaming teenagers stormed the stage. Mick was lifted off his feet and pushed through a door at the side of the stage, his jacket torn to shreds. Andrew cracked his head as he fought to clear the kids from the stage and Brian wrestled with three teenagers. Keith and Brian ran out of a stage door into a waiting car and Charlie was turned over on his back with his drums on top of him. Mick, Charlie and I raced to join them as the dressing-room windows were shattered.

We were all shaken, but I was the worst affected with that arm; Andrew described it as one of the most frightening scenes he had seen at a “beat show” (the generic word “rock” had not yet arrived). My own vivid memory of the mêlée was one of the marauding young guys trying to imitate Mick at the microphone until police hauled him away.

excerpt from Bill Wyman's Stone Alone

[leftfield-fm]

The next episode in our continuing battle with authority brought us a mention in the House of Commons after a stipendiary magistrate in Glasgow had attacked us on 30 June. Dealing with a boy who admitted breaking a shop window near the Odeon Cinema during our concert there a fortnight earlier, Mr. James Langmuir told him: “I am surprised you go along and mix with the long-haired gentlemen called the Rolling Stones. What is the attraction for you? Complete morons like that. They wear their hair down to their shoulders, wear filthy clothes and act like clowns. You buy a ticket to see animals like that? You think if people come here with their banjos and hair down to their waist you can smash windows?”

Two days later in the House of Commons, Tom Driberg, the Labour MP for Barking, tabled a motion saying: “That this House deplores the action of a Glasgow magistrate, James Langmuir, in using his privileged position to make irrelevant, snobbish and insulting personal comment on the appearance and performance of the Rolling Stones, who are making a substantial contribution to public entertainment and the export drive.”

Andrew summed up our views on the magistrate’s attitude when he told the Daily Mirror: “I was staggered to hear of this man’s comments. Trouble is that he is a member of the dead generation that is just not with it.”

excerpt from Bill Wyman's memoir Stone Alone

[leftfield-fm]

It was at Clearwater, also, that Keith first played to Mick the tune that would become our biggest single hit internationally: “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction.” Keith originally conceived it as a folk song, probably a good filler track for our next album. Neither Mick nor Keith saw it as a potential single, and certainly not a hit. But Keith’s instinct must have told him it was worth some effort, because he kept working on it. [...]

Chicago always had our affection, though, since it was a blues city; we had fond memories of our recording sessions there a year earlier. On 10 May, we drove to Chess Studios for what became a nine-hour recording session, cutting several songs, including… the first version of “Satisfaction,” which wasn’t very good. “I didn’t think much of it,” Keith said. “We considered it a good B-side or maybe an LP track.” But Scott Ross heard a demo of the original track and said: “It had a harmonica track on it – Brian on harmonica. I bet Mick, Keith and Brian that it was going to be the biggest record the Stones had ever had, and that was before the fuzz-tone was put on. Mick disagreed with me, and the bet was for a pair of boots from Anello & Davide. And I did get them!”

Moving to Los Angeles on 11 May, we prepared for the next two days to immerse ourselves in recording at the RCA Studios in Hollywood. These became our most grueling but productive sessions; we recorded on 12 May from 10 a.m. until 2:15 the following morning. Attempting “Satisfaction” again, we found it suddenly went right with Keith using a fuzz-box and Charlie laying down a different tempo: the song just gelled. Keith and Mick were still not completely happy about it, though. After we listened to the master, we discussed whether it would be the next single, as Andrew and Dave Hassinger, our patient recording engineer, were so positive about it. We put it to the vote. Andrew, Dave, Stu, Brian, Charlie and I voted yes, while Mick and Keith voted no. The majority carried the day; it would be our next single. In later years, Mick always said that only Keith was doubtful about it. [...]

The premiere of the song which was now named “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” was on TV’s Shindig, produced in Los Angeles by the expatriate British pop guru Jack Good. Keith played a new Gibson Firebird on this show on 20 May; we had requested that blues artists Howlin’ Wolf (who had recorded “Little Red Rooster”) and Son House should be on the show with us. We were in hysterics when Jack Good persistently referred to him, in his “proper” English, as “Mr. Howlin’.” The backing group here consisted of Leon Russell, who later worked with me on my solo albums, James Burton, the guitar ace, and Delaney; Sonny & Cher and Jimmie Rodgers were also on the show. [...]

Our recording career continued to blossom. In America, our seventh single, “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction”*, was released on 5 June, backed by “The Under-Assistant West Coast Promotion Man” and it was released in a colour sleeve. “Satisfaction”’s lyrics consolidated our reputation in the States as “bad boys”...

* “Satisfaction,” which was Number One for four weeks in America, is one of only two songs – the other is “White Christmas” – to have been a hit in five different years, with charted cover versions by Otis Redding (1966), Aretha Franklin (1967), Bubblerock (a pseudonym for Jonathan King) (1974) and Devo (1976).

excerpt from Bill Wyman's memoir, Stone Alone

[leftfield-fm]

After that, and with the Brian incident fresh in our thoughts, it had to be business as usual: we faced 4,000 unruly fans at the Jack Russell Baseball Stadium, Clearwater. Before we appeared, rolls of toilet tissue and crumpled cups were being hurled at police; the show's compère and the police chief warned that our performance would be cancelled unless order was restored. This announcement brought loud jeers and an increase in the bombardment. But it turned out to be no idle threat. After only four songs, hordes of screaming teenagers rushed forward, taunting the ring of police stationed around the performers' platform rather than rushing at us. Police immediately ordered us to stop and return to our hotel. As our car drove off, scores of shouting fans chased it, some falling dangerously close to the moving vehicle. Condemning the riots, the police chief said that his men had been there "for the mutual protection of all, and were harassed and vilified." Both he and the director of the city recreation department said there would never be another rock show in Clearwater again.

The chopping of our concerts after only a few songs was getting tiresome. Usually, a minority of kids spoiled it for the thousands of genuine fans, but it seemed to us that the police always acted too hastily and were unable to maintain adequate security. We lamented these bum concerts: in the end, it reflected badly on us in the eyes of thousands of real Stones' fans who had ended up paying good money for a mere fifteen minutes of performance.

excerpt from Bill Wyman's memoir, Stone Alone

[leftfield-fm]

As fame and the pressure of life on the road hit us, Brian's behaviour became a liability.

At Clearwater, I slept late on 6 May, then joined the others at the poolside along with my girl. Then my girl's friend who had slept with Brian arrived, looking battered and bruised and said Brian had beaten her up. We were disgusted by this. Mike Dorsey promptly disappeared into the motel in search of Brian. When they met, blows were exchanged and Brian suffered two cracked ribs, to the satisfaction of everyone.

Within a couple of days, news of the punch-up had trickled out to the press. We concocted a story. I gave an interview to New Musical Express by phone, saying: "We had a gorgeous pool here in Clearwater and we were doing karate beside it. Brian fell heavily and the next day, a lump came up on his chest. The doctor told him he had cracked two ribs. He wears an elastic belt, which we call his 'corset.' He's recovering rapidly, I'm glad to say." Lies!

excerpt from Bill Wyman's memoir, Stone Alone

[leftfield-fm]

Later, we battled our way out again to attend a press reception and special dinner in honour of us and Tom Jones, arranged by London Records at the Playboy Club. Driving through Central Park, trying to get away from some people who were following, we encountered four or five men in a convertible who screamed things about "faggots." When we arrived, Brian yelled: "Let's get the colonists!" So Mick, Keith and Brian jumped into their convertible and started fighting with them. Charlie, Scott and I went into the club and they stayed outside and continued their fight. Francesca, whom I'd spent time with on the last visit here, had come by the hotel and vividly remembers Keith booting one of them in the mouth.

excerpt from Bill Wyman's memoir Stone Alone

[leftfield-fm]

The Rolling Stones are the soul of British beat music. I was driving along in my car, where I have a TV installed, and suddenly on my screen came the Stones singing my song, "Everybody Needs Somebody to Love." What a knockout!

Solomon Burke, as quoted in Bill Wyman's memoir, Stone Alone

[leftfield-fm]

...for the evening, we were driven to the Convention Hall, Philadelphia for an eight o'clock start to a famous Dick Clark package show. There was a huge bill, but we had been added because tickets were not selling too well. The cast featured Herman's Hermits, Little Anthony & the Imperials, Bobby Vee, Freddy Cannon, Reparata & the Delrons, Brenda Holloway, the Hondells, the Ikettes and others.

The problem here was that the promoter hadn't bothered to settle in advance who would headline the bill. A long hassle developed, resolved only when Andrew Oldham met Harvey Lisberg, manager of Herman's Hermits. They agreed that Herman would top the Dick Clark show, with the Stones following him after a forty-five minute break, making it appear like a totally different show. But Herman overran, and with a midnight curfew on the performances, it seemed that Herman was lengthening his show to make it difficult for us to go on at all. We moaned in the wings, finally going on to an ecstatic audience of 13,000, and Herman became rather jealous and moody. Later, he said that though he liked our show, we didn't appear to like his: "They never came over to say hallo to me, except Mick. You'd think that when you're 3,500 miles away from home and on the same show, they might at least say hallo." Mick told a reporter: "Herman's a great guy, but we don't really go for his music. I wish people would stop asking us what we think of Herman's Hermits. We don't think of them at all. We think their music is wet and watery and not very significant."

excerpt from Bill Wyman's memoir, Stone Alone

[leftfield-fm]

Next day we drove for two hours to Ottawa, checking into the Château Laurier Hotel where the 200 fans who greeted us were somewhat warmer than the manager, who declared: "The Rolling Stones would never have been booked here if we'd known ahead of time who they were. They were booked under individual names and we didn't know until too late."

At the concert at the YMCA Auditorium, thirty policemen were on stage throughout the show. They cut the power six times, spoiling the show for everyone. Promoter Harvey Glatt commented later: "All we needed between the stage and the audience was a ten-foot moat with alligators!"

Later at the hotel, a doorman required four stitches to close a cut above his eye after he was struck by a teenager trying to reach us. Canada was proving just as raucous as other countries.

excerpt from Bill Wyman's memoir, Stone Alone

[leftfield-fm]

The viciousness of the gendarmes in dealing with our mostly male audience at the Olympia was unbelievable: they shone flashlights throughout the show in fans' faces, and if one youngster excitedly stood up, they pounced and frog-marched him out of the theatre. The victim was helped on his unwilling journey by some stick-prodding and wrestling holds. France-Soir reported: "In order to avoid any kind of incident at the end of the concert, the police chief of the 9th Arrondissement had sent several dozen policemen orders. They were precise: 'Those who yell - you take away.' Two young boys were put into the Black Maria under these conditions."

excerpt from Bill Wyman's memoir, Stone Alone

[leftfield-fm]

...the incident that would irrevocably cast us as villains, the famous Garage Wall Event, started with a move by me on the night of 18 March 1965. ... It was... the final night of our tour with the Hollies, at Romford Odeon.

It was a perfect concert, a fitting end to a very strong tour. We were all in a great mood. At 11:10, with excellent police security, we rushed straight off stage, jumped into a car before the fans could leave the theatre and headed back to town. Twenty minutes later, I needed to use a toilet, so we pulled into the Francis Service Station in East London. I asked the attendant if I could use their toilet. He said, "There isn't a toilet." I replied: "This is a big garage, and there are service bays and showrooms, so there must be one." He said, "There isn't, so get off my forecourt."

Absolutely bursting to go, I returned to the car, where I explained what had happened. Mick took my hand and said, "Come on, Bill, we'll find you a toilet." Then Mick, myself, Joey Paige and Brian returned to the attendant and asked him once more if we could use the toilet. He started screaming at us, "Get off my forecourt! Get off my forecourt!"

Brian suddenly started dancing around, pulling a "Nanker" face and singing, "Get off my foreskin!" The attendant once more told us to leave. We walked across the forecourt into the adjoining side road, went about ten yards up this road and proceeded to pee against the wall. We returned through the forecourt, yelled a few insults at the attendant, got back in the car and continued our journey.

We considered the incident closed, but two days later, the Daily Express ran a story which surprised us. Mr. Eric Lavender, a customer who had been at the service station, said there was an "incident which led to him and a mechanic reporting two members of the pop group to the police. Mr. Charles Keely, on duty at the garage as night breakdown-mechanic, said it was about 11:30 PM on Thursday when the big black car pulled up and a long-haired type wearing dark glasses got out. After an incident, he told the people with the car to move off. 'Mr. Lavender told them their behaviour was disgusting,' he said, 'and they started shouting and screaming. They went back to the car and I took a note of the number." Mr. Lavender was quoted as saying that if the police did not prosecute, he would press for a private prosecution. Later, a Metropolitan Police spokesman, confirming that an incident was reported, added: 'It is believed members of the Rolling Stones were involved. Inquiries are in hand.'"

Three months later, the case reached East Ham Magistrates' Court, London. Fifty policemen were on duty outside, where a crowd of nearly 300 surrounded the gate leading to the court and waited behind a police cordon on the pavement across the road. Inside, the spectators' gallery was packed with about sixty teenage fans, three policemen standing either side of the gallery.

Mick, Brian and I were summoned for insulting behaviour. I was further charged with using obscene language. We were allowed to write down our addresses, to keep them secret from the fans. We denied using insulting behaviour by urinating against a wall and pleaded not guilty. Charlie and Keith, who had come for moral support, listened from the back of the court.

Prosecuting, Kenneth Richardson said: "If the magistrates were satisfied that disgusting behaviour had taken place, it was no great crime, but it was regrettable behaviour, and the three might themselves agree in time. They are well known to a certain section of the public, and it is wrong that they should show such disregard for the feelings and morals of others."

Magistrates' Chairman A.C. Morey asked Keely: "You have talked about long-haired monsters. Did that influence you in bringing the charge?" Keely: "The conception of long-haired monsters did not influence my decision to complain, although it might have started the ball rolling. It made me determined not to let them go to the staff toilet."

I told the court: "We finished two shows at the Romford Odeon at 10:45. We didn't have time to go to the dressing-room after the show because as soon as the curtain fell, we had to leave the stage and rush to the car to avoid fans." Brian, giving evidence, said: "We drank only Coca-Cola and tea. We were very happy because we had had a great night. I was not aggressive. We were laughing a lot because Mr. Keely's behaviour was so comical. We are rather more mature than that." Mick said: "I think we were top of the hit parade at the time and we were discussing our forthcoming American tour. We had every reason to be happy. I've never been in a bad enough mood to want to hit anyone. We have played in many places from Texas to Miami, to Helsinki* and this is the first time we have been in any trouble with the police." Keith also gave evidence and said he saw no incident at the service station.

* We hadn't played Helsinki or Miami yet!

Our defending counsel, Dale Parkinson, said: "This is a trivial case, and you are making a mountain out of a molehill."

We were all found guilty of using insulting behaviour whereby a breach of the peace may have occurred. We were each fined £5 and ordered to pay 15 guineas costs. We all gave notice to appeal. I was also found not guilty on the other charge of using obscene language.

The magistrates' chairman said: "Whether it is the Rolling Stones, Beatles, or anyone else, we will not tolerate conduct of this character. Because you have reached the exalted heights in your profession, it does not mean you have the right to act like this. On the contrary, you should set a standard of behaviour which should be a moral pattern for your large number of supporters. You have been found guilty of behaviour not becoming young gentlemen."

Brian said later: "We've always had a wild image. We built ourselves on that fact. Groups like the Hollies envy our image a little. The garage incident was grossly exaggerated. The kids in court were amused by an incident blown up out of all perspective. It may do us some harm, but I doubt it. There's always America."

Charlie said: "I kept out of trouble. I was asleep in the back of the car, man."

excerpt from Bill Wyman's memoir, Stone Alone