By all rights, Keith Richards should be dead several times over. After decades of abuse and outrageous behavior, Keith turns 78 tomorrow and shows no signs of slowing down.
All hail the da Vinci of Decadence.
Keith shrugs it off, “yeah, it’s just me and the roaches now.” But beneath the gnarled, wrinkled façade, there’s deep wisdom. Keith savors his life and lives by a simple creed:
After food, air & water, music is the next necessity of life
If you’re going to kick authority in the teeth, you might as well use two feet
Hey, it’s good to be here. It’s good to be anywhere. It’s a privilege just to wake up
Here’s my take. There’s a story in my book about a red-eye flight I shared with Keith. We were seated together by chance, and he was in the mood to talk. While everyone slept, we chatted all night – as Keith drained tiny bottles of vodka.
Keith admits that he’d drop everything for the chance to play music. “Anytime, anywhere. I don’t care about the money, Mick’s the business guy”. He’s not concerned about aging. “The idea of retiring is like killing yourself.” Keith feels an obligation to his fans. “When my songs are taken to heart, they’re a connection that runs through us.”
I couldn’t resist asking him about the rumors. Yes, Keith wrote the opening riff to Satisfaction in his sleep. No, he can’t read a lick of music. And yes, Keith snorted his father’s ashes after he was cremated. “I couldn’t resist grinding him up with a bit of blow.”
So, live it up Keith Richards. Wild horses couldn’t drag you away.
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