This band was very fragile; no one was looking for this thing to fly. I mean, we’re anti-pop, we’re anti-ballroom, all we want to do is be the best blues band in London and show the fuckers what’s what because we know we can do it. And these weird little bunches of people would come in and support us. We didn’t even know where they came from or why, or how they found out where we were. We didn’t think we were ever going to do anything much except turn other people on to Muddy Waters and Bo Diddley and Jimmy Reed. We had no intention of being anything ourselves. The idea of making a record seemed to be totally out of the picture. Our job at that time was idealistic. We were unpaid promoters for Chicago blues. It was terribly shining shields and everything like that. And monastic, intense study, for me at least. Everything from when you woke up to when you went to sleep was dedicated to learning, listening and trying to find some money—a division of labor. The ideal thing was, right, we’ve got enough to live on, a few bob in case of emergencies, and on top of that, beautiful, these girls come round, three or four of them, Lee Mohamed and her mates, and clear up for us, cook for us and just hang about. What the hell they saw in us at that time, I don’t know.
We didn’t have any other interests in the world except how to keep the electricity going and how to nick a few things out of the supermarket for food. Women were really third on that list. Electricity, food and then, hey, you got lucky. We needed to work together, we needed to rehearse, we needed to listen to music, we needed to do what we wanted to do. It was a mania. Benedictines had nothing on us. Anybody that strayed from the nest to get laid, or try to get laid, was a traitor. You were supposed to spend all your waking hours studying Jimmy Reed, Muddy Waters, Little Walter, Howlin’ Wolf, Robert Johnson. That was your gig. Every other moment taken away from it was a sin. It was that kind of atmosphere, that kind of attitude that we lived with. The women around were really quite peripheral. The drive in the band was amazing among Mick, Brian and myself. It was incessant study. Not really in the academic sense of it, it was to get the feel of it. And then I think we realized, like any young guys, that blues are not learned in a monastery. You’ve got to go out there and get your heart broke and then come back and then you can sing the blues. Preferably several times. At that time, we were taking it on a purely musical level, forgetting that these guys were singing about shit. First you’ve got to get in the shit. And then you can maybe come back and sing it. I thought I loved my mother and I left her. She still did my laundry. And I got my heart broken, but not right away. My sights were still set on Lee Mohamed.
The venues in the diary are the Flamingo Club in Wardour Street, where Alexis Korner’s Blues Incorporated played; the Ealing Club, mentioned already; Richmond was the Crawdaddy Club in the Station Hotel, where we really took off; the Marquee was then in Oxford Street, where Cyril Davies’s R&B All-Stars performed after he’d broken away from Korner; the Red Lion was in Sutton, south London; and the Manor House was a pub in north London. The sums of money were the paltry earnings from playing our guts out, but they began to get better.
* * *
I don’t think the Stones would have actually coagulated without Ian Stewart pulling it together. He was the one that rented the first rehearsal rooms, told people to get there at a certain time; otherwise it was so nebulous. We didn’t know shit from Shinola. It was his vision, the band, and basically he picked who was going to be in it. Far more than anybody actually realizes, he was the spark and the energy and the organization that actually kept it together in its early days, because there wasn’t much money, but there was this idealistic hope that “we can bring the blues to England.” “We have been chosen!” All that dopey sort of stuff. And Stu had such incredible enthusiasm in that way. He’d stepped out—made a split with the people he’d played with. He took a leap in the dark there, really. It was against the grain. It alienated him from his cozy little club scene. Without Stu we’d have been lost. He’d been around the club scene a lot longer—we were just new kids on the block.
One of his first strategies was to wage guerrilla war against the trad jazzers. That was a big, bitter cultural shift. The traditional jazz bands, aka Dixieland bands, semi-beatniks, were doing very, very well. “Midnight in Moscow,” Acker Bilk, the whole goddamn lot of them. They flooded the market. Very good players, Chris Barber and all of those cats. They ran the scene. But they couldn’t understand that things were moving and that they should incorporate something else into their music. How could we dislodge the Dixieland mafia? There seemed to be no chinks in their armor. It was Stu’s idea that we play the interval at the Marquee, while Acker was having a beer. No money in it, but the interval was the thin end of the wedge. Stu figured out that strategy. He would just turn up and say, no money, but interval at the Marquee, or the Manor House. Suddenly the interval became more interesting than the main event. You put the interval band on, and they’re playing Jimmy Reed. Fifteen minutes. And it was really only a matter of months before that traditional-jazz monopoly faded away. There was bitter hatred of us. “I don’t like your music. Why don’t you play in ballrooms?” “You go! We’re staying.” But we had no idea that the ground was shifting at the time. We weren’t that arrogant. We were just happy to get a gig.
There is a parable on film of the changeover of power between jazz and rock and roll, in Jazz on a Summer’s Day—a hugely important film for aspiring rock musicians at the time, mostly because it featured Chuck Berry at the Newport Jazz Festival in 1958, playing “Sweet Little Sixteen.” The film had Jimmy Giuffre, Louis Armstrong, Thelonious Monk, but Mick and I went to see the man. That black coat. He was brought on stage—a very bold move by someone—with Jo Jones on drums, a jazz great. Jo Jones was, among others, Count Basie’s drummer. I think it was Chuck’s proudest moment, when he got up there. It’s not a particularly good version of “Sweet Little Sixteen,” but it was the attitude of the cats behind him, solid against the way he looked and the way he was moving. They were laughing at him. They were trying to fuck him up. Jo Jones was raising his drumstick after every few beats and grinning as if he were in play school. Chuck knew he was working against the odds. And he wasn’t really doing very well, when you listen to it, but he carried it. He had a band behind him that wanted to toss him, but he still carried the day. Jo Jones blew it, right there. Instead of a knife in the back, he could have given him the shit. But Chuck forced his way through.
A description of the early days of bookings and of my amazement and excitement that we were starting to be a working band comes in another letter to my aunt Patty, astonishing to find, which came to light while I was writing this book.
Wednesday 19th Dec. Keith Richards
6, Spielman Rd
Dartford
Dear Patty,
Thanks for birthday card. Arrived on the correct day 18th full marks.
Hope you are both keeping well and all that, chiz, chiz.
I’m having a ball here, I live in my friends flat in Chelsea most of the time and we are starting to make the music business quite profitable. The next big craze over here is for Rhythm & Blues and we are in demand. This week we have clinched a deal to play regularly at the Flamingo night club in Wardour Street starting next month. We were talking to an agent on Monday who reckons that we have a very commercial sound and if all goes well and he isn’t another twister we could be earning £60 to £70 a week shortly, also there is a record company starting to send us letters as regards a session in the next few months. Straight up the Hot Hundred.
Still, enough of my antics. Everyone here is back to recovery, except that my leprosy keeps coming back and Dad’s got Parkinsons disease and Mum’s down with the sleeping sickness.
Can’t think of much more so will sign off now have a luverly Xmas
Love from Keef X
This is the first sighting of my nickname “Keef” and shows it didn’t come originally from fans. I was known as “Cousin Beef” in my extended family, and that turned naturally to “Keef.”
&nbs
p; The short time covered by the diary ends at the exact moment when our future was assured—our getting a regular gig at the Crawdaddy Club in Richmond, from which everything sprinkled out. Fame in six weeks. To me, Charlie Watts was the secret essence of the whole thing. And that went back to Ian Stewart—“We have to have Charlie Watts”—and all the skulduggery that went down in order to get Charlie. We starved ourselves to pay for him! Literally. We went shoplifting to get Charlie Watts. We cut down on our rations, we wanted him so bad, man. And now we’re stuck with him!
At first we had neither Bill nor Charlie, though Bill is mentioned in the second diary entry:
January 1963
Wednesday 2
New bass-guitarist with Tony trying out. One of the best rehearsals ever. Bass guitar adds more power to sounds. Also secured with bass guitarist is one 100 gns Vox amplifier. Decided on programme for Marquee. Must be a knockout to secure a bigger spot.
Bill had amplifiers! Bill came fully equipped. He was a package deal. We used to play with this guy called Tony Chapman, who was merely a fill-in, and I don’t know if it was Stu or Tony, much to his own detriment, who said, “Oh, I’ve got this other player,” which was Bill. And Bill arrived with this amplifier, believe it or not, protected by Meccano, with the green stuff on the screws. A Vox AC30 amplifier, which was beyond our means to possess. Built by Jennings in Dartford. We used to worship it. We used to look at it and get on our knees. To have an amplifier was crucial. First off I just wanted to separate Bill from his amplifier. But that was before he started playing with Charlie.
Thursday 3
Marquee with Cyril
1 or 2½ hour sets £10–£12
Very good set. “Bo Diddley” received with very good applause. 612 people attended session. 1st set good warm up. 2nd set swung fabulously. Impressed some very big people. Received £2. Paul Pond:—“Knockout.”
Harold Pendleton asked to be introduced. [He was the owner of the Marquee! I tried to kill the guy twice, by swinging my guitar at his head. He hated rock and roll and was always sneering.]
Friday 4
Flamingo ad: “Original Chicago R&B sound starring the Rollin’ Stones.” [And we’d never been north of bloody Watford.]
Play Red Lion. Sutton. Pickup came unsoldered.
Red Lion:—Band played poorly, nevertheless a raving reception especially “Bo Diddley” & “Sweet Little 16.” Tony diabolical. Discussed presentation for “Flamingo.”
Good quote in MM. [Melody Maker]
Came up in the afternoon. Lost wallet 30 /- in it
Should be retrieved.
And a first hint of a recording, of any sort:
Saturday 5
Got wallet back,
Richmond
Cock up. My pickup clapped out completely. Brian played harp and I used his guitar. “Confessin’ the Blues” “Diddley-Daddy” & “Jerome” and “Bo Diddley” went well. Mad row with promoter over money. Refused to play there again. Discussed new demo disc. To be made this week with any luck. “Diddley-Daddy” looked good. With Cleo and friends as vocal group. Band earned £37 this week.
Thirty-seven pounds for five blokes!
Monday 7th
Flamingo
Must hone Stu, Tony & Gorgonzola.
My guitar returned in perfect working order. Flamingo on first thought not too hot. But Johnny Gunnell more than satisfied. Tony must go. That means Bill and Vox. “Confessin’ the Blues” went well. Lee came down. I’ve got my brand.
In which I seem to assume the mantle of musical director. Johnny Gunnell—it was the Gunnell brothers, Johnny and Ricky, who ran the Flamingo. And Bill and his Vox are secured. A historic day. That last line is from Muddy Waters: “I’ve got my brand on you.” I was definitely hot on Lee.
Tuesday 8
£30:10!!!
Ealing.
Band played quite well. “Bo Diddley” was an absolute knockout. If we can repeat this performance at the Marquee we’ll be laughing.
Start at Ealing on Saturday. “Look What You’ve Done” reasonable.
6 /- !!!! 50% up on last week.
Thursday 10
£12. Tony Meehan reckoned the band. [He was the drummer with the Shadows.]
Marquee. First set 8:30 or 9:00 musically very good but didn’t quite click. Second set 9:45–10:15 swung much better. Brian and I rather put off by lack of volume due to work to rule in power station. “Bo Diddley” tremendous applause, as usual. Lee and the girls came down. Approached Charlie for regular work.
Halfway through the set and suddenly the power went down. We were fucked! We were rocking! And then they put us to half power, due to an industrial action by the electricity workers. And we’re looking at one another, we’re looking at our amplifiers, we’re looking at the sky, the ceiling.
Friday 11
Bill agrees to stay on even if we chuck Tony.
Monday 14
Tony sacked!!
Flamingo
Surprise!!! Rick & Carlo played. Without a doubt the Rollin’ Stones were the most fantastic group operating in the country tonight. Rick & Carlo are 2 of the best. Audience was changed from last week which is the main thing. Money not quite so exciting. £8. Still, should rise steam now.
Rick and Carlo! Carlo Little was a butcher, a killing drummer, great energy. And Ricky Fenson on bass, a lovely player. They had bleached their hair blond for the gig. And who did they really work for? Screaming Lord effing Sutch. From time to time they’d sit in with us—that’s when Charlie still wasn’t with us, and it’s why he decided to join the band, because he heard we had this red-hot rhythm section. Ricky and Carlo, if they went into a solo, they would go into turbo max. The room would take off; they almost blew us off the stage they were so good. The two of them together. When Carlo set into that bass drum, this is what I’m talking about. This was rock and roll! As a kid, to play with these guys, who were only two or three years older than we were, but they had been at it a long time, was something. The first time they took me in there—“OK, it goes like this”—and I suddenly had this rhythm section behind me, whoa! That was the first time I got three feet off the ground and into the stratosphere. This was before I was working with Charlie and Bill or anything.
And from the earliest I always felt good on stage. You get nervous before you go up there before a lot of people, but to me the feeling was, let the tiger out the cage. Maybe that’s just another version of butterflies. It could be. But I’ve always felt very comfortable on stage, even if I screw up. It always felt like a dog, this is my turf, piss around it. While I’m here, nothing else can happen. All I can do is screw up. Otherwise, have a good time.
Next day is the first mention of Charlie playing with us:
Tuesday 15
All group money to be given up for at least 2 weeks to buy amp & mikes.
Ealing—Charlie
Maybe due to my cold but didn’t sound right to me, but then Mick & Brian & myself still groggy from chills and fever!!!
Charlie swings but hasn’t got right sound yet. Rectify that tomorrow!
Poor crowd. No money, chucking it. Have a day off. Rick & Carlo to play sat & mon.
So Charlie was coming in. We were going to try and figure out how to separate Bill from the amplifier and still end up winning. But at the same time, Bill and Charlie were starting to play together, and there was something happening here. Bill is an incredible bass player, there’s no doubt about it. I discovered it gradually. Everybody was learning. Nobody had any firm ideas of what they wanted to do and everybody came from a slightly different background. Charlie was a jazzman. Bill was from the Royal Air Force. At least he’d been abroad.
Charlie Watts has always been the bed that I lie on musically, and to see that note about how to “rectify” his sound seems extraordinary. But like Stu, Charlie had come to rhythm and blues because of its jazz connection. A few days later I write, Charlie swings very nicely but can’t rock. Fabulous guy though.… He had not got rock and roll
down at that time. I wanted him to hit it a little harder. He was still too jazz for me. We knew he was a great drummer, but in order to play with the Stones, Charlie went and studied Jimmy Reed and Earl Phillips, who was the drummer for Jimmy Reed, just to get the feel of it. That sparse, minimalized thing. And he’s always retained it. Charlie was the drummer we wanted, but first off, could we afford him, and second off, would he give up some of his jazz ways for us?
Tuesday 22
£0
Ealing—Charlie
Cock up No. 2. Only 2 people turned up by 8:50 so we went home. Nevertheless we did a couple of numbers one using maracas, tambourine and wailing guitar with Charlie doing a big jungle rhythm (which just shows he can do it). Stopped by cops on way to flat. Frisked. Moaning bastards. No more work until Sat.
The big jungle rhythm was the Bo Diddley lick—“Shave and a haircut, two bits” is what the beat’s called, and what it sounds like. “Bo Diddley, Bo Diddley, have you heard? / My pretty baby said she was a bird.”
Life Page 12