For those of you who haven't read it, Keith Richards' recent autobiography, Life, is a quintessential rock and roll book. A big reason for that is how raw the book is and how in-depth Richards was willing to go, sometimes at the risk of alienating a friend or bandmate.
Keith Richards moves like a shadow along a cobblestone West Village backstreet. It's a hot summer day in New York City and Keef is in earth tones -- a sandy brown bomber jacket, reddish brown headband, moccasins. For some strange reason, each passing year seems to make this quintessential English rock star look more and more like an American Indian -- a brave or a shaman, with his creased visage and prominent nose.
It’s hump time in Toronto. Mick Jagger, Keith Richards and company have rolled into town, ready to begin preparations for this year’s version of the Summer Stones. There are stage models to be examined, promotional campaigns to be mapped out, lighting schemes to be configured. Oh yeah -- and music to be played