Keith Richards

Life

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Product Description

The long-awaited autobiography of the guitarist, songwriter, singer, and founding member of the Rolling Stones. Ladies and gentlemen: Keith Richards.With The Rolling Stones, Keith Richards created the songs that roused the world, and he lived the original rock and roll life.Now, at last, the man himself tells his story of life in the crossfire hurricane. Listening obsessively to Chuck Berry and Muddy Waters records, learning guitar and forming a band with Mick Jagger and Brian Jones. The Rolling Stones's first fame and the notorious drug busts that led to his enduring image as an outlaw folk hero. Creating immortal riffs like the ones in “Jumping Jack Flash” and “Honky Tonk Women.” His relationship with Anita Pallenberg and the death of Brian Jones. Tax exile in France, wildfire tours of the U.S., isolation and addiction. Falling in love with Patti Hansen. Estrangement from Jagger and subsequent reconciliation. Marriage, family, solo albums and Xpensive Winos, and the road that goes on forever.With his trademark disarming honesty, Keith Richard brings us the story of a life we have all longed to know more of, unfettered, fearless, and true.

About the Author

Keith Richards was born in London in 1943. A guitarist, vocalist, songwriter, and cofounder of the Rolling Stones, he has also released solo albums with his band, The X-Pensive Winos. He lives in Connecticut with his wife, Patti Hansen.James Fox was born in Washington, D.C., in 1945 and has known Keith Richards since the early 1970's when he was a journalist for the Sunday Times in London. His books include the international bestseller White Mischief. He lives in London with his wife and sons.
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732 printed pages
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Impressions

  • Anastasia Alekseenkoshared an impression5 years ago
    👍Worth reading

Quotes

  • UGLYPUPhas quoted10 years ago
    Being an only child forces you to in­vent your world. First you're liv­ing in a house with two adults, and so cer­tain bits of child­hood will go by with you lis­ten­ing al­most ex­clu­sively to adult con­ver­sa­tion.
  • allsafehas quoted4 years ago
    And on top of that it was around Dartford where German bombers would get cold feet and just drop their bombs and turn around. ‘Too heavy round here.’ BOOM. It’s a miracle we didn’t get it. The sound of a siren still makes the hair on the back of my neck curl, and that must be from being put in the shelter with Mum and the family. When the sound of that siren goes off, it’s automatic, an instinctive reaction. I watch many war movies and documentaries, so I hear it all the time, but it always does the trick.

    My earliest memories are the standard postwar memories in London. Landscapes of rubble, half a street’s disappeared. Some of it stayed like that for ten years. The main effect of the war on me was just that phrase, ‘Before the War.’ Because you’d hear grown-ups talking about it. ‘Oh, it wasn’t like this before the war.’ Otherwise I wasn’t particularly affected. I suppose no sugar, no sweets and candies, was a good thing, but I wasn’t happy about it. I’ve always had trouble scoring. Lower East Side or the sweet shop in East Wittering, near my home in West Sussex. That’s the closest I get nowadays to visiting the dealer – the old Candies sweet shop. I drove over there at 8:30 one morning not long ago with my mate Alan Clayton, singer of the Dirty Strangers. We’d been up all night and we’d got the sugar craving. We had to wait outside for half an hour until it opened. We bought Candy Twirls and Bull’s-Eyes and Licorice & Blackcurrant. We weren’t going to lower ourselves and score at the supermarket, were we?

    The fact that I couldn’t buy a bag of sweets until 1954 says a lot about the upheavals and changes that last for so many years after a war. The war had been over for nine years before I could actually, if I had the money, go and say, ‘I’ll have a bag of them ‘ – toffees and Aniseed Twists. Otherwise it was ‘You got your ration stamp book?’ The sound of those stamps stamping. Your ration was your ration. One little brown paper bag – a tiny one – a week.
  • allsafehas quoted4 years ago
    He was a dispatch rider in Normandy just after the invasion, and got blown up in a mortar attack, his mates killed around him. He was the only survivor of that particular little foray, and it left a very nasty gash, a livid scar all the way up his left thigh. I always wanted to get one when I grew up. I’d say, ‘Dad, what’s that?’ And he’d say, ‘It got me out the war, son.’ It left him with nightmares for the rest of his life. My son Marlon lived a lot with Bert in America for some years, while Marlon was growing up, and they used to go camping together. Marlon says Bert would wake up in the middle of the night, shouting, ‘Look out, Charlie, here it comes. We’re all goners! We’re all goners! Fuck this shit.’

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