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8th December, 2009

THE JONES BOY DIDN’T HANG BLAIR OUT TO DRY AS EXPECTED, EH?

I assume, but then again I may be wrong in this assumption, that this contribution at Chris Ames’ Iraq Inquiry Digest by Brian Jones was expected to cast further doubts on Blair in Iraq and the motives of Blair in Iraq. Death by a thousand newspaper and online cuts, as it were.

If so, the knife seems to have missed its target.

I read through its well-written 37 pages here and found little of the judgemental opining that one gets from some others at Chris Ames’ site, and particularly from his commenters.

Ahhh, it was ever thus, I hear you say, and you’re right! The Guardian, The Independent and at times even The Mail can sound like Mother Teresa’s newsletter to the faithful in comparison to many of their bile-risen commenters.

Here below are some of Mr Jones’s actual unedited words, just as I posted them at Ames’s site in response to a Mr Tony Simpson whose comment seemed to me to betray the moving the goalposts tactic of many of Mr Blair’s opponents:

FT, Philip Stephens article.

And note this twisting of Mr Stephens’ meaning at The Iraq Inquiry Digest. Another  ‘moving the goalpost’ moments if ever I saw one.

Two in one day? Hmmm … worrying.

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Marianne Faithfull filming La Motocyclette (Girl on a Motorcycle), 1967

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Marianne Faithfull– of noble roots in masochistic boots, sang folk songs, took the Stones on, rocked the London scene with Anita Pallenberg Boho Queen… and she was just getting warmed up. Encore, Encore!

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Marrianne Faithfull– Italy, 1967  (left) Filming La Motocyclette (Girl on a Motorcycle), 1967 (right)

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Alain Delon and Marianne Faithfull, Girl on a Motorcycle — Image by © Cat’s Collection

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(Left) 1967, Marianne Faithfull leaves court here June 28, where her boyfriend Mick Jagger was sentenced to three months in jail on drug charges.  Keith Richards, was sentenced to a year in prison. Ms. Faithfull had visited Jagger in jail and brought him books and cigarettes. — Image by © Bettmann

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July 6th 1969, London — Anita Pallenberg and Marianne Faithfull with her son Nicholas, are among the fans atop the Rolling Stones platform during the open air, free concert by the group in Hyde Park. The concert was held just a few days after the death of Rolling Stones musician Brian Jones. An estimated 200,000 fans attended the concert. — Image by © Bettmann

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Selling off some rare signed items, photos, etc., from my personal collection. All early and all the real deal on ebay this week.

Seller name evpcd.

The Rolling Stones’ beggar’s banquet, 5 December 1968 at the Gore Hotel in Kensington – complete with medieval setup, serving wenches and custard pie fight.

Often when I speak with students, I discover they are searching for their own path as much as anyone else of any age.  Humbled, I realize and say, “Dream and do.”  Every dream has potential when you put a little energy into it.    Make a list of dreams, learn what you need to learn to do it and then as each dream is realized – cross it off and then keep adding to the list.

I recall meeting Steven Spieldberg at an awards dinner in Los Angeles years ago.  I asked him, “How do you create?”  His answer was, I dream and then I do it.

Premier gifted athletes tell of visualizing where they want to go, tirelessly training and then trying their best.  Sage advice follows, don’t be afraid to fail.  Failing is just another way to make adjustments to your training.

When Betrand Piccard speaks of his successful journey around the world, he starts with his previous failed attempts.  His dream to be the first to fly around the world in a balloon was so strong, that he kept trying.  Success was achieved on the third attempt with Brian Jones as his partner.

Thomas Friedman recently wrote, “societies that can nurture people with the ability to imagine and spin off new ideas will thrive.”  His New York Times column of November 21, 2009 shares a global perspective of the value of imagination, creativity as well as social responsibility.

Extraordinary people dream, learn and then do.

By Keri Douglas, writer/photographer, Washington, D.C.

Um meine geliebten toten Rockstars schleiche ich meistens rum wie ein Hund um einen leckeren Knochen: bereit, lustvoll zuzuschnappen, wenn sich die Gelegenheit ergibt. Und die ergibt sich ziemlich oft, denn für einen echten Fetischisten wie mich gibt es da jede Menge zu tun – Gespräche mit den wenigen auserwählten Freunden führen, die vom Thema wenigstens ein bisschen so fasziniert sind wie ich, meine Bibliothek ordnen und die besten Stories immer wieder nachblättern bzw. von vorne lesen, im Internet nach neuen Fotos und Beweisen für passende Verschwörungstheorien Ausschau halten und am Eingang vom Amazon-Tempel lauern, um sich die leider viel zu seltenen Neuerscheinungen sofort nach deren Auftauchen zu sichern.

Unlängst hat man wieder mal ein Einsehen mit mir gehabt und hat mir ein neues Suchtmittel in Form eines Buches geschickt. “The Rock & Roll Book of the Dead” heisst es und hat mir schon aufgrund des Titels Rührungstränen in die rotgeränderten Augen getrieben. Der mir bisher unbekannte Autor David Comfort beschreibt darin “The Fatal Journeys of Rock’s Seven Immortals“, meint mit diesen sieben Unsterblichen Elvis Presley, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, John Lennon, Kurt Cobain sowie Jerry Garcia und hat zu meiner Freude ein ziemlich tiefgängiges und vor allem mutiges Werk abgeliefert.

David Comfort

Über tote Rockstars zu schreiben ist nämlich sicherlich ein lohnender Job, kritisch über tote Rockgötter zu schreiben hingegen ein Wagnis. David Comfort tut Letzteres und steht damit in der Tradition eines anderen, sehr streitbaren amerikanischen Professors namens Albert Goldman, der sich bereits 20 Jahre zuvor mit kritischen Biographien gehörig in die Nesseln gesetzt hat: Er schrieb ein Buch über Elvis Presley, dessen Tod durch Medikamentenüberdosis er als Selbstmord interpretierte und danach eines über John Lennon, den er (wohl als erster Biograph überhaupt) als gewalttätigen, höchst neurotischen Menschen porträtierte. Das war allerhöchste Blasphemie, denn im Schwarz/Weiss-Denken seiner zahllosen Fans ist Lennon natürlich immer nur der Friedensengel schlechthin gewesen – dass er ein ziemlich unsympathischer, fieser Typ gewesen ist und sich gleichzeitig ebenso (werbeträchtig) für den Weltfrieden einsetzte, wollten (und wollen) seine Verehrer natürlich auf gar keinen Fall verstehen.

Das meistgehasste Buch unter Lennon-Fans...

Goldman’s sorgfältig recherchierte Biographie (die nicht frei von Fehlern ist, aber welche Biographie ist das schon?) wurde selbstverständlich kollektiv als ein aus reinem Hass entstandenes Lügenmachwerk abgestempelt. Darüber zu lesen, dass Lennon vermutlich eine Affäre mit dem 1967 freiwillig aus dem Leben geschiedenen Beatles-Manager Brian Epstein gehabt hatte oder dass er die letzten, armseligen Jahre seines Lebens quasi als “Gefangener” seiner psychotischen Frau Yoko Ono in einem Zimmer seines Appartments in jenem fluchbeladenen Dakota-Gebäude in New York verbracht hat (der letzte Sekretär der Lennons, Frederik Seaman, hat unabhängig von Goldman ausführlich in einem Buch darüber berichtet), dass mag natürlich weh tun; es ist aber einer ehrlichen, posthumen Auseinandersetzung mit der vielschichtigen, deswegen überaus faszinierenden Persönlichkeit Lennons mehr als dienlich.

Diva und Nervensäge: Janis Joplin

So ist das eigentlich generell mit den auf so hohe Sockel gehobenen toten Rockgöttern: als Menschen waren sie ausnahmslos meilenweit davon entfernt, nett zu sein. Der überaus sensible und hochbegabte Jimi Hendrix neigte fast immer dazu, im Suff seine zahllosen Groupies und Freundinnen zu verhauen; Janis Joplin, die Hippie-Göttin schlechthin, war unter all ihrer theatralischen Kostümierung und dicken Schminke eine hässliche und deswegen sehr unsichere junge Frau, was sie zu einer nahezu unerträglichen Diva und Nervensäge machte, ebenso wie der Doors-Frontmann und Exzess-Gigant Jim Morrison im täglichen Umgang mit Bandkollegen und Freunden ein richtiges Arschloch gewesen sein soll.

Desgleichen Kurt Cobain, der sich (wie Nick Kent in seiner vorzüglichen Essaysammlung “The Dark Stuff” schreibt) in seiner Jugend nichts sehnlicher gewünscht hatte, als ein Rockstar zu sein – als er es dann letztendlich war, wollte er nur noch schlafen, in Ruhe gelassen werden und sich mit Muße seinem Leiden an der bösen, lästigen Welt und der seiner Meinung nach als Schutzpanzer gegen diese fungierenden Drogensucht widmen.

Und wieder mal 'ne Überdosis: Kurt Cobain

Die Drogen-, Alkohol- und Betäubungsmittelsucht, all den genannten “Sieben Unsterblichen” (und allen anderen toten Rockstars) in verschiedensten, phantasievollen Variationen eigen, veränderte deren Charakter logischerweise nicht nur massiv, sondern führte in ihrer Entgleisung ausserdem dazu, dass jene gegen Ende ihres kurzen Lebens abseits der Auftritte im Rampenlicht kaum noch oder gar nicht mehr lebensfähig waren. Tony Sanchez, ehemaliger Drogendealer der Rolling Stones, beschreibt einen typischen Tag im Leben des mit 27 Jahren verstorbenen frühen Stones-Gitarristen Brian Jones so: “He’d wake up in the morning, take leapers (speed), cocaine, some morphine, a few tabs of acid, and maybe some mandrax. Then he’d try to get dressed and end up with, like, a lizard-skin boot on one foot and a pink shoe on the other. Then he’d find he could’nt stand up.” (Zitat aus Nick Kent, “Brian Jones, Tortured Narcissus” in “The Dark Stuff“, Faber and Faber, 2007).

Dead Men Walking: Brian Jones und Jimi Hendrix

Elvis Presley wiederum, der Drogen nicht nur strikt ablehnte, sondern sich ausserdem von Präsident Nixon 1970 bizarrerweise zum “Federal Agent” im “Kampf gegen Drogenmissbrauch” ernennen liess, hatte einen Tablettenkonsum in Rekordhöhe nachzuweisen – Biographen haben ausgerechnet, dass sich der “King” in seinen letzten Lebensjahren an die 12.000 Betäubungsmittel verschiedenster Wirkung verschreiben liess.

Bizarres Treffen: Tricky Dick und Agent Elvis

Solche Exzesse konnten logischerweise zu nichts anderem als zu einem frühen Tod führen, ob nun gewollt oder ungewollt. Ganz klar, dass der für uns Normalsterbliche unvorstellbare Druck auf diese Superstars als Ikonen ganzer Generationen und ihr praktisch nicht mehr existentes Privatleben sich sehr zu Ungunsten auf ihr Suchtverhalten auswirkte; Comfort zeigt in “The Rock & Roll Book of the Dead” aber auch bisher weniger bekannte Details aus der Kinder- und Jugendzeit der genannten Rockstars auf – da findet sich fast bei jedem/jeder eine Liste an Missbrauch, Alkoholismus der Eltern, dramatisch frühe Tode derselben und daraus resultierende Vereinsamung des jeweiligen Kindes; davon abhängig oder nicht freilich auch eine geradezu krankhafte Selbstbezogenheit, ja Selbstverliebtheit der späteren Stars in jugendlichem Alter.

Was man bei der Lektüre über all diese skandalträchtigen, kurzen Leben dieser Menschen niemals vergessen sollte, ist die künstlerische Glanzleistung, die von persönlichen Kalamitäten im Nachhinein unangetastet bleibt und den Platz der toten Rockstars in ihrem ewigen Olymp mehr als rechtfertigt: wenn man heute Jimi Hendrix hört, klingen seine vor 40 Jahren aufgenommenen Platten noch immer mehr nach wunderbar spaciger Science Fiction als nach Sixties-Gitarrenrock; die Stimme von Janis Joplin lässt einem noch immer die bluesigen Gänsehäute en Masse über den Rücken laufen; Jim Morrisons Gesang thront noch immer majestätisch über einem brodelnden Abgrund undurchdringlicher Schwärze, während John Lennon mit seinem “Imagine“, jenem ebenso simplen wie überirdisch schönen Lied bis in alle Ewigkeit die Tränen seiner Hörer sofort fast ungehindert fliessen lassen wird – pure Magie, wie sie eben nur diese schwierigen wie ebenso aussergewöhnlichen Persönlichkeiten zustande bringen konnten.

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“The Rock & Roll Book of the Dead” ist im September dieses Jahres erschienen.

Die Homepage zum Buch, mit Leseproben desselben und, voll lässig – mit Geistergitarre!

Essentiell: “The Dark Stuff” von Nick Kent.

Zum Weiterlesen: meine eigenen, bescheidenen Blog-Beiträge zu

John Lennon,

Paul McCartney,

Jim Morrison,

Phil Ochs,

Joe Meek und

Jimi Hendrix.

Zum Weiterhören: euer Docteur als Gast zum Thema bei CROPfm.

Und als Spezialist beim Deutschlandradio (zum Thema Suizid von Rockstars am Beispiel von Joy Division-Sänger Ian Curtis).

I guess when it comes to giving Mick Jagger a present, you got to think the guy has just about everything.
I mean what could you possibly give him he either couldn’t buy himself or doesn’t already own?
Clothes. Nah.
Wine. Boring.
Hmmmmmm, how ’bout a nice watch?

Well that’s exactly what Ahmet Ertegun gave Mick Jagger back
sometime in the early 70’s.
An Eterna Matic Concept 80 wristwatch.
He had engraved on the back, Mick Here’s to a Million or 2? Ahmet.
My guess he was talking about the sales of an upcoming album.
Maybe Sticky Fingers or Exile given the time period.
Since at this point The Stones had just recently come on board with Atlantic, it’s not unusual Ahmet was hoping for a long and successful relationship with them.

Ahmet co-founder and executive of Atlantic Records used his personal skills in negotiating the signing of The Rolling Stones to Atlantic when they were shopping for a record company to distribute their independent Rolling Stones Records label.

He personally “did the deal” with Mick Jagger, when other labels had actually offered the band more money.

This watch was later donated by Jagger to an auction run by LA radio station KMET-FM back in 1973 in a week long auction they ran to raise money for the victims of the Nicaraguan Earthquake.
Mick was of course married to Bianca at the time, and her having family there got Mick very involved in this worthy cause.

The Stones gave a benefit concert in LA and donated at the proceeds to help the victims.

A unique piece of memorabilia owned by Jagger with a great history behind it .

A RARE TICEKT STUB FROM THE STONES NICARAGUAN BENEFIT SHOW IN LA.

Brian Jones at a motorway cafe, 1964, by Terry O’Neill

BERLUSCONI ROCK STAR DELL’ANNO SECONDO IL MAGAZINE “ROLLING STONE”

ANSA – Berlusconi batte Obama e il Papa. Per l’edizione italiana della rivista “Rolling Stones”, infatti, il presidente del consiglio italiano è più rock del presidente degli Usa e del Pontefice, rispettivamente al secondo e terzo posto. Al premier, eletto rockstar dell’anno all’unanimità,verrà dedicata la copertina del numero in edicola a dicembre, realizzata dal designer americano Shepard Farey.
Per la vita del premier, dice il direttore di Rolling Stone Italia Carlo Antonelli, “la definizione di rock&roll va persino stretta. I Rod Stewart, i Brian Jones, i Keith Richards dei tempi d’oro sono pivellini in confronto. La “Neverland” di Michael Jackson è una mansardina in confronto a Villa Certosa, e via così”. Nonostante il tono ironico, Antonelli assicura però di non voler “dispensare giudizi da destra o da sinistra”…

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Io mi chiedo perche’…

il rock’n roll e’ CONTRO IL SISTEMA

il rock’n roll e’ LIBERTA’ DI ESPRESSIONE

il rock’n roll e’ MOVIMENTO E PLURALISMO

il rock’n roll e’ prima di tutto GIOVANE!

…e Berlusconi con queste cose cosa c’azzecca?!

e poi…

La De Filippi non e’ Rock

Il Grande Fratello non e’ Rock

Pagare le prostitute non e’ Rock

… SOLTANTO FARE LE CORNA E’ ROCK!

ma non mi sembra comunque abbastanza per tale onorificenza!

in quanto a sesso e droga… beh, in effetti, forse ci siamo…

Gran trovata pubblicitaria, MARCHETTA colossale! la si puo’ considerare una “provocazione”…fatto sta che ora tutti parlano del Rolling Stone…  ma leggendo i commenti lasciati dai lettori sul sito del magazine, direi che il rischio di perdere lettori, piu’ che guadagnarne, e’ piuttosto realistico!

…provocazione o ordine dall’alto, purtroppo c’e’ anche chi considera questa nomination sacrosanta! in tanti guardano il Papi come una star, un idolo di masse, un modello comportamentale e di vita da seguire… cambiamo il DISCO???

Photography is powerful.  One image can change the world, evoke tears, spur a laugh, imagine a unknown part of the world or a moment to pause and reflect.  How the photographer creates the story is just as important.  Photographs many times are reflections of the photographer’s emotions, dreams and knowledge.

Recently I was asked by students at a journalism conference, did I know I wanted to be a photographer when I was their age.  Certainly not.  But, I did know I appreciated art and the visual aspect of telling a story.  I also knew one photograph could transport you to another part of the world or even into another era.

I remember being enthralled with an exhibit of photographs by Alfred Stieglitz at the National Gallery of Art so many years ago.  His ability to capture the warm glow of a street lamp in the snow in New York City is embedded in my mind.  The National Geographic image of the Egyptian standing in sneakers smoking a cigarette at the pinnacle of one of the pyramids still brings a sense of awe of the casualness yet powerful view from the top.  Old, brownish postcards of lost destinations make me dream of of times past and bring a smile to my face.

And, then the powerful Associated Press photograph by Eddie Adams of the South Vietnamese police chief shooting the Viet Cong prisoner in the head on the street – which is attributed to changing the political dynamics of the Vietnam War.  Even today the power of the photographs of the prisoner abuse in Iraq and Afghanistan shatters even the best laid political plans.

Photographs of the civil rights movement in the United States are powerful realities shocking to the very core of any sane humane individual.  Jim Wallace, now retired director of the photography department at the Smithsonian shared a few old images from his archives for an exhibit at the National Press Club last year.  The images were of the North Carolina sit-ins in 1963.  Risking financial ruin and failing out of college, he photographed the demonstrations around him before the local papers or even national papers would cover the historic events.

Breaking tradition, the civil rights exhibit was held in March (not February Black History month) because the images were filled with white, black, young, old and absolute hate revealed in KKK rallies of both men and women.  These photographs reveal American history.  After the exhibit, I asked Jim what advice he had for young photographers.  Jim said photographers should study art for the composition, the style, the use of light and even the subject matter. He also said, “F-11 and be there.”  Which he explained  - before automated cameras, F-11 – was the just in case setting. Show up, take the photographs.

I asked the the students who mostly work on school newspapers and year books, which photographer(s) did they admire.  The students responded with Ansell Adams, sports photography, fashion photography, cultural and National Geographic images.

Photographers who have inspired me include Irving Penn, Joel Meyerowitz and Betrand Piccard and Brian Jones who took aerial photographs of the earth as they traveled around the world in the balloon.  I also think of Washington Post reporter Pamela Constable’s photograph of an Afghan family re-settling into a bombed out home with their belongings surrounding them and in the center an old bird cage with a bird sitting quietly inside.

F-11 and be there – always.

By Keri Douglas, writer/photographer, Washington, D.C.

Selling merchandise has long been associated with any kind of music/artist marketing effort.
Make something with their image on it, someone will buy it.
Simple right?
Even back when they were marketing the first “Rock and Roll Icon” of all time, Elvis Presley, you could buy
Teddy Bear perfume, hankies, guitars, record players, hound dog stuffed animals, you name it.

The Colonel made it, and made sure it sold.

It was then a precedent was set that has carried through till today.

No shortage of Hannah Montana dolls, guitars, wigs, or games on the shelves these days heh?

The selling of the Rolling Stones, “The Not So Lovable Mop Tops,” presented its own set of problems and challenges for Andrew Loog Oldham and his team.
What do we create and manufacture that fits their image?
And more importantly, will anybody buy it?
The primary audience for this kind of merchandise was usually young girls, the majority of the fan base.
And although the Stones had their fair share of female fans, The Beatles were probably easier to sell anyone and everyone.

The Rolling Stones were the first band of their time where you
could actually find boys screaming at their shows.

Though The Fab Four had it all.
Dolls, wigs, hairspray, combs, notebooks, pencils, ice cream bars, gum cards, record players, guitars, drums, candy, games, you name it.
Literally thousands of items.

The Rolling Stones ended up with but a handful.
I guess Andrew found that their “bad boy” image in the end wasn’t all that marketable.

Hell, I would bought the stuff.
And fans and collectors are still buying it now.

Only it’s a tad more expensive these days.

Here’s a few of the items from the 60’s.
These are the rarest of all Stones collectibles.
And believe it or not, would command in the thousands if sold today.

Mick's Maraccas. WTF?!!!!

This guitar has and will sell for $2500 in auction is very good condition.

Marty McCavitt & Brian Jones - The Camel - Nov 17, 2009

So my companion described McCavitt + Jones last night at The Camel.

Marty McCavitt’s altered sounds from his Hohner keyboard and various electronic boxes and Brian Jones’ beats, cymbal scrapings, and rhythms mashed up in a improvised performance that pleased the audience as well as the musicians.

Concert used memorabilia in collecting is rare and difficult to find. Authenticating that the item was concert used is even more difficult and documentation is even harder to find.

Which makes the pictured item rare indeed.

Concert used and signed drumsticks belonging to Charlie Watts of The Rolling Stones.

For starters, they are Ludwig drumsticks.
Charlie used and played Ludwig back in the 80’s.
He now uses Vic Firth.
Secondly they were played at a very unique concert.
December 18, 1981 Hampton, VA, the last show of the “Tattoo You” tour, Keith Richards birthday and a specially taped show for television.

Read the letter from Stones President Art Collins on how he obtained the sticks from Charlie after the show.

A few items signed by Charlie that aren’t as difficult to sign as drumsticks.

RARE STICKY FINGERS STORE DISPLAY FEATURING AN ALMOST LIFE SIZE MICK JAGGER.

Back in 1971 The Rolling Stones were at the height of their craft.
It’s hard to believe any band could produce back to back to back albums the likes of Let it Bleed, Sticky Fingers and Exile on Main Street in the span of 3 years.

Unheard of even today.
My guess it will never be matched or done again.

The following is a review from Rolling Stone magazine back in 1971 on the release of Sticky Fingers,
arguably one, if not the definitive Stones record.

In my mind not only did the Stones break new ground recording Sticky Fingers, once again broke the rules, no make that smash and destroy the rules, of record album design.

SIDE ONE

“Brown Sugar:” It begins with some magical raunch chords on the right channel. In the tradition of great guitar intros (“All Day and All of the Night,” “Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown,” and “Satisfaction” itself) it transfixes you: instant recognition, instant connection. Suddenly the electric guitar is joined by an acoustic guitar on the left channel, an acoustic that is merely strumming the chords that the electric is spitting out with such fury. It washes over the electric to no apparent purpose, stripping it momentarily of its authority and intensity. and so, in the first 15 seconds of the albums first cut we are presented with its major conflict: driving, intense, wide-open rock versus a controlled and manipulative musical conception determined to fill every whole and touch every base.

As soon as the voices come on, the acoustic recedes into inaudibility: on “Brown Sugar” wide open rock wins by a hair, but it is a hollow victory. Opening cuts on Stones albums have always been special, fro the early ones – “Not Fade Away,” “Round and Round,” and “Everybody Needs Somebody to Love: – with their promise of rock and roll to come, to the tour de force openings of the later albums – “Symphony for the Devil” and “Gimme Shelter” – which served as overwhelming entrances into a more complex musical world view.

At their best these opening cuts were statements of themes that transcended both the theme itself and the music that was to follow. As I listened to “Sticky Fingers,” for the first time I thought “Brown Sugar” was good, but not that good. I certainly hoped it wasn’t the best thing on the album. As it turns out, there are a few moments that surpass it but it still sets the tone for the album perfectly: middle-level Rolling Stones competence. The lowpoints aren’t that low, but the high points, with one exception, aren’t that high.

As to the performance itself, the chords, harmony, and song are powerful stuff. The instrumentation however, is too diffuse, occasionally undermining the vocals instead of supporting them. But when Richards joins Jagger for the last chorus they finally make it home free.

“Sway:” Vaguely reminiscent of “Stray Cat Blues” but not nearly so powerful. The sound is characteristic Rolling Stones messiness enhanced by the unusual degree of separation in the mix. Charlie Watts bashes away with the smirking abandon that made him such a delight on songs like “Get Off My Cloud” and “All Sold Out.” But unlike early Stones messiness, “Sway” lacks intensity. It never reaches a goal because it doesn’t seem to have one. Rather, it remains a series of riffs whose lack of content is obscured by prolonged and indifferent guitar semi-solos and a fine string arrangement that suddenly enters towards the end.

“Wild Horses:” A good song with lots of good things in it that doesn’t quite come off. The acoustic 12-string stands out over everything else in the arrangement – perhaps a little too far out, as the rest of the instruments sound like mere fragments, wandering in and out of the track at arbitrary intervals.

Jagger’s vocal is clearly audible for the first time on the album and I don’t care for it. It is mannered, striving for intensity without being wholly convincing. Musically, the more complex the Stones get the m ore inadequate he sometimes sounds. The man is a stylist as opposed to a singer. He has always lacked power and range: on 15 albums he has never really grabbed hold of a note and let it ring. At his best, he sings around the notes – plays with them – dancing in and out with precision.

Or, he can let himself go entirely, with no attempt at stylistic posturing and thereby achieving an almost incredibly naturalism. But, on “Wild Horses,” there is a pint in which the only thing that will work is a good note, well sung, sustained and sufficient to stand on its own. It is not to be found. A musical attitude is not a replacement for a musical style and style is not a replacement for essential technique, which is what is missing here.

The longing of the song’s lyrics coupled with its ultimate hope constitute as much of a theme a there is on this record. Typically (since “Between the Buttons”) the Stones’ statement alternates between aggressive sexuality and warmer, more subtly erotic statements of emotional dependence and openness. The flirtation with social significance of the last two albums has been almost wholly abandoned in what appears to be something of a recommitment to more personal subject matter.

“Can’t You Hear Me Knocking:” Years ago, when I first heard that the Stones had recorded something 11 minutes long, I couldn’t wait to get my hands on it, thinking it was sure to be the definitive rave-up and hoping it would finally put the Yardbirds and Them in their place. When I finally heard “Going Home” I realized the Stones couldn’t conceive of a long cut as anything but a vehicle for Jagger to project through. Given the time to stretch out, they went for the mellow down easy side with the emphasis on the voice rather than the instruments.

Now they have done something with a long instrumental break in it and it ain’t bad. On the other hand, I can’t see what it really has to do with the Rolling Stones. The song is good but once into the solos there is a touch of R&B, a touch of Santana, but nothing to really identify with. So maybe they had the right idea the first time. For old times sake I do hope that the really boring guitar solo is by Mick Taylor and that those great surging chords in the background are by Keith Richards, the original Sixties rock and roll guitarist, and mast of Chuck Berry music, and the soul of the Rolling Stones.

“You Gotta Move:” Anyway, for the present, Mick Taylor’s electric slide guitar is absolutely exquisite. Combined with Richard’s fine work on the acoustic they create one of the album’s few real moments. Charlie Watts’ bass drum holds it together perfectly, while Richard’s harmony smoothes off the more outrageous edges of Jagger’s lead vocal. In the end, all the pieces fit. A small but important triumph.

SIDE TWO

“Bitch:” Jagger in one of his most popular poses: demonic. here he flaunts naughty words and naughty thoughts as if he still thought they were naughty. The arrangement is straight-ahead. The horns sound great here as they are used primarily for purposes of syncopation and rhythm. The bass and drums – the Rolling Stones bottom that has driven its way through over 200 cuts and which is the true instrumental trademark of the group – burns like a bitch.

“I’ve Got the Blues:” In the tradition of the earlier R&B Imitations such as “Pain In My Heart,” “You Better Move On,” “If You Need Me,” and best of all their great “That’s How Strong My Love Is.” However, this is the first time they actually added Stax horns. It’s good as far as it goes, but lacks the feeling of the earlier imitations. It all seems pro forma. The worst cut the Rolling Stones ever released was “I’ve Been Lovin’ You Too Long” (which sounds very much like a studio recording even though it showed up on “Got Live I You Want It”). Jagger couldn’t sing it. Here he almost sings up a storm, but in the end its the part he didn’t sing that stays in mind. Somehow, it isn’t complete.

“Sister Morphine:” This was supposed to be stark, intense and realistic. Some hear it that way. I find it lyrically convincing, but labored to the point of being unlistenable musically. Perhaps that is part of the conception: obviously, a song about morphine should not be pleasant to hear. The question is, is the song unpleasant because it makes us uncomfortable emotionally, or simply because it is an awkward and unsuccessful attempt to depict reality through music?

“Dead Flowers:” I suppose somewhere along the line they thought of calling the album “Dead Flowers,” which would have justified this cut’s presence at some level. Despite its parodistic intentions, the mere thought of the Stones doing straight country music is simply appalling. And they do it so poorly, especially the lead guitar. The cut is ordinary without being either definitive or original.

“Moonlight Mile:” From “Brown Sugar” we had to wait all the way to here to get a masterpiece. The semi-oriental touch seems to heighten the song’s intense expression of desire, which is the purest and most engaging emotion present on the record. The sense of personal commitment and emotional spontaneity immediately liberate Jagger’s (double-tracked) singing: it’s limitations become irrelevant and he rises to the occasion by turning in his best performance on the album – the only thing that compares with his singing of “Gimme Shelter.”

There is something soulful here, something deeply felt: “I’ve got silence on the radio, let the airwaves flow, let the airwaves flow.” Paul Buckmaster, Elton John’s arranger, does the best job with strings I can remember in a long, long time, while Charlie Watts only goes through the motions of loosening up his style, as he comes down hard on the nearly magical line, “Just about a moonlight mile.”

The cut contains that rave-up they never gave us on “Goin Home”; perhaps it is just a filling out of the intensely erotic climax that came towards the end of that song (“Sha-la-la,” and all of that). When Jagger finally says “Here we go, now” as Mick Taylor’s guitar (Richard is inexplicably absent) falls perfectly into place with a hypnotic chord pattern, it’s as if he is taking our hand and is literally going to walk us down his dream road. As the strings push the intensity level constantly upwards and Charlie emphasizes the development with fabulous cymbal crashes, the energy becomes unmistakably erotic – erotic as opposed to merely sexual, erotic in a way that the entire rest of the album is not. The expression of need that dominates so much of the record is transformed from a hostile statement into a plea and a statement of warmth and receptiveness.

This cut really does sway and when Jagger’s voice re-enters, it is with none of the forced attempts at style and control present on the rest of the album, but with the kind of abandon that he seems uniquely capable of. And unique is the best word to describe the cut as a whole: after nine songs that hover around the middle, they finally hit the high note and make a statement that is not just original but that could have only come from them.

At least it gives me hope for the future…..

On Sticky Fingers, it doesn’t really sound like they are doing what they want to. Play “Brown Sugar” and then play any opening cut from the first five albums. The early ones are sloppy, messy, and vulgar. They are brash and almost ruthless in their energy. And they sound real. By comparison “Brown Sugar,” for all its formal correctness is an artifice. Ultimately they sound detached from it, as they do from all but a few things on Sticky Fingers. The two million hours they joke about spending on this record must have surely resulted from uncertainty about what it was they wanted to hear when they were through. On the other hand, those early records always sounded (whether they were is irrelevant) as if they were recorded in a day, without any overdubbing, comprised mainly of first takes. They reverberated with off the wall spunk and spontaneity.

Obviously the Stones can’t go back to that: it would be redundant and incredibly limiting for them. But perhaps they have now gone too far the other way. If Sticky Fingers suffers from any one thing it’s its own self-defeating calculating nature. Its moments of openness and feeling are too few: its moments where I know I should be enjoying it but am not, too great.

JON LANDAU/ROLLING STONE

(Posted: Jun 10, 1971)

Whilst astride The Porcelain Pony the other day, I read from Bill Wyman’s autobiography, Stone Alone. I’d been listening to The Rolling Stones a lot in recent weeks and had begun thumbing through the worn paperback to get a sense of some of the people and times behind their early music. I’d had the book since high school but hadn’t touched it since then; I recalled quickly that it doesn’t stray far from this formula, repeated in nearly every chapter: take straightforward, somewhat dry (if still mildly fascinating) descriptions of chronological events taken from Wyman’s journals, add frequent complaints about not seeing enough of the money they raked in, and multiply that by mostly chaste (yet copious) accounts of bedding loads of girls.

It ain’t poetry, and it isn’t exactly deeply insightful (as Richards himself can be, surprisingly, albeit near-unintelligibly), but it’s worth the time of a music enthusiast (pointless aside: I resist the current practice of calling myself a “nerd” or a “geek” about any and every interest I have) steeping himself in the anecdotal artifacts of a favorite group.

But I digress.

As I read on through to the end, where the books drops us off in 1969, just after the death of guitarist and early bandleader Brian Jones, I arrived at a moving passage that describes Mick Jagger reading part of Shelley’s “Adonaïs” in a tribute to Jones during their first concert after his alleged drowning. Essentially, Jagger painted Jones as a heroic figure by framing him in this context, and he did so broadly: Jones was the sparkplug for the band, playing for and managing them from their earliest days as a blues and R&B outfit. As such, he had been a hero to not just Jagger, but to all (or, at least many musicians and fans–Jones was far from heroic as a husband and father, as the book confides), and yet, as such a figure of praise, he was not dead through the life of the body of his work.

Sure, it’s a little overwrought, but touching nonetheless.

But, then something strange happened that got me thinking about my own heroes. You see, the, erm, pasture in which the Porcelain Pony grazes is within hearing (and, well, viewing) distance of an old television, and I clearly heard a familiar, gruff, and authoritative voice–echoing back to my childhood–issue forth from the tinny TV speakers. I hastily tried to put a face to the voice; I suddenly felt the urge to stay in school and say “no” to drugs, to refashion myself as some sort of soldier of fortune and take orders only from elderly, cigar-smoking white guys with impending emphysema and possible early-onset dementia. A desperate compulsion overtook me to hang out with the local gymnastics team to help them  ”solve mysteries” (as I assured my wife), and I resolved to, once and for all, treat my mother right.

And then it hit me like a Clubber Lang right-hook: It was Mr. T, and he had something to say. Maybe a much-needed positive, moral lesson, like from the Mister T cartoon, for all of us kids. Something to believe in. Maybe even a healthcare proposal that a cautiously hopeful country could rally behind. An unexpected and eloquent defense of The Privacy Scarf. Something!

Unfortunately, that message was this: buy a FlavorWave Oven Turbo. O, B.A. Baracas! How could you?!

How could I bear to see him don an apron and trot out his catch-phrases, one after another, in the service of this new-fangled fleecing (a marvel of cutting-edge technology that uses heat and air to cook food)? Why, T looked like some kind of mincing, mowhawked, and (e)masculated Fred Sanfordian junk pusher! Was he truly just a self-interested shill, a swirling void of hollow, meaningless slogans wrapped in a blinged-out role-model facade?

I’d patterned so much of my life, my upright carriage, my ridiculous beard, and my demand for chemical sedation on airplanes after him. Maybe my childhood hero was less the Adonaïs of Percy Bysshe Shelley’s elegy and more that of Rilke’s Samson, the hero revealed to be false via the subtle employment of self-contradictory images, in the Sixth Duino Elegy. Or some shit.

What if he never was a hero? For every sorta-cool appearance or endorsement (hilarious Conan cameos, World of Warcraft spots, donating money to Katrina victims), there’s been an obvious, ugly cash grab (those cheap-ass Mr. T dolls; nothing else explains Silver Spoons). I fear that I placed him upon too high a pedestal–I know I’d be exploiting every opportunity that came my way if I were in his place. Screw integrity; you won’t see me waving away the dump truck full of money if it ever backs up to my front door. I’ll endorse anything if it frees me from doing any more “monkey tricks for little green rectangles,” as Dennis Miller phrased it, back when he was still cool. What would you do?

Furthermore, maybe I shouldn’t even put so much stock in heroes, or the concept of the hero, especially given that they may be only superficially so (like Brian Jones, like Samson). Maybe, like Rilke, I should put more effort into imaginative self-actualization than in constructing or coveting the ideal in another and move beyond. Or, to paraphrase it as John Lennon put it via Ferris Bueller’s lips, I should stop believing in Beatles and just believe in me.

Or perhaps I should save such pseudo-profound rumination for the Pony rides. Still, I anxiously await the imminent arrival of Rowdy Roddy Piper’s Supercharged HaggisBlaster Pro™, and I’ll try to keep this water-closet wisdom alive.

November 2009 Exercise – Brian Jones, Corporate Chef, TurboChef Technologies, Carrollton, TX

Yellow Curry Confit Chicken Wings with Lentils and Coconut Milk Reduction

To participate in the next exercise, please send an e mail to: jeffrey@bauscherinc.com

See all your favorite chefs’ collections of past submissions at Deep Plate page on Facebook.  Please become a “Fan”. 

http://deepplate.wordpress.com and “Deep Plate” on Facebook

Comcast Local Edition 1

Comcast Local Edition 2

Local Edition is a 5 minute, informational program airing at 24 and 54 minutes after the hour on CNN Headline News. The program features political, community and educational leaders around the area with the chance of communicating with their constituents.

Local Edition is filmed and edited in the IUP-TV studio along with students and facility of the Indiana University of Pennsylvania.

Name : Comcast Local Edition
Credits : Character Generator
TRT : 00:05:00
Created : September 11, 2009

You can view more of my work on my videography page.

I will.

Pulled out this gem (Remember Me) today; I don’t know why. But damn, if it isn’t fine. Not a famous guy, but makes you wonder how much great stuff just goes untapped.  Clue yourselves.

Here’s my original take for Bucketfull of Brains from 2004…

The late Charles Caldwell never made any money playing his music, but the liquor flowed fast enough in its place. He squeezed every drop of pain out of a hollow body Gibson that he bought at fourteen and was still playing forty-five years later. Sadly, just when archivists at Fat Possum discovered him and convinced him to record, pancreatic cancer came along and kicked his ass. But somehow he summoned up enough willpower to get into the studio and capture his magic for posterity.

And what a record! More John Lee Hooker than Junior Kimbrough, Caldwell’s country blues is immediately accessible; his stark stomp and strum style only occasionally accompanied by subservient percussion. “I Know I Done You Wrong”. “Hadn’t I Been Good To You”. “I’ll Do Anything You Say”. The man is hurt.

When Keith Richards hears this record, he’ll dig up Brian Jones and start the Rolling Stones all over again.

Listen here.

Después de habernos ahorrado (en Occidente) las terribles muertes por las enfermedades infecciosas que nos asolaban en la Edad Media, de que la hambruna sea algo minoritario, y de haber evitado muchísimas enfermedades por las medidas de Salud Pública (básicamente, potabilizar el agua, canalizar las aguas fecales y lavarnos las manos), en esta “vida moderna” nos hemos inventado otras formas de morirnos. No me refiero a ninguna enfermedad médica, y hoy tampoco quiero hablar de los accidentes de tráfico, los suicidios o las sobredosis.

Antes de nada, me gustaría que esto no sonase frívolo: NO ES MI INTENCIÓN. Pero en los últimos tiempos me llama la atención comprobar cómo saltan a la palestra noticias de personas que fallecen de vacaciones o, al menos, en una escapadita. Por ejemplo, este verano fallecía una chica en un safari en Zambia, tras ser atacada por un elefante. Hace varias semanas, se daba por muerto (tras estar varios días desaparecido y no poder ser rescatado) al creador de Shin-Chan. Y hoy me enteraba de la muerte, -combinando las dos modalidades anteriores, de Taylor Mitchell, una cantautora folkie canadiense, mientras hacía senderismo, al ser atacada por dos coyotes.

Otros artistas también han muerto en circunstancias poco convencionales; Jeff Buckley, ahogado en el río Wolf (Memphis), Aaliyah, en un accidente de avión, Steve Took (T-Rex) atragantado con el hueso de una cereza… y eso sin entrar en el mundo de las sobredosis, ya sean de heroína (Janis Joplin, uno de los Ramones…) o ahogados en su propio vómito tras haberse bebido hasta el agua de los jarrones (Keith Moon -batería de los Who-, John Bonham -batería de Led Zeppelin-, Bon Scott -cantante de AC/DC…).

Está claro que de algo hay que morir. Pero creo que morir de viejecito todavía tiene su encanto…

PD1: Como véis, no hace falta recurrir de manera obvia a otros miembros del “Grupo de los 27″ -no me refiero a la Unión Europea- cuyas muertes no están tan claras (Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, o Brian Jones). Tampoco he dicho que pensaba que tanto Pete Doherty como Amy Winehouse podían entrar en ese grupo. Y tampoco he (había) mencionado otra muete polémica todavía reciente, la de Jacko. Son muchos, pero podían haberse muerto de viejos, como harán Mick Jagger, o Sting, o Raphael…

PD2: La muerte de David Carradine tampoco la tengo muy clara.

PD3: Al inventor de este incordio, me gustaría saber qué le ha salido en su propio test. Ojalá fuese una muerte tonta, de esas que nadie se explica… (como dicen Los Punsetes)

Madoff friend Jeffry Picower found dead in pool

By Pascal Fletcher MIAMI (Reuters) -

Palm Beach billionaire and philanthropist Jeffry Picower, described as the biggest beneficiary of Bernard Madoff’s fraud, died on Sunday after he was found lying at the bottom of the pool at his home, police said. Police were investigating the death of the 67-year-old investor as a drowning, local media reported. Picower was pulled unconscious from the pool of his multimillion-dollar oceanside home, called Casa del Sud, by his wife and a housekeeper. He was later pronounced dead, the Palm Beach Post reported quoting police and Fire Rescue officials. Picower and his wife, Barbara, were friends of Wall Street financier Madoff, who is serving a 150-year sentence after pleading guilty to running a $65 billion Ponzi scheme. The trustee handling the Madoff fraud case, Irving Picard, said in court documents filed in U.S. Bankruptcy Court in New York late last month that Picower, newly listed as one of the 400 wealthiest Americans by Forbes magazine, was complicit in the fraud. Part of Picard’s filing said: “Based upon the trustee’s investigation to date, Picower was the biggest beneficiary of Madoff’s scheme, having withdrawn either directly or through the entities he controlled more than $7.2 billion of other investors’ money.” Picower was being sued for the $7.2 billion, $2 billion more than the trustee in the case demanded in May. The Palm Beach Post reported he was not breathing when he was pulled from the pool and paramedics worked unsuccessfully for 20 minutes at the scene to try to revive him. Local WPTV quoted the Palm Beach fire chief as saying he was told by Picower’s wife and housekeeper that the elderly investor had gone swimming in the pool of his house and that 15 minutes later they found him lying at the bottom. Marcia Horowitz, a spokeswoman for the Picowers’ attorney William Zabel, said the family was devastated by the loss. “Mr Picower did have health issues. He suffered from Parkinsons disease and did have heart-related medical issues,” she said.

MADOFF FRAUD DEVASTATED WEALTHY COMMUNITY

Madoff found many investors for his multibillion-dollar Ponzi scheme in the wealthy Palm Beach community where he also had a home, since seized along with other assets. The collapse of the scheme last December devastated families and charitable foundations in the sunny beachside playground, one of America’s richest towns. The scandal led to a number of suicides among participating investors. In December, Frenchman Thierry Magon de la Villehuchet, co-founder of money manager Access International, was found dead with his wrists slashed, reportedly distraught over losing up to $1.4 billion in client money to Madoff’s fraud. In February, a former British soldier, William Foxton, 65, killed himself after losing his life savings in the scheme. Picower was listed 371st and worth $1 billion on the latest published Forbes list. He started out as an accountant and lawyer and then made money investing in the medical sector. He and his wife headed a philanthropy, the Picower Foundation. The foundation closed when the Madoff fraud unraveled last December. A spokeswoman for Zabel, the Picowers’ attorney, has rejected Picard’s accusations against Picower as “false and outrageous claims … based on a misreading of the purported ‘facts’.” She said the Picowers initiated discussions to reach a settlement with the trustee, who is winding down Bernard L. Madoff Investment Securities LLC. Picard, who is leading a global search under the Securities Investor Protection Act to recover money for thousands of defrauded investors, has collected about $1.5 billion, but has sued for some $15 billion. The case is Irving H. Picard, trustee for the liquidation of Bernard L. Madoff Investment Securities LLC v. Jeffry M. Picower 09-01197 in U.S. Bankruptcy Court for the Southern District of New York (Manhattan).

 (Reporting by Pascal Fletcher and Grant McCool, editing by Chris Wilson)

The Dark Press :- You figure he was a Bryan Jones copycat ?

Knock yourselves out !

Brian Jones in Amsterdam; Brian Jones in a car with Michael Cooper on the way to see the Maharishi in the Netherlands; and Brian Jones with his magic mushroom.
By Shepard Sherbell

Over the past 30 years Keith Richards silver skull ring has taken on its own mythology and iconic status. The most famous ring in the world has come to signify not only Keith Richards the man – seen wearing it at every gig and in every photograph – but Rock and Roll itself. The ring has inspired both an international cult following and unlimited fake copies. There have been countless claims as to who designed and made the original but this is the true story.

In 1978 the celebrated London goldsmiths David Courts and Bill Hackett were working on a small scale silver sculpture of a human skeleton. Using a real skull for reference they carved a perfect miniature replica which they then moulded. When the hollow wax skull was removed from its mould the inspiration for the ring was born. Further experimentation led to the creation of the original silver skull ring. At the same time an invitation arrived from Keith Richards to his birthday party in New York – so Bill and David decided that the new ring would make a fantastic present. From the moment he put it on his finger, the magic began and he has worn it ever since.

Since Keith put on the original Courts and Hackett skull ring in 1978, David and Bill have received countless requests for a copy but their original decision that the ring should remain unique has meant that there is no replica mould and no duplicates.

Now, for the first time and only available from them is a magnificent new deaths head ring sculpted from the same human skull used for the original.

Using unique techniques developed in their workshop they have created the ultimate skull ring. Exquisite details include an immaculately carved bone structure, individual teeth and finely engraved cranium.

Crafted in solid 925 silver each ring will be stamped with the Courts and Hackett hallmark guaranteeing authenticity, date, materials used and country of origin.
Since Keith put on the original Courts and Hackett skull ring in 1978, David and Bill have received countless requests for a copy but their original decision that the ring should remain unique has meant that there is no replica mould and no duplicates.

Now, for the first time and only available from them is a magnificent new deaths head ring sculpted from the same human skull used for the original.

Using unique techniques developed in their workshop they have created the ultimate skull ring. Exquisite details include an immaculately carved bone structure, individual teeth and finely engraved cranium.

Crafted in solid 925 silver each ring will be stamped with the Courts and Hackett hallmark guaranteeing authenticity, date, materials used and country of origin.

http://www.courtsandhackett.com/new_ring.html

http://members.tripod.com/blue_lena/news2009.html

*Thanks to Tamara Guo, (aka Blue Lena) the most die-hard Keef fan I know.

A billboard on Sunset Blvd promoting the new album. As you can imagine, not without controversy.

Exile on Main Street was a 1972 release (on Atlantic Records) by The Rolling Stones, with cover artwork & design by John Van Hamersveld. When the Rolling Stones released Exile in 1972 – a double album of songs representing the many different genres of music that shaped Stones music at the time – fans and critics found themselves having to spend a lot of time trying to “get it”. It required a number of listens to gain an appreciation of what, on the surface, often seemed to be a collection of studio out-takes and Richards/Taylor/Watts jams than a freshly-recorded musical offering.

Many critics of the era failed to appreciate the Stones’ explorations of R&B, Soul, Country and roots Rock that were spread over the 4 album sides. In fact, the record was comprised of a series of recordings done during the previous four years and, as such, they featured a variety of mixes (some better than others) and showed the band building on top of these influences in their own inimitable style to the point that, now over 35 years later, the package is considered by many to be the band’s most-authentic offering. It is always listed near the top of most of the “Best Of” and “Greatest” lists (#7 on the Rolling Stone Magazine 2003 list of the “500 Greatest Albums of All Time”, #22 on VH-1’s survey, and even impressed the younger generation enough to be ranked #11 on Pitchfork’s 2003 list of Best Albums of the 1970s).

In a similar fashion, when the buying public took their first look at the design and imagery of the sprawling record cover, most people admitted that they didn’t “get it”. Having just soaked in Warhol’s ultimately-iconic zipper cover for Sticky Fingers, fans should have been ready for anything, but John Van Hamersveld’s designs seemed to confound them, asking them to digest a rough, anti-establishment, punk-before-there-was-punk collage of images that may have, initially, combined with the unfamiliar musical stylings to impact sales (don’t worry, as the record was supported by the now-famous 1972 American concert tour and songs such as “Happy” and “Tumbling Dice” got some significant radio play, the record went on to top the charts in the U.S. and the U.K.).

And so when Van Hamersveld, who’d established his industry cred via his poster and package designs for Hendrix, The Beatles (Magical Mystery Tour), Jefferson Airplane (Crown of Creation) and others, was approached by the Rolling Stones (who were in a studio in LA putting the finishing touches on this new album) to work on the graphics and packaging for a songbook project the band wanted to release, an interesting series of events on the day of their initial meeting had a profound impact on the course of album art history.

Super rare promo poster featuring 3-Ball Charlie.

Bill Janovitz' book on Exile. A must read.

Above is the ultra rare Exile Store Display.

Read the complete story behind this great work of art on our RockPoP Gallery/”Cover Story” blog -

http://rockpopgallery.typepad.com/rockpop_gallery_news/2008/04/cover-story—t.html