Good day-o, Monday. I'm a busy lil bee today trying to put togethe a project before the holidays hits us with its spell of Tryptophan and stuffin'. I'm just going to say that if you have not for some reason watched HBO's stellar documentary on The Stones, um, you better. "Crossfire Hurricane" is a tour de force and must see for any rock and roll fan. And at the MOMA right now through December 2nd, they're screening "C*#cksuckers Blues, a fillm by Robert Frank that shows the Stones at their ultimate debauched and wasted elengance back in the early 1970s. It's no secret that I am a ridiculously big Stones fan, and HBO's take on the time from when they were a scrappy little bluesy garage band to the early 80s (when any good Stones docu should end, I 'm afraid) did not disappoint. You all also know Keith Richards is my hero, my style icon, my favorite dude of all. In this documentary, there's lots of Keith, with his bleached out hair and fucked up countenance. Then there's Mick looking wicked hot as Lucifer, and of course the Altamont footage, which we've all seen, still seems shocking even with all of the chaos we now live with and have seen since.
The thing about the Stones is they really were a revelation- from the moody and dark Brian Jones to the moody and dark Bill Wyman to the moody and dark Charlie Watts to the drugged up Rimbaudian brilliance of Richards to the androgynous sexed up raw essence of Mick as androgyne, they were simply the most stylish and brilliant rock musicians ever. And their style as they jetted around the world snorting this and shooting that and schtupping that was just beyond compare. I find their presence in rock and roll history a comfort- to know that such brilliance came out of so much pain, darkness, and turbulence. Boy, could we use another batch of the Stones type mojo these days- where's a song like "Street Fightin' Man" when you need one? Yea, I know they're still around and writing music, but to me, their best days were those when they were young, not as corporate, and not as well, old. Interestingly enough, the HBO documentary had some groupie types about and I believe Mick was shown with Marsha Hunt, but the film was tots not about the Stones and their famous lady loves- it was more about the boys themselves, and wow- they had really been through it.
G-d bless 'em, though. I adore those boys, and though paying thousands for tickets (of which they should really be ashamed) is probably not going to happen for this fan, I am so glad this documentary was on my mind this weekend- was fabulous and made me realize how much I adore their pure viscous sex appeal and raw power. G-d bless the band not formerly known as the Beatles, and as I get through this cloudy Monday in the city, I'll be listening to "Exile" most likely just 'cause I need that today. All the best for a lovely week, cause that's what's up this get what you need kind of Monday in the 212. XO
