— You hear that the Rolling Stones will be rolling out yet another concert tour this year and two thoughts come to mind:
Good for them.
Will there ever be a last time for “The Last Time” with these guys?
Singer Kenny Rogers crooned that you gotta know when to hold ‘em and know when to fold ‘em.
Good advice for poker players but still something of a foreign concept for the Stones, who had their first hit single the year President Kennedy was shot but haven’t had another in nearly a quarter of a century.
No matter. These guys are indefatigable, and that especially includes Keith Richards. By all known laws of physiology and pharmacology, he should have died before disco, probably even sooner.
In the event of global nuclear holocaust, the only things left alive will be cockroaches and Keith. That was said in jest decades ago, but it gets truer by the year.
Clearly, these guys love what they do because they just as clearly don’t need to do it. What’s more money to them at this point? And besides, Richards and Mick Jagger are 69, and drummer Charlie Watts turns 72 in June.
Seventy-two. “Get Off My Cloud”? Get off his lawn.
Sorry about that. It’s just way too easy to crack the oldster jokes. Also irrelevant.
The die has been cast: They’re going to have to pry that microphone from Jagger’s cold, dead hands. Until then he’ll chicken strut up to, and maybe beyond, the day he’s given a walker.
The Rolling Stones are unique in that they’ve become a tribute band unto themselves while, incredibly, still remaining intact.
The Beatles are dead or scattered and The Who and scores of other still-kicking rock bands are down to as little as one original member.