New Rolling Stones Biography Offers (Lots of!) Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll

Lesley-Ann Jones gives good quote. Speaking via Zoom from London, she opines, “Rock stars are hermaphrodites these days, aren’t they? If they’re not, we sort of want them to be.”

Jones’ new book The Stone Age: Sixty Years of the Rolling Stones (Pegasus Books, 384 pp. $28.95) is full to the brim with these sorts of unabashed takes on rock and roll, pop culture, and – of course – the Rolling Stones. As a former Fleet Street print journalist and television personality in England, Jones knows her subject, by virtue of her years of reportage and her personal relationships with the Stones themselves.

So with countless volumes chronicling the career of the Rolling Stones, does the world really need another Stones book that rehashes stories that most Stones fans could tell you themselves? What makes this one different? “It’s by a woman!” Jones declares. “The vast majority of books about the Stones are written by male rock writers. The kind of men – who are my friends – who had pictures of the Stones on their bedroom walls, followed them in the music rags, and these guys really wanted to grow up to be the Rolling Stones. And so the books tend to focus very much on the music, on juggernaut tours, and on the coolness of these guys and how they are the epitome of rock and roll glamor.”

Continuing to muse on this rather typical approach, Jones says, “It doesn’t really go under their skin. It doesn’t go into their emotions, the psychology of these people, or why they became Rolling Stones in the first place.”

Jones is not afraid to plumb the Stones’ psychological depths, and her scrutiny provides worthwhile insights regarding the band’s members, in particular guitarist Brian Jones, who was fired from the band in 1969 and died soon thereafter, drowning in his swimming pool under what must be termed suspicious circumstances.

“I’m sorry and sad about Brian,” Jones says. “I think it was in the interest of the remaining Rolling Stones to try to portray him as the villain. He wasn’t a very nice guy, he treated women badly, he was violent, he couldn’t control himself. Yeah, he was a gifted musician, but what use was he in the studio when he was in a heap, in a drug-induced haze in a corner and couldn’t contribute anything? So they felt they had to get rid of him. Never mind the fact that he founded the band in the first place. He named the band.”

During the writing of The Stone Age, Jones traveled to Cheltenham, Brian Jones’ hometown north of London, in order to gain a better understanding of the demons that pursued him throughout his short life. “His little sister died. It was never explained to him what happened. And so he acquired a guilt complex about this, and he decided that it was his fault. And the awful thing is that he and his sister were identical. They weren’t identical twins, but they looked very similar – angelic, big blue eyes, blond hair, gorgeous. And Brian’s dilemma was that every time he looked in the mirror, he saw her. He couldn’t get away from her. Instead of holding Brian to them, his parents almost pushed him away and refused to discuss what had happened,” Jones relates.

After a troubled adolescence (during which he fathered a number of illegitimate children), Jones made his way to London and eventually connected with the young musicians who would ultimately make up the Rolling Stones. Jones’ compassion and empathy for the young man are evident as she continues the story. “I feel that Brian was misunderstood,” she says. “He was searching for love. When somebody has sex with lots of partners, it’s not looking for sex. They’re usually looking for affection, understanding, and connection. And he obviously wasn’t finding it. And then he gets in bed – as it were – with a bunch of guys who are musicians and he thinks, ‘At last. I’ve found my calling, I’ve found my guys.’ And, more or less immediately, his new ‘family’ turns against him. Imagine how he felt. I have a lot of sympathy for him.”

It seems, then, that there was a certain ruthlessness that permeated the Stones camp? “To the point of reptilian, I would say.”

The Stone Age is anything but pedestrian, exhibiting a distinct point of view and a certain Britishness. Fortunately for readers outside the UK, the book is well-annotated, containing a “Notes” section which provides helpful background information without interrupting the momentum of the narrative. Readers who further peruse the back of the book will be rewarded with an appendix titled “Stones Women,” in which Jones lists some of the more significant romantic partners of the various Stones over the years. Some of them are indeed women, but – at least according to Jones – there are a few (OK, maybe more than a few) men as well.

As might be expected, Stones lead singer Mick Jagger leads the field with over 4,000 notches on his bedpost. So how does one go about quantifying this legendary satyr’s conquests? “Take the number and then treble it!” Jones declares. Then, in an almost apologetic tone, she adds, “I had to focus it, I had to leave out all of the people I know about whose names don’t mean anything to anybody out there. I had to focus on names that most people would have heard. It’s incredible, really.” The list includes (in alphabetical order, because how else are you going to keep track of these things?) Brigitte Bardot, Linda Eastman (later McCartney), Farrah Fawcett, Jane Fonda, Angelina Jolie, Madonna, Princess Margaret, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, Linda Ronstadt, Carly Simon, Uma Thurman, Margaret Trudeau and Tina Turner — among many, many others.

It has been rumored for some time that Jagger’s door swung both ways over the years, particularly with regard to his close friendship with David Bowie. Another alleged partner was Jann Wenner, the publisher of Rolling Stone magazine. But there are a couple of surprises on Jones’ list, the first being Stones guitarist Mick Taylor, who played with the band from 1969 through 1974.

“The story came from Rose, [Taylor’s] former wife, who found Mick and Mick in bed together. Mick Taylor was a baby. He was so young. And as far as Mick Jagger was concerned, he was malleable,” Jones explains, pointing out that conditions at the French villa where the band recorded Exile on Main St. were conducive to all sorts of experimentation.

“It was just mayhem in that house. Utter debauchery. Just off the scale behavior. Mick Taylor was very young, impressionable, and corruptible. And so Jagger decided to get him out of his brain and seduce him. And Mick Taylor was so horrified. He was trying his damnedest to stay in control and be a decent person. And he couldn’t live with himself for what he’d done. He just fell to pieces. He tried everything he could to put the relationship [with his wife] back together, but it was unsalvageable. He lost Rose, ultimately. He lost his daughter. He now lives in penury in Suffolk.”

OK, maybe Mick Taylor, but for crying out loud, Keith Richards? Jagger’s fellow “Glimmer Twin” is atop the book’s list of Mick’s male conquests. Really? “People like to think of the most hard-bitten rock stars as quintessentially heterosexual, otherwise it doesn’t work,” Jones says. “But of course these guys are all things to all people, so why wouldn’t they be all things to each other as well?  [Mick and Keith] have known each other since they were children. They just know each other so inside-out that the idea of them falling into bed together and maybe having a bit of a to-do is not that big of a deal, is it?  The amount of narcotics they were ingesting, the amount of booze. With enough of that stuff inside you, any of us could end up in bed with anybody.”

This line of conversation brings up the question of sources, of corroboration. Did Jones conduct research for The Stone Age, or did she rely on her memory and previous accounts of the Stones story? “I did new interviews,” she answers. “I steered clear of the principals, because what are they going to say that’s of any use to me, really? I went looking for ‘supporting cast players,’ their Greek chorus. The people who came and went, who were used and thrown away. How do they feel about stuff now?”

Jones is clearly an admirer, but she does not let the Stones off easy. “I am a massive fan of their music. I’m a massive fan of their impact on popular culture. And I do not deny in any shape or form that they are one of the most important rock and roll bands to come out of the twentieth century. But,” she says, pausing for emphasis, “there are many, many casualties. There are many victims. People have died on their watch. They have been careless with other people’s hearts and minds and bodies.”

Jones has spent time with all of the Stones over the years, with the exception of Brian Jones, who died when she was “still a schoolgirl.” Her impressions?

“Charlie [Watts] was quite a deep, interesting guy,” Jones recalls. “Charlie and his wife were the same person, they were joined at the hip. They had been together for such a long time that they spoke for each other. And they were really cute together. Even though they were two little old people, they had this childishness about them and a lovely sort of charm.”

Jones is blunt in her assessment of bassist Bill Wyman, who notoriously married Mandy Smith when she was only 18, after carrying on a lengthy affair with her. “Bill is a pedophile,” she says deliberately. “He was having sex with a 13-year-old child.”

Jones is generally fond of guitarist Ronnie Wood, the “new boy,” who joined the band in 1975.  “Ronnie’s not a bad guy. I’ve spent a bit of time with Ronnie,” Jones says. “I have a word which I use about Ronnie, which is ‘enough.’ He’s a good enough artist but nothing special. He’s a good enough guitarist. He’s a good enough songwriter. But there’s nothing that’s going to set the world on fire.”

Which Stone would she like to have as a dinner companion? “It would have to be Keith, because you would have to be able to sit there and get off your box with Keith and say, ‘Right, come on then, all that stuff that you said, that you didn’t snort your dad’s ashes, but we know damn well that you did. Come on, what really happened?’”

Which leaves us with Mick Jagger. Jones has an anecdote which adroitly captures the singer’s character, one which involves trying to find a Christmas party being thrown by the Mail on Sunday, a British newspaper. Seeing the doors of a grand Cheyne Walk townhouse open, butlers standing at the ready, she walked in, was given a glass of champagne, and instructed to proceed up an imposing staircase. Entering a ballroom, she found a choir performing and situated herself in the curve of a grand piano, enjoying the music and the festive atmosphere.

“Suddenly, I feel a tap on my shoulder,” Jones recalls, “and I swing round, and I’m staring into the face of Mick Jagger. And the pennies all dropped. And he says, ‘You’re not supposed to be here, are you?’ So I said, ‘Not the Mail on Sunday Christmas party?’ And he said, ‘Hardly.’ But if he had had any grace – because he knows who I am – he would have said, ‘Welcome to my Christmas party, the drinks are on me.’ Instead of kicking me out!”

This article appears in Jan 1 – Dec 31, 2022.