Ed Driscoll

Exile On Brain Street

Having read numerous interviews with Keith Richards over the last 30 years or so, I’ve noticed that they come in two flavors. One in which the writer helpfully translates Keith’s thoughts into a language that closely aproximates English. These interviews contain quotes that read like this:

Well, Mick thought that he could get a better sound on his vocals if he rerecorded them in an isolation booth. So we overdubbed them in L.A. at Sunset Sound, after recording the basic tracks at the Record Plant in New York.

Then there are those journalists who simply quote Keith verbatim, transcribing the cassette tape of an interview done at 4:00 in the morning, as the EMPTY! warnings begin to flash on Keith’s bottle of Jack Daniels:

Mick…vocals…Sunshhhhet Shoundddd…Record Plant…New Yorkkkkk…..[thump]….ZZZZZZZZZ

Those last sounds were Keith nodding out after being awake for two weeks running.

However, in proof that alcohol, taken in sufficient quantities, does indeed produce all the effects of intoxication, Tim Blair interviews Keith Richards’ brain–and unlike Keith’s vocal cords, it’s a delightfully articulate interviewee:

Please allow me to introduce myself. I