![]() When he was fired from the band a few weeks before his death, Jagger recalls, he seemed unsurprised.įorty years after Jones’s death, a heartbreaking note from his dad, Lewis, turned up in the attic of Lawrence’s family home. We use Google reCaptcha to protect our website and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.Īpart from the odd flash of musical ingenuity – Bill Wyman reminds us that the flute on Ruby Tuesday was Jones’s idea – Jones became a liability, scarcely capable of playing live. For more information see our Privacy Policy. Privacy Notice: Newsletters may contain info about charities, online ads, and content funded by outside parties. He fell back on scotch and coke, downers and LSD, seeking succour in things that, as the drummer Charlie Watts says, he was neither physically nor mentally tough enough to handle. He became increasingly uncertain of his own talents. His lack of self-esteem was worsened by Jagger and Richards’ self-confident creativity. It’s vulgar, awful and out of tune.’”Īnother of his lovers, Marianne Faithfull, understood Jones. “He said: ‘Mick and Keith are writing shit and I can’t stand it. One of Jones’s lovers, the actor Zouzou, tells Broomfield that Jones hated the way the band was evolving away from the blues. For that, at least, Jones deserves kudos.Īs Broomfield notes, though, the Stones’ manager, Andrew Loog Oldham, realised that Mick Jagger and Richards could make the group a hit factory – and that Jones, who did not write songs, was expendable. When the Stones played in the US, appearing on TV shows with Howlin’ Wolf, these scrawny, white London herberts were introducing many Americans to the blues for the first time. True, it had been his love for, and appropriation of, African American blues music that made the Stones special his retooling of Muddy Waters, Robert Johnson and Howlin’ Wolf gave them the edgy sound that, say, the Beatles could never approximate. She got her most memorable role in the Stones’ rolling, incestuous swingers’ party.īy that summer of 1967, Jones was already a falling star. In Cannes for the film premiere, Pallenberg awoke in Jones’s hotel room, went down the corridor and was found later by Schlöndorff in Keith Richards’s bed. ![]() The image seems to sum up the sinister element of the swinging 60s: not so much its liberation as its self-regard, cruelty and dimwit politics. One photo from the time shows Brian and Anita in matching hairdos and gaunt beauty, he in a Nazi uniform with a swastika armband, like a prototypical Prince Harry. “I guess they got a lot of sexual and or erotic excitement out of these fights,” says Schlöndorff. They were aroused by spiking others’ drinks and fighting with each other. “Anita was putting oil on the flames,” says the film director Volker Schlöndorff, who cast Pallenberg in his 1967 film A Degree of Murder and allowed Jones to write its incidental music. “When he started hanging with her, his dark side came out,” says Jones’s friend Prince Stash Klossowski de Rola, whose unlikely name, with its two apparent drug references, seems curiously fitting. Instead of giving Linda money or even letting her into the house, Jones laughed at her, as did Anita. Inside, Jones and his new squeeze, the 60s It girl and actor Anita Pallenberg, were in the first throes of their affair. Years after he left her and their son, Julian, she turned up on his doorstep seeking a little money from the famous Rolling Stone to tide them over her. Linda Lawrence, whom he met when she was 15 and he was 20, recalls the erotic high, but also the comedown. Broomfield estimates Jones did this five times in the early 60s. He developed a modus operandi whereby he would seduce a woman, move in with her and her parents, charm the latter, get the former pregnant and then jog on, leaving broken hearts and fatherless children in his wake. ![]() After his strait-laced parents kicked the longhaired, jazz-loving, seeming wastrel out of the family home in Cheltenham, Jones gathered no moss. ![]()
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