What does it sound like?:

I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of seeing Keith Richards’ ugly mug staring out at me from the newsstands. Keith is now a ruined parody of the beautiful man we once knew. He’s an old, wrinkled geezer going through the motions. He’s a shadow and an illusion of something that used to be glorious. He represents a part of ourselves that we just can’t bear to let go. In the absence of anything else to write about (and until the next 60s survivor releases some new product) the popular media has willingly rolled over and granted Keith the front cover of every magazine in the land, along with acres of news print and fawning interviews stretching to the distant horizon. I haven’t read any of them, but I already know what they will say. There will be endless references to his once prodigious drug use (couched in the most romantic terms, naturally), his arthritic hands will be remarked upon more than once and the word “cats” will be dropped into almost every sentence. There’ll be sly, cheeky digs at Mick and the writer won’t be able to resist mentioning Keith’s endless smoking … Continue reading Keith Richards – Crosseyed Heart