Stones in Exile Page #4

We were there for, I guess,

about three months,

as Keith and Anita's long-term guests.

There was a lot of down time in Nellcte.

The creative process happened gradually

throughout the day,

as far as I could see.

Remember, I was just a kid.

People would sit around

and play guitars,

and start picking little bits of music,

and then, late at night

they would get busy.

From the top then, lads.

The basement, at night,

was the epicentre,

and as long as we could stay awake,

we were down there.

It was kind of the adult area,

because there was

a lot of drinking and smoking,

and there were bottles of Jack

being passed around.

It was loud and a little bit scary,

but it was also, before it got wild,

a place where we all wanted to be.

It was so loud.

It was really, really loud.

I went to Villefranche sometimes,

in the evening,

and I could hear the music

from Villefranche.

And I'm amazed that the people there

were so patient,

because it was always going,

it was going all night.

It got really hot,

especially down in the basement

where they were recording.

It was like a sauna.

Dingy and dark.

I don't know how they did it,

quite honestly.

It was really an extreme labour of love,

I think.

No.

The same again.

Leave it a whole other one before...

No. Charlie don't come in till later.

- You add just the guitar?

- Later, on the C.

And Bill come in with him?

Yeah, and Mick, MT,

where does Mick come in?

- When he feels it, not too...

- When you feel it, Mick.

I'll give you a yell,

something like middle eight...

What would really happen was this:

They would play very poorly

for two or three days on whatever song,

and then, if Keith got up

and started looking at Charlie,

then you knew

that something was about to go down.

Then Bill would get up and put his bass

at that sort of 84-degree angle,

and you went, "Ah, here it comes.

They're going to go for it now."

Then it would turn into

this wonderful, God-given music.

OK. Here it comes.

Run up to the D and E.

- All right?

- All right.

Got your lead sheets?

Once you're into the recording,

everything else is a bit peripheral.

We'd be down in the basement,

working, working,

but the odd time

you come up to the surface,

oh, they'd be partying up there.

So you never knew

quite what you were going to meet.

Nellcte was never empty.

There was people all over the place.

Some people sprawled out,

and say, "I can't make it home."

"Have the couch. Have the big couch."

Had a couple of mad French cooks

that blew the kitchen up.

But, apart from that,

there was no mayhem, particularly.

Fat Jacques. He said they blew it up.

He was a junkie too.

He used to go to Marseilles.

"Where's Jacques?"

"it's Thursday."

"Oh right. He's gone to score."

I was commuting back and forth

to Nellcte from all over the world.

Dealing with Atlantic, seeing about

a worldwide simultaneous release.

It became my life.

When you're at work

with the Rolling Stones,

you won't last

unless it becomes your life.

I remember, vividly, late afternoon,

early evening, one meal a day.

We'd all sit at this long, long table.

We would all smoke joints and hash

in between courses.

We had this big bowl, and everybody

would be passing it around.

It was a whole new La Dolce Vita,

Felliniesque kind of lifestyle.

I actually became, in my mind,

like one of the Rolling Stones.

You'd be surprised what an

eight-and-a-half-year-old kid sees.

They see everything.

They're like little owls.

Obviously, there was cocaine,

because Dad brought it.

I remember a lot of joints.

We'd roll joints.

That was, I think, pretty much

my function in life at that point,

was to be a joint roller.

If you're living a decadent life,

there's darkness there.

This was decadent.

Nothing was hidden.

Everything was out in the open.

But at this point,

this was the moment of grace.

This was before the darkness.

This was, if anything,

the sunrise before the sunset.

Hell, yeah,

there was some pot laying around,

there was whisky bottles around,

champagne bottles around,

there was scantily-clad women around.

Hell! It was rock'n'roll, son!

Without it, you ain't got rock'n'roll.

Everybody had a great time,

but it was very stressful,

if you know what I mean.

You were having a good time,

but ready to go back home.

The only one

who wasn't like that was Keith,

who was being supplied in his mansion,

with the band working downstairs.

Must have been heaven for him.

Late again, Richards.

I don't envy you when you grow up

and have to go to work for a living.

Sometimes I would wake up

and I would just hear this weird rumbling

from the basement.

And then realise that I'd slept

for nearly a whole day,

and they were working on.

But sometimes if Jimmy Miller was there,

and enough people

to operate the machinery,

I'd say, "Let's start."

They'd say, "There's nobody here."

I said, "I'll do for now."

It was like, whoever's around,

and you had an idea,

"OK, round 'em up and let's go."

I cut Happy

with Jimmy Miller on drums,

and Bobby Keys on baritone sax,

and me on guitar.

That was basically the take.

Everybody would go in and out

of the place as they wished,

so I kind of got really paranoid,

it was unbelievable.

I walked into the living room

and there was this guy

sitting on the sofa,

he pulled out a bag full of smack.

The whole thing kind of disintegrated

and we got heavily into drugs,

like breakfast, lunch and dinner.

At the end, especially,

I thought I was cursed.

We're getting our souls back!

I wasn't that aware, at the time,

cos I was so used to it being around me.

At the time it was just Keith,

it was how we worked.

He's always led life his way,

and I don't think they cared

what you thought or I thought.

I did it, basically, to hide.

Hide from fame

and being this other person,

because all I wanted to do

was play music and bring my family up.

With a hit of smack,

I could walk through anything,

and not give a damn.

Middle of September, what happens?

Keith and all his entourage,

and all these guests and friends

and hangers-on,

are all in, watching television,

and someone breaks in

and steals eight guitars,

one bass and a saxophone,

of Bobby Keys.

Just walks out the house

and no one even knows.

That's how, like,

loose and stupid it was out there.

It's a big group of people,

and they're dependent

on the creative engine.

If it starts to get out of whack

and doesn't work efficiently,

everyone's going to suffer

in some way.

You think you're in control of this

wonderful, enjoyable lifestyle,

and there's a moment where you are,

but then, what happens is,

the lifestyle starts to choose you.

That's the problem.

Suddenly,

it was getting cold and autumn,

and we'd got all of this stuff

that we'd recorded in a truck,

in a basement.

Mick and I

were looking at each other, saying,

"I think we've drained it.

And we've drained everybody else."

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