The Rolling Stone interviews - Jann Wenner [188]
A lot of people who were a big part of your life with the Stones are no longer here. Who do you miss the most?
Ian Stewart was a body blow. I was waiting for him in a hotel in London. He was going to see a doctor and then come and see me. Charlie called about three in the morning: “You still waiting for Stu? He ain’t coming, Keith.”
Stu was the father figure. He was the stitch that pulled us together. He had a very large heart, above and beyond the call of duty. When other people would get mean and jealous, he could rise above it. He taught me a lot about taking a couple of breaths before you go off the handle. Mind you, it didn’t always work. But I got the message.
Gram Parsons—I figured we’d put things together for years, because there was so much promise there. I didn’t think he was walking on the broken eggshells so much. I was in the john at a gig in Innsbruck, Austria. I’m taking a leak, and Bobby Keys walks in. He says, “I got a bad one for you. Parsons is dead.” We were supposed to be staying in Innsbruck that night. I said fuck it. I rented a car, and Bobby and I drove to Munich and did the clubs—tried to forget about it for a day or two.
Have you contemplated your own death?
I let other people do that. They’ve been doing it for years. They’re experts, apparently. Hey, I’ve been there—the white light at the end of the tunnel—three or four times. But when it doesn’t happen, and you’re back in—that’s a shock.
The standard joke is that in spite of every drink and drug you’ve ever taken, you will outlive cockroaches and nuclear holocaust. You’ll be the last man standing.
It’s very funny, how that position has been reserved for me. It’s only because they’ve been wishing me to death for so many years, and it didn’t happen. So I get the reverse tip of the hat. All right, if you want to believe it—I will write all of your epitaphs.
But I don’t flaunt it. I never tried to stay up longer than anybody else just to announce to the media that I’m the toughest. It’s just the way I am. The only thing I can say is, you gotta know yourself.
After forty years, still doing two and a half hours onstage every night—that’s the biggest last laugh of all.
Maybe that’s the answer. If you want to live a long life, join the Rolling Stones.
EMINEM
by Touré
November 25, 2004
Who in your family loved you? Did any of the adults make you feel special?
My aunt Edna, which would be my great-aunt Edna, and my uncle Charles, my great-uncle Charles. This was in Missouri. They’re from my dad’s side. They took care of me a lot. My uncle Charles passed in ’92 or ’93, and Aunt Edna passed away just six months ago. She was, like, eighty-six. They were older, but they did things with me; they let me stay the weekends there, took me to school, bought me things, let me stay and watch TV, let me cut the grass to get five dollars, took me to the mall. Between them and my uncle Ronnie, they were my solidity.
Did they connect you with your dad?
They’d tell me he was a good guy: “We don’t know what your mother’s told you, but he was a good guy.” But a lot of times he’d call, and I’d be there—maybe I’d be on the floor coloring or watching TV—and it wouldn’t have been nothing for him to say, “Put him on the phone.” He coulda talked to me, let me know something. ’Cause as far as father figures, I didn’t have any in my life. My mother had a lot of boyfriends. Some of ’em I didn’t like; some of ’em were cool. But a lot would come and go. My little brother’s dad was probably the closest thing I had to a father figure. He was around off and on for about five years. He was the dude who’d play catch, take us bowling, just do stuff that dads would do.
When I saw you playing with [his daughter] Hailie back in February, you were so respectful. A lot of people talk down to little kids, but you talk to