Keith Richards Live at Il Cantinori

This is the transcript of an interview with Keith Richards, conducted on August 6, 2015, at Il Cantinori on East 10th Street in Manhattan. We were in the back room of the restaurant in the late afternoon. There were no other customers. Keith smoked cigarettes and sipped from a large glass of Campari, vodka and soda, which was regularly topped off with more soda by the attentive staff.

This was for a cover story that appeared in Billboard, timed to the release of his third solo album ‘Crosseyed Heart.’

It is unabridged and unedited, except for a few small corrections.

I’m going to put this near you, if that’s alright.

Yeah, sure, man.

Are you at all into technology?

Not at all. I mean, I keep an eye on it. But I don’t involve myself in it.

Not a cellphone, an iPad?

No. I don’t want to be hacked all the time. I’ve never been a phone man. The only phone number I ever needed was 911.

So is this your spot?

Patty and I used to live on 4th Street, until suddenly, mysteriously, these babies arrived. We’d hit this for lunch every day for years. We were old regulars.

Did you still come into New York regularly?

I come to record. For work. Or if the old lady’s got something on in town, I’m like, I’ll just come with you and hang around.

So Connecticut is where you are most of the time?

Yeah, yeah, I like the country.

You just came off a tour with the Stones a few weeks ago. What happens after you get off a tour?

It’s a strange thing, the adrenaline is just cut off. So for a couple of weeks, you’re sleeping at odd hours, like you’ve got jet lag or something. Lethargy sets in. Takes a couple of weeks and then you bounce back.

Do you do anything to relax, like take a bike ride or anything?

Oh no, nothing so strenuous. After running around the Stones stage for a couple of hours every night, I’ve done my exercise.

Do you typically come home between shows?

No, just stay out. Home comes to me. Wife and daughters visit.

What’s life like on the road? Now that you’re not trashing hotel rooms.

I never did trash hotel rooms! Of course, there is that famous picture of me throwing the TV out the window. But very rarely did I abuse my abode.

Are there thing you bring along to make the road more tolerable?

The wife helps. For starters. Actually, I carry a suitcase of what my man Tony Russell calls bits. Cigarette cases. Bag full of pencils. All kinds of crap that’s hanging around the house. I’m going to take that, why not? Never use it on the road. I put em around the room, make a hotel feel more intimate.

When you’re not on the road, what other than music gets you out of the house?

Oh …. When we go out, I like to have a good dinner now and again. Pop ‘round to family and friends. Places. But hey, I’m an old man now. I’m pretty sedentary. Mostly, everything comes to me. The kids. The grandkids. Which is a whole other trip, let me tell you.

How old are your grandchildren?

I’ve got them from 19 to 2. The spread is amazing.

That is amazing. So do you get down on the ground with the little ones?

Yeah, and then you’re talking to the bigger ones about their next modeling job.

What is something that gets better with age? In your life.

You’re a little more serene about things. I used to get really angry about certain things. Now I’m like, Hold back, old boy. Is that really worth getting angry about? But the reality is, growing up never really stops. Everybody thinks you reach a certain age and you’re a grown-up, but it’s not true. Nobody grows up until the day they croak. I’m sure of it. Because to me it’s still the next day and what do we do and how do we do it.

You’ve always had a lot of good close friends. As you get older, it is harder to make friendships like that?

I’ve lost a lot of good friends. They’ve gone before me. At the same time, there’s still a good solid core. And you do make new friends as you go on. I’m great friends with my daughter’s boyfriend at the moment. He’s cool. We hang out.

Is he into music?

A little bit. He’s just a good guy. I think you can always make new friends, if you want. Sometimes, when people get older, they might have some trepidation about starting a new friendship. There’s kind of a cold shoulder thing that happens with some guys.

You write about that in the book — about how a certain member of the Stones became unpleasant to the people who help you put on the shows.

I like a room full of laughing guys. My life has been a lot of ups and downs. To me, a recording studio full of guys who laughing and chuckling and happy with what’s going on, that’s pretty much as close to heaven as I can get.

What about your peers in the music business — do you find it’s easy to connect them?

Very much so. Ed Sheeran I like very much. I just worked with him down in Atlanta.

What did you do with him?

He opened for the Stones, so we hung around in the dressing room for a bit. Very talented guy. I do miss Amy Winehouse. I just thought she was going to blossom into something fantastic. I mean, she was already there. But that’s a shame.

Have you seen the documentary that just came out about her?

I haven’t seen it.

It’s a wrenching movie.

I’m sure it is. It’s a tragedy when somebody dies so young, especially when they had so much talent.

Do you enjoy going out to see concerts by other people? U2 just played 10 nights at Madison Square Garden, did you go?

You know, I don’t go a lot. And if I do go, it’s usually a club gig. Maybe Darryl is playing. Or Lisa Fisher. I’ll usually be at smaller gigs. It’s like going to movies. This is one of the prices of fame. When I go to the movies, my eyes are always on the exit signs. You’re just waiting for someone to yell, ‘It’s him!’ And you’ve got to run.

Do you ever wear a disguise?

I’ve tried disguises, but it don’t work. I put glasses on and a fake mustache, but they see this [POINTS AT HIS NOSE} and they know it’s me.

You’ve lived in this country for a long time. Do you consider yourself an American at this point?

I consider myself global, actually. Of course, I love the old country. But I also love America. I mean, that’s where it all started for me. A love of American music.

Do you follow politics at all?

Oh you mean Donald Trump?

How did you know I was going to ask about him?

I tell you what. Let’s put it this way. The last time I saw Donald, it was the Saturday Night Live anniversary do a few months ago. And Donald said to me [LOWERS HIS VOICE AN OCTAVE], ‘You’re the greatest!’ And I said, ‘Thanks, Don, you too’ LAUGHS

Is that the only time you’ve ever met him?

Oh God no, I’ve met him a few times before. In less pleasant circumstances. In City, where we were playing one of his hotels. For some reason, he had his hard game, you know, the bouncers, big boys, putting gloves on. So the Stones boys were like, Ok, here we go. But luckily …

What do you mean putting gloves on?

For fighting.

They were going to mix it up with your crew?

What a strange person to get to that level, that quickly, just because something had pissed him off. Over whatever it was. I never learned what the squabble was about.

But it was settled before anything happened?

Yeah, it was settled. A lot of hard stares.

That’s terrible.

Yeah, he’s a funny guy. He should’ve been a comedian.

Maybe that’s what he is, a comedian.

He is a comedian. But he should make a living out of it.

So you’re going to watch the debate tonight?

I’d like to see it. See how the rest of them handle Donald. I do find him refreshing. He’s cut through a lot of crap, and eventually … well, I mean, probably eventually, I mean, can you imagine President Trump? The worst nightmare. But we can’t say that? Because it could happen. We don’t know in this country. This is one of the other wonders of this country. Who would’ve thought Ronald Reagan could be president? LAUGHTER, FUNNY NOISES

Your introduction to America was through music, particularly black music. And in your book, you write about identification not just with the music, but with people. Does that give you a perspective on the racial conflicts happening now — especially involving the police and the church shooting in Charleston?

When I get to this country in the 1960s, and you went south of Washington DC, you had know doubts about what was what. COLORED only. WHITES only. On every restaurant. I was on a bus with the Vibrations, the Tina Turner band, and we were down in Carolina and pulled over for a pee break. So I joined all the guys, this long queue of musicians, and then when I get to the door, they say, No you don’t, read the door. Said COLORED ONLY. That was my first forceful hit of segregation, what it was still like. And they were laughing their heads off.

You personally had a number of run-ins with the police that left you questioning their motives.

Yeah, a lot of them are creeps. They knew it too. That’s why they’re hired.

Does that experience influence the way you see the news today about black men being killed by cops?

There’s a song on this new album called ‘Nothing on Me.’ Which is about a run-in with the cops. Aaron Neville is on the track with me. It was recorded before this latest rash of racism and … what do you call it, man? It’s something that’s had a lid on it, but it’s not really integrated. There are laws now that say you have to do this or you have to do that. But I don’t think you can heal racism with the stroke of a pen. Or even with a generation or two. It has to come organically, really. All I know is that I’ve had more fun with black people than with white people.

You come from a devoutly non-religious family. Have your own convictions changed as you’ve gotten older?

Not particularly. Patricia, my old lady, is Lutheran, sometimes goes to church, once a month or something. My feeling is that God has killed more people than he’s worth, quite honestly. And nobody’s ever seen him.

A lot of people claim to.

Yes, and a lot of people claim to see flying saucers, right? Which is all part of the same wish. I think people should be a lot more centered about their life on earth and what they’ve got rather than some projected idea of what comes later. These guys blowing themselves up for 72 virgins, that’s where it leads. They don’t tell them how old the virgins are. LAUGHS, MAKES FUNNY VOICE. ‘The oldest one is 110.’ LAUGHS. Promises, promises. Religion is a promised land.

One function of religion is that it gives people a sense of security.

I think church is very important to stabilizing society, oh yes. Because they were there before governments. But at the same time, there’s a difference between scratching your ass and tearing it to bits. LAUGHS. I mean, you look at the Pope and all the [MAKES SERIES OF WEIRD NOISES]. Tell him to take off the frock.

Do you have an idea of what the afterlife is?

It’s a white light. That’s the closest I got.

Seeing pictures of you on stage from back in the 60s and 70s, and looking at you now, there’s a big difference. You look much happier now.

To me, it’s always been a struggle about making what we play on stage sound good out there. It takes a long time to find the right guys and the right team, so I’m confident that what we’re putting out as a band is what the audience is actually hearing. That’s very difficult. PAs only started in 1970, and they’re still growing. I realized that you put the band on stage and they may be playing fantastic. But if it’s interpreted incorrectly by the sound guy, who I realize is the most important guy in the band apart from the guys in the band, I think lately, yes, we’ve got this guy Dave Natal, and he’s our interpreter, and he’s got it down. A lot of other ones will start concentrating on the keyboard, because that’s the easiest one. It’s been a constant battle.

How do you measure it? How do you even know?

I can tell from friends, other musicians. And I get a tape back, occasionally. Just to check. So I have confidence in the PA man. Which is one of the most important things about my playing. Because you can feel happy up there. You don’t want to be speaking English up there and they’re hearing Portugeuse. LAUGHS

Are you a better player now?

More thoughtful, I think. And I still have the same whip and energy. I love to get my teeth into that stuff. Quite honestly, I think the Rolling Stones at the moment are at their best.

Really?

Yeah. Darryl Jones is an incredible bass player. Him and Charlie lock, just beautifully. And my job is to chop all the beats up. I’m the roll. They’re the rock. The last tour was great, right through the heartland. We hadn’t played places like Kansas City in quite a while. Columbus, Ohio. We didn’t play one major city. But the comeback and the reaction was quite incredible.

Whose opinion in music matters to you?

If I was going to listen to someone’s opinion, it’d be Waddy Wachtel. Steve Jordan. Don Waas. Because I know we’re hearing the same thing. But otherwise, I don’t trust any sons of bitches.

Tell me about Steve Jordan and why he’s become one of your main collaborators. What does he bring to you?

Whatever I do with the Stones, I write songs with Mick. I’m always a collaborator. And what Steve Jordan and I do is write songs. Except we do it in a different way than the Stones would. We start with a drum beat and work our way up. Whereas with the Stones, there’s already a pretty set song. I’ve been working with Steve off and on since 1986 when we went to Detroit and cut Jumping Jack Flash with Aretha Franklin. I’d made a deal with Aretha who told me ‘I really don’t like to fly’ and I said, we’ll come to you. But you have to play piano. And she said, Piano? I haven’t played that in years. And I said, I want you to play piano. So we had that deal. And we had a great session. And right after that, the Chuck Barry movie ‘Hail, Hail, Rock n’ Roll’ fell in my plate. And I was like, How can I turn this down? If I turn this down, I’ll shoot myself. And Steve and I put the band together. Which is probably the best band that ever played behind Chuck.

You tell a good story in the book about how impossible Chuck was to play with.

Oh he could be. Only because he wanted to be.

He didn’t want to make it easy on you.

At the same time, it was like, Oh, you’ve got me, you son of a bitch. Because I do love him dearly But he can be … I mean, even in the movie, there’s one scene where Chuck comes in and changes the key.

When you performed in the 60s and 70s, you were often on drugs …

Oh yeah.

So how’s it different playing now?

Well, less drugs. Less. You get down the road a bit, drugs aren’t as interesting as they used to be. You can wear it out. That’s why I dumped heroin and eventually the coke. It was just there. I didn’t want it anymore. It was like an experiment and then your body tells you, No more. We’ve been there, we’ve done that.

But very few people are actually able to do that. They can’t walk away. How are you different?

Eh. I love my pot. Love my weed. Unashamedly a fan. A piece of good hashish now and again. But otherwise …. You know, the state of good drugs has done down. In the 60s and 70s, you had barbiturates, which were great downers. And Quaaludes. And T — — , Cosby’s ha ha ha, right? But these drugs were fairly simple. You took them, you pissed them out. But these news one, the Xanax. I’m not there with that.

You’re not down with modern pharmaceuticals?

Zero.

No prescription drugs?

I still take Dilantin since the knock on the head. And they said, you’ve got to take that.

How is your head?

LAUGHS, TAKES MY HAND, RUNS IT ALONG THE RIDGE ABOVE HIS HAIRLINE.

Whoa.

Yeah, that’s a dent. Par for the course.

How long were you out for?

That was the unfortunate thing. I didn’t go at all. I was in pain. And they had to fly me from Fiji to New Zealand in one of those flying-doctor sort of planes.

What’s something you haven’t done that you still intend to — musically or personally?

You know, I kinda let life lead me rather than set goals for myself. There are certainly quite a few guitar licks that I haven’t been able to master.

Really, a guitar lick?

There are certain ways of playing that are a mystery to me. So I’m looking to fill in that gap.

Can you give me an example?

James Burton, man. A lot of country pickers, really good country pickers. I never got that fluidity down. But then I don’t really play a lot of lead guitar. My thing is rhythm. But I’m looking forward to learning a few more licks. Nobody knows what goes on on that thing, not even Segovia. I mean, the guitar is an incredible machine. The possibility and variations that you can bring up, it’ll never be filled up. That damn fretboard.

Do you have a favorite all-time rumor about yourself?

The monkey gland one. It was about the same time I was supposed to be getting my blood changed in Switzerland. Something to do with monkey glands. I don’t know. Meanwhile, I’m in the hotel, cold turkey, reading that shit.

Was there a time there when you really felt like people were out to get you?

Oh without a doubt. I didn’t feel like it. I knew it. They told me. The cops in London were particularly vicious.

How did that feeling pass?

Because every time they did it, they ended up in jail. Look up the record of Constable Kunstable. They were bent. They were just bent cops. They tried to screw me. But they’d always screw it up. They were so dumb. I mean, they had me on 25 counts of guilty, and I’m saying, guilty. 25 times. By 15, your voice is parched. You have to ask for a glass of water. By the time you get to 25, the judge is already falling asleep. And then they say, And there’s an extra charge. This tiny little shot gun that I bought in the south of France, must’ve been made in 1870. The cops pull it out, and say, And this sawed-off shot gun. The judge looks at me and I look at the shot gun and look back at the judge and say, Not guilty. Because if it was sawed-off, why is there a sight on the end of the barrel? LAUGHS. So you know what dummies you’re dealing with. But it’s a pain in the ass.

Do you still like guns?

Yeah, I like a good gun. I have a shot gun and a nice little antique thing than Don Waas gave me. Tiny, nice little revolver. But I don’t keep them around the house because I’ve got kids and grandkids running around.

These songs you wrote for the new album with Steve Jordan, how would they be different if you’d written them with Mick Jagger?

Working with Mick, he’s playing things closer to his chest. These last few years. So if you arrive and you’re going to do a session, he’s like, ‘This one goes like this. This goes like that.’ And I think, ‘This is not the way the Stones record.’ I’ll walk in with nothing and ask Charlie to set up a beat. And within ten minutes, we’ll have a riff going. I always think that people should just start playing together. Mick likes to be more prepared. He’s a control freak. He’s admitted it to me. And I’m like, you should get some help.

With all the hundreds of songs you’ve written, how do you not just not repeat yourself? How did you find new things?

I tell you what, it’s because I don’t think about it. They find me. My attitude towards songwriting, which I never ever thought of doing until apparently I became one, which was a shock to me. As Tears Go By was the first one.

Pretty good one.

Yes, and Marianne Faithful took it into the top ten, and I was like, maybe I am a songwriter. I’m still learning. But I consider myself more of an antenna. I sit down with an instrument, a piano, a guitar, and I’ll play Otis Redding songs or Buddy Holly songs, or something I grew up with and I love. And with a bit of luck, somewhere half way through, it goes doi-doi-doi-nnnnng. Like the bell rings on the antenna and says, That chord you played there. And suddenly you’re led off into a whole new place. So I receive and I transmit.

Is it the same with lyrics?

The songs you love are harder sometimes. The songs you love are like robbed blind. Where you wake up in the morning and you’re playing and writing it down.

You have a guitar in your bedroom?

Yeah, yeah, most times. But, uh, you just pick it up and the whole song blossoms in front of you. Very rare but a great feeling. ‘Satisfaction’, I mean I wrote that in my sleep.

You wrote in the book that you don’t remember writing it. It was on the tape when you woke up.

It was just on the tape. I didn’t remember it at all.

Can you imagine if you’d erased the tape? Would we be sitting here today?

I know, I know, it’s a nightmare. I’d’ve probably come up with something else.

One of my characters in the Stones world is Andrew Loog Oldham. He’s still kicking around?

Yes, he lives in Colombia. Sometimes in New York. I’m in touch with him. Brilliant guy. Very strange character. Breaking all the rules.

What did he help you do?

Andrew took us from being just a bar band, basically. He’d been fired by Brian Epstein, because he’d been working with the Beatles. And for some reason, I never knew, Epstein fired him. He was basically a PR man. What he did, in an amazingly short time, a matter of weeks, was make the Rolling Stones the only band you wanted to see on the weekend. An amazing communicator. And ideas. Mad ideas, he’d kick around. He was part of the band. We all felt he was. Later on, he got a little crazy. He loved America and Phil Spector. Mind you, I loved Phil Spector. Sorry, Phil, no mail today.

Did you follow the whole spectacle around the Grateful Dead concert last month?

The Grateful Dead is where everybody got it wrong. Just rambling on, poodling about for hours and hours. Never been my thing. I’ve always been rock n roll, 3 minutes 40, bam.

So you never found anything interesting about what they were doing?

No, man. Jerry Garcia, boring shit, man. Sorry, Jerry. It was a phenomena, not so much to do with music. It was just people as stoned as they were, having a good time. They were good at that. But no, man, it’s not my kind of music.

Do your children and grandchildren help you stay current with music?

Yeah, they keep me up to date. Now and again, I find a good track. I find the state of it … oh, I don’t want to sound like an old man MAKES GRUMPY OLD-MAN NOISES

Can you think of a new song you’ve liked?

Sure, but I don’t even know what it’s called. It was … Florence, something. Ed Shearan, I said. There was a guy named St. Paul, Broken Bones …. He’s incredible. But the only fact is that he’s a white guy who does Otis Redding incredibly. But he doesn’t want to be known for that. He’s trying to get away from it. He played a couple of shows with us. I wish him luck with his own stuff. But he’s Otis Redding, really. He grew up on it.

What’s the next move for the Stones?

I’m trying to get them into the studio.

What do you need to do to make that happen?

I have to poke everybody around with a sharp stick.

You’ve gotten pretty good at that over the years.

I use very sweet smelling oil. But, yeah, I’m in that phase. They must get in the studio in the next few months.

Is there a place you’d want to do that?

No, I’d leave that up to the powers that be, so to speak. Wherever it was convenient. I don’t care where I record. As long as the room’s good.

Is the tour going to resume soon?

The Stones were supposed to hit the road in South American in the fall, but that was put back to February. So suddenly I have this space of time. Or should I do a few gig with these cats behind this record. It should be done. You make a record, you should play a few shows. Who knows what could happen, it’s still boiling up in my mind.

How many of the people running for president have you met?

Huckabee who pardoned me for something I didn’t do. But he’s a guitar-playing screwball. But the rest of them, no. I really try not to mingle with politicians.

They must try to mingle with you?

Oh yeah, they try, but they get the fob off.

Where do you feel comfortable going in public?

My local market knows me, I can pop in. The liquor store knows me EXTENDED LAUGHTER. But apart from that, no, it’s weird, I go to places I really know well, like this one. My wife takes me to places that she thinks would broaden my horizons, and she’s right.

Is there a place that’s broadened your horizons recently?

I don’t remember the names. There was some Hungarian place.

Do you still go to Jamaica?

Oh yes, I was there in December. Didn’t get up to my own place. Stopped up in Negril for a week. Anita, my first old lady, the premiere, she goes and spends the winters down there. It’s good for her health. She has some problems with her hip. I’m kinda looking forward to going back there when I have a substantial amount of time because I know when I go there, the last time, I burnt my passport.

You burnt your passport? Why?

So I would have to stay there. It took about 3 months.

When was that?

Sometime in the 90s. I just thought, I gotta stay here, play with these cats, and there’s no way I’m going back to the mainland. So I had it in my top pocket and we were grilling some fish, me and the rest of them, and it was like, oops.

Is that a true story?

Yes. I do crazy things.

Better than falling out of a tree.

Yes. Shit happens to me.

How do you feel about your singing voice?

I’m getting better at it. Finding the right timbre.

Who are your vocal inspirations?

Louis Armstrong, man. Tom Waits. Bob Dylan.

Do you like to talk as part of the job?

I hate the idea of it, but I love doing it. I’ve got to get up for lunch and talk to this guy, arrgh, but then we’re sitting here, I’m having a great time. You know, you make a record, you think you’ve done your job, and uh uh, pal, you’ve got to talk to Brazil.

You write in the book about your dad and how you are a lot different from him, because he just wanted a job that he could have forever. But that’s what you’ve had — the same job, forever.

Oh yeah, longer than my dad kept his job. But I invented the job.

It seems like keeping it is very important to you, though.

That could be true. Continuity. I know what it is I do. I suppose it is, I never thought of it any other way.

There seems like there’s a lot of pressure on you to keep the Stones going.

Yeah, but the rest of them don’t know that. It’s alright, boys, I forgive you.

Have you talked to Mick since the tour ended?

No. Sent him a note on his birthday, two days late. I said, I know you don’t want to be reminded, ha ha ha.

Did you get him a gift?

Probably sent him something. That happens automatically. ‘Mick’s birthday: Case of wine.’ Oh, I love the man dearly. Sometimes, you know, he makes life so difficult for himself but otherwise … you know, I don’t get involved. He has his own people for that.

You describe it beautifully in the book, what your friendship was like at the peak.

We have grown apart in many ways. But when you go into rehearsals for the first day and there he is and there I am, it feels good. The old connection clicks in.

And then you get up there in front of 50,000 people, what does that feel like?

It feels like home. That’s what I say to Ronnie. Now we get some peace and quiet.

Ronnie is another old friend of yours. He’s recently cleaned up. How can you help him with that?

He’s got an iron will, man. He stopped drinking, he’s stopped drinking. There was a moment a few years ago he realized … I think it had something to do with that waitress, the Russian chick he was with, and he was slapping her around. And I think, Ronnie suddenly realized, this is what he told me, that he was going to turn into his dad, who was a bit of a wife slapper. And he didn’t want to go there. And since, you know, I told Ronnie, you spent all this money on booze and drugs, and you’re exactly the same without it.

He doesn’t need it.

No. He doesn’t need it. Bright energy. Lovely man.

It’s what you were saying earlier about how everybody’s always growing up, no matter how old you are.

Yeah, you know younger people are looking, and it’s like, They think we’re grown up. LAUGHTER