WATTS ON FIRST

Uh, Mick -- this is what cool looks like.

 If you want to know why it's best to age gracefully rather than trying to hang on to your long-gone youth, all you have to do is compare any photo of Charlie Watts from the last two decades to those of his bandmates. 

Although older than Mick and Keith and Ronnie, Charlie somehow managed to look better than all of them combined. No leather jacket or eyeliner for him. His well-coiffed hair was proudly gray. He was no better looking than the others, yet by acting his age he wound up becoming, dare I say it, not bad looking.

 

There's something to be said about normal.

Another thing working in Charlie's favor was that, unlike Mick, he didn't find it difficult to remember which offspring came from which woman, or which grandchild could be traced back to which ex. For Charlie, it was one wife (for 57 years!), one daughter, one  grandchild. No doubt he looked at Mick with a bemused shake of the head with each new, increasingly younger woman popping  out yet another baby Jagger.

Merry moptops they're not.

During the Rolling Stones' early days, particularly in their appearances on The  Ed Sullivan Show, the only one who looked different to me was Brian Jones. Back then, he was the best dresser, not to mention blonde. Nor did he resemble part of a museum's Neanderthal diorama come to life. For a Rolling Stone, he looked not quite ugly. Plus he played sitar! Recorder! Dulcimer! 

Grateful to be working with musicians who know more
than three chords.

Charlie, on the other hand, played drums, period, with a look on his face that, in retrospect, seemed to indicate the Rolling Stones were, as he said, his day job. His heart was in the various jazz bands he fronted over the years. You got the feeling if the Stones ever broke up, he'd be secretly grateful. It would have given him that much more time to concentrate on the music he liked.

Charlie's had enough of my blathering.

Charlie Watts' death has stirred the kind of tributes from colleagues, fans and friends not seen since that of David Bowie almost six years ago. The loss they feel for a laid-back drummer who never sang, wrote music, preen or shook his ass on stage is almost inexplicable.  

When Mick Jagger goes, the tributes will be respectful. They'll make sure to mention his place in music history. They'll definitely give him props for being an endlessly exciting entertainer.

But I bet you my original stereo copy of Their Satanic Majesty's Request (with the 3D lenticular cover) that they won't be nearly as heartfelt and emotional as they are for Charlie Watts today. Why is that?

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