The Washington Post went to the Stones concert.
Mick, Keef and Co. delivered an electrifying tour de force of a stage show that suggested their best days aren’t all behind them.
Whether the Stones are still living the dream or simply earning a fabulous living is open for debate. It’s only rock-and-roll, but you like it.
History needs an adjustment. For example, I, personally, still rock, and I think that “still” throws us off. We’re used to qualities that ebb away in time, and with age—but this ain’t that.
Like cool, like hip, like beat before that, whether you rock is a question of essence. It’s like being white, or black, or Chinese, or female. Mick rocks, I rock, you rock (if you’re lucky.) I cannot fully think what it’s like in an old folks home, but put me in there with the Suits—what we used to call Straight—and I’m takin’ my IV-on-a-pole and wheelin’ on out.
You think I’m kidding. Where am I going to go? Somewhere I gotta be nice? Forget it, I’d sooner snort cyanide. (Would that hurt?)
