Partying With The Stones (Briefly)

By the time the Stones tour arrived in New York, we already knew all about it: the shower of blood-red rose petals, the white jump suit, the belt whipped against the stage, the blaze of white light — as if from the opening of enormous windows — that bathed the final songs, even the songs themselves. The only thing left was to experience it. Sort of fill in the blanks. So it was nice but it was like seeing a movie you’ve read too much about: there were few surprises. For me the highpoint was an encore with Stevie Wonder and band joining the Stones and doing first “Uptight,” then “Satisfaction.” Oh shit was that fantastic. Wonder in black with his hair plaited in concentric circles around his head, jumping up and down with Jagger center stage singing I can’t get no no no no. Jagger picked up what was apparently a large silver bowl of water and after throwing some on his face, scooped handfuls of it across the barricades into the audience. From where we sat, they looked like sprays of diamonds; and when the bowl was nearly empty, Mick held it up and splashed the remaining water on his head. Not only was it the first totally abandoned and unexpected part of the evening, but it was the first to break through into the reality of being there at that moment. Everything else was re-runs. I can’t say I was unmoved throughout — I was dancing, on the edge of my seat, singing along — but it wasn’t until the encore that I started screaming long banshee-like whoops and got as crazy as I had wanted to be all along. When they did “Street Fighting Man” I suddenly remembered their 1969 concert and how important and exciting and even meaningful that song had seemed then. It had brought the audience to a peak of frenzy and upraised fists; now the frenzy was controlled and the orchestra looked remarkably orderly standing on their seats, bouncing in time, shouting along with the Stones but no longer wrapped up in the “violent revolution” whatever that was. In 1969 I believed in it and I believed in the Stones in a different way and now I don’t know. The Stones really haven’t changed and everything else, it seems, has. Or is everything standing still and my mind just off on some tangent. Really all I’m looking for is fun — Out For Kicks — and sure the Stones were fun but they weren’t great fun this time around and I suspect they may never be again.

Afterward there was a party, a fancy party at the Four Seasons. Andy Warhol was there taking polaroids; and Jerry Rubin, Jackie Curtis, Truman Capote, Jerry Wexler — what *a strange crowd. Richard Meltzer threatened to jump into the square pool in the center of one room but he hadn’t done it by 3:30. Bianca was even more beautiful than Mick — she looked like something I’ve never seen outside of pictures: all in white, on enormous heels, carrying a thin black walking stick and a long cigarette holder. When she and Mick arrived late in the' evening I hardly looked at him as he bounced nervously among people until they surrounded him; I was staring at her eyes and mouth. When I told Benny about this, he thought it was a good sign; he’s trying to get me into women.