Keith Richards Remembers George

I remember the first time I met George, we were doing our usual bar gig in west London. Suddenly these four guys in black leather overcoats were standing in the doorway, and then I get a sort of elbow in the ribs from Mick or Brian: It's the Beatles! So the first time I set eyes on George, or any of them, was that vision, like, "They look just like their record cover!" At the time we were working for fifty cents, you know?

George and I kind of formed - without talking too much about it, although we did have a laugh here and there - a bond, in that we felt we were kind of fulfilling the same role within our respective bands. It was a nod and a wink to say, "Well, they'd be nowhere without us." So George and I always used to have that thing of, "Well, how's your end holding up?" He was a very quiet and enigmatic guy in many ways. He had a very sly sense of humor, very quiet. But there was always this unspoken bond between us.

And he was really a lovely guy. What he didn't need, and to me what's unbelievable, is that, basically, the knifing, the attack two years ago at his house, is what did in George. Because I think he probably would have beaten the cancer if it wasn't for the blade. John was my first mate among them, because George was a bit quiet. Now I think, "Oh, one by gun, one by knife." And that's still puzzling to me in a way, although he didn't die literally from it. It's just that for such pleasant guys, who made such beautiful music and never did harm to anybody, to have to go through that kind of violence - I mean, I'm used to it, I've been stabbed several times, and the bullet wounds are healing. But with George, it was like, "Oh, I can't believe it, really." You know, he was a guy who only looked out for the best in people. Of all people, it shouldn't have happened to George. He was one of the warmest-hearted gentlemen I've ever met. I mean, without rubbing it in, in glowing obituary terms, he was really one of the sweetest, lovable guys, and the idea that he would have been attacked - I mean, we know that he didn't die from that, but I'm sure that it sort of broke down his resistance to what he had to deal with. And I feel so for the old lady and the kid. Because this stuff shouldn't happen to people like George. It could have happened to me and nobody would be surprised, do you know what I mean? But not to George.

What can we say about George? Because everybody knows he was a great bloke, probably one of the people out of all in the world of whom you would say, "No harm should come to that man." But he liked his privacy, and he was like me in that regard, like, "I don't need bodyguards and all that, I've got to live life as I want to live it, I won't go around in the cocoon." Because that can ruin a personality.

George was an artist who was, because he didn't write that many songs but the ones he did write were very meaningful, very well worked out, and well thought about, an incredibly meticulous man with respect to his work and to what he wanted to do. The record speaks for itself - "[While My] Guitar Gently Weeps," "Something," "My Sweet Lord." When he did put something out, he worked on it a long time and got it right the way he wanted it, which is a very difficult thing to do, especially when you're part of something else.

But, hey, George left everybody with a good feeling. It's sad for everybody. He could be a very funny guy when he wanted to be. And I sort of remember those times more than the last few years - like the time the cops waited until he left my house to move in for the drug bust in 1969. George always used to rub that in, you know: "Well, that's the difference between the Beatles and the Stones. The Stones get busted when the Beatles leave." Unfortunately, they got busted soon after, but that was more harassment than anything.

I think the other thing, the strain that runs between George and the Beatles and ourselves, the Stones, is just that we're basically the same age and happened to find ourselves in this unique position without any training. You know what I mean? You can't go to star school. And George was never interested in that. George reminds me very much of Charlie Watts, in that way and in many ways - the understatedness, the modesty and just being a gentleman, really. There's very few I'd give that word to, and I wouldn't give it to myself. But he was a gent. I think the last time I saw him was when he came to a Stones gig in London, and he came disguised as Farmer George. He was a great horticulturalist. George loved his garden, another sign of a real gent. He came backstage, and he was full of beans then. I just said, "How are you doing, healing and shit," and he said, "OK," you know. And he seemed all right. I'm quite happy, just for myself, not for him, that I last saw him when he was on an up. But, you know, multiple stab wounds is a little much for a man to take.

His spiritual trip is another thing, but I don't want to go into it because I don't know anything about it. As I always said to George, I draw the line at swamis. You know? I always treated it as an interesting thing, like, well, why not learn a bit more about esoteric Eastern religions? But I don't know anything about all this Ganges stuff. One river's very much like another, they all flow into the same sea.

What I know is that he was a lovely lead guitarist, beautifully understated. The thing is, you've got your Jimi Hendrix, you've got your Eric Clapton, and then you've got guys who can play with bands. And George was a band and a team player. To me, that's way above being some virtuoso flash artist. I'm not saying that either Jimi or Eric is that. But people get carried away with lead guitars, and blu-du-blu-du-blu-du-blu, and feedbacks. And it's all histrionics, when it comes down to it. George was an artist, but he was also a fucking craftsman. When you listen to his songs, you're aware of how much went into it. He didn't flip anything off. George crafted his stuff very, very carefully, and it all had its own feel.

This was a guy who could come out with a great song or a great record anytime. I was always waiting for some more. Let's hope there's more in the can. I always loved "Guitar Gently Weeps," because that was a guitar-player thing. And "Here Comes the Sun" - it's just beauty. Beauty. Incredibly well worked out. What can you say? Still waters run deep. I have no doubt that there was a whole lot inside of George, and a whole lot he never revealed. But at the same time, every time he did something, he did reveal a little bit of himself. So that in fact you think you know George better than George knew himself. I'm going to miss him. And if there is anything like heaven and shit like that, hopefully John and him are saying, "How you doing, pal, want a drink?" You just have to wish him well. I just hope he's jamming with John. And I'm glad it didn't drag out forever and ever, although it must have been long enough for him. But the spirit lives. The thing is, you make a record or two, and there's a little bit of immortality there.

George left his mark, man. I don't think I can say anything else except, "George: Miss you. Bless you. And we're still listening to you."

Mim Udovitch and David Wild
(RS 887-Jan. 17, 2002)