Chuck HinsonBEATLES vs. STONES (from 1964)
November 11th 2008 19:05
While the Relic is recuperating from a tough virus that's laid me low for awhile, lemme share this amazing comparison of the two biggest bands of the Sixties. It was written in 1964.
It was at the Civic Center auditorium in Philadelphia. Outside the immense building a long line of anxious fans waited, milling about as, one by one, those with tickets were admitted inside. Night had fallen and a cold wind was blowing. Straightening my collar about my neck, I turned my head for a moment and saw a big black limousine drive up toward the auditorium's side
stage entrance. Five straggly-looking monsters got out and hurried inside.
Gritting my teeth bravely, I walked up the same way and showed my pass to a guard. His nose was wrinkled up in a gesture of distaste. I soon found out why. Though The Stones were several yards away, the odor was unmistakable.
Obviously, none of them had been near a tub in quite some time. Brushing past the guard who quickly went outside to get some fresh air, I tried to introduce myself to Andrew Oldham, The Stones' manager. Just before I approached him, he'd been talking to two teenage girls, waving his big, smelly cigar. The mixture of Rolling Stones, Oldham and cigar smoke was unbelievable. The two girls were, by now, turning alternately green and red, the latter color because of the foul language and dirty jokes Oldham sprung on them. Shortly, though, after displaying his own brand of misspent chivalry, Oldham waved goodbye by saying, "See you soon, Chickies" and turned his attention (a double ugh for this!) to me.I presented my credentials, including a copy of the magazine I was writing for at the time, a copy which, by the way, had a huge picture of The Stones on the cover.
Oldham dismissed me with a contemptuous wave of his cigar and said, "I must get paid for my trouble. You pay--them you get the interview!" I turned promptly and left him standing there, cigar and all. Just before the show began, I managed to corner Charlie Watts, who was standing in one corner, looking at the world through blood-shot eyes. Digging what was probably a flea out of his hair, he said, "Go see Oldham." Then he grunted, mumbling something incoherently and walked away.
Now I'll tell you about my meeting with The Beatles. It was at a press conference in the Warwick Hotel in New York City.
I remember Paul most of all. Entering the packed room, he turned to face the savages and grinned confidently. ("Savages" is the only word to describe the jostling, scrambling, shouting, flash-bulb-popping, sweating, cursing newsmen who came suddenly to chaotic life as soon as The Beatles entered the room.) Ringo tried to be cheerful, George looked uncomfortable and John seemed totally bored.
But it was Paul, the best looking, who seemed to take the jungle-like conglomeration perfectly in stride. A nice little touch of his was a friendly handshake and smile which he gave to everyone nearby in the little hallway directly adjoining the press conference room. However, the main point that should be made is that The Beatles at least made an attempt to be polite and helpful, and Tony Barrow, their harried publicity manager, did his best to have as many questions as possible answered, though most were barely audible in the constant murmur that swallowed them up and made them incomprehensible. Afterward, the Mop-Top Four talked to individual members of the press and, despite the persistent din, they conducted themselves in a gentlemanly, dignified and thoroughly courteous manner.
So, you see, The Beatles and The Rolling Stones are as different from each other as (pardon the cliché) night and day. If you still aren't convinced, let me relate the experience of an English friend of mine.
He spent a weekend covering The Stones for one of the most respected newspapers in Britain: (After which, he had to consume several Bromos, a bottle of aspirins and assorted brands of mouthwash to conquer the nausea, headache and bad taste the whole dreadful nightmare left him with) and emerged a shaken man! He was a witness to an appalling number in incidents that showed The Stones to be quick with obscenities and atrocious manners and to be crude and offensive.
Finally, unable to stomach them any longer, my friend left--right after planting a well-aimed fist in the middle of Mick Jagger's already repulsive-looking face!
I have talked to other individuals with similar stories to relate about The Stones. There is no doubt in my mind that they are indeed what they seem to be--slobs of the first order, inconsiderate morons whose respect for their elders, for members of the opposite sex and for reporters interested in according them some favorable publicity, is simply nonexistent. Nor is this an artificial facade erected for the sake of making headlines.
It is the way The Stones really are! They act the way they feel, and the way they feel is generally rebellious, inclined toward being vulgar in the most obnoxious way possible, and altogether disgusting.
Yardbirds, bear in mind that this was written 44 years ago. This was one reporter's view of the Fab Four and Bad Boys of Rock. Of course, time and circumstances can change things (and people) tremendously.
Today, John and George are gone. So is Brian. Wyman has retired from the Stones (he's now with the Rhythm Kings), and those remaining are in their late 60s.
That being said, you've GOTTA hope that Mick, Keith, Ron and Charlie have grown up a bit.
And as far as Ringo and Paul? Listen to their music. Check their charities. Over the years -- from Beatle days to Wings, Maureen to moves and Barbara, the lovely Linda to oratorios, they've invested in the "peace and love" they've advocated all these years.
And look at the returns they've provided on that investment!
Gritting my teeth bravely, I walked up the same way and showed my pass to a guard. His nose was wrinkled up in a gesture of distaste. I soon found out why. Though The Stones were several yards away, the odor was unmistakable.
Obviously, none of them had been near a tub in quite some time. Brushing past the guard who quickly went outside to get some fresh air, I tried to introduce myself to Andrew Oldham, The Stones' manager. Just before I approached him, he'd been talking to two teenage girls, waving his big, smelly cigar. The mixture of Rolling Stones, Oldham and cigar smoke was unbelievable. The two girls were, by now, turning alternately green and red, the latter color because of the foul language and dirty jokes Oldham sprung on them. Shortly, though, after displaying his own brand of misspent chivalry, Oldham waved goodbye by saying, "See you soon, Chickies" and turned his attention (a double ugh for this!) to me.I presented my credentials, including a copy of the magazine I was writing for at the time, a copy which, by the way, had a huge picture of The Stones on the cover.
I remember Paul most of all. Entering the packed room, he turned to face the savages and grinned confidently. ("Savages" is the only word to describe the jostling, scrambling, shouting, flash-bulb-popping, sweating, cursing newsmen who came suddenly to chaotic life as soon as The Beatles entered the room.) Ringo tried to be cheerful, George looked uncomfortable and John seemed totally bored.
But it was Paul, the best looking, who seemed to take the jungle-like conglomeration perfectly in stride. A nice little touch of his was a friendly handshake and smile which he gave to everyone nearby in the little hallway directly adjoining the press conference room. However, the main point that should be made is that The Beatles at least made an attempt to be polite and helpful, and Tony Barrow, their harried publicity manager, did his best to have as many questions as possible answered, though most were barely audible in the constant murmur that swallowed them up and made them incomprehensible. Afterward, the Mop-Top Four talked to individual members of the press and, despite the persistent din, they conducted themselves in a gentlemanly, dignified and thoroughly courteous manner.
So, you see, The Beatles and The Rolling Stones are as different from each other as (pardon the cliché) night and day. If you still aren't convinced, let me relate the experience of an English friend of mine.
He spent a weekend covering The Stones for one of the most respected newspapers in Britain: (After which, he had to consume several Bromos, a bottle of aspirins and assorted brands of mouthwash to conquer the nausea, headache and bad taste the whole dreadful nightmare left him with) and emerged a shaken man! He was a witness to an appalling number in incidents that showed The Stones to be quick with obscenities and atrocious manners and to be crude and offensive.
Finally, unable to stomach them any longer, my friend left--right after planting a well-aimed fist in the middle of Mick Jagger's already repulsive-looking face!
I have talked to other individuals with similar stories to relate about The Stones. There is no doubt in my mind that they are indeed what they seem to be--slobs of the first order, inconsiderate morons whose respect for their elders, for members of the opposite sex and for reporters interested in according them some favorable publicity, is simply nonexistent. Nor is this an artificial facade erected for the sake of making headlines.
It is the way The Stones really are! They act the way they feel, and the way they feel is generally rebellious, inclined toward being vulgar in the most obnoxious way possible, and altogether disgusting.
Today, John and George are gone. So is Brian. Wyman has retired from the Stones (he's now with the Rhythm Kings), and those remaining are in their late 60s.
That being said, you've GOTTA hope that Mick, Keith, Ron and Charlie have grown up a bit.
And as far as Ringo and Paul? Listen to their music. Check their charities. Over the years -- from Beatle days to Wings, Maureen to moves and Barbara, the lovely Linda to oratorios, they've invested in the "peace and love" they've advocated all these years.
And look at the returns they've provided on that investment!
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