I meet Bill Wyman at his Sticky Fingers restaurant, award-winning purveyor of
burgers, fries, sticky toffee pudding and all those comfort calories that
are supposed to knock you off your perch early.
But here’s its 71-year-old founder having a morning fag amid the chrome,
mirrors and ancient guitars and looking the picture of health. “I’ll eat
anything – chocolate, crisps. I smoke 30-odd a day, which I’ve been doing
for 54 years,” he tells me. “Exercise? Nah.
“I went to see my doctor for a thorough examination last year. He said I’ve
never seen a subject as healthy as you at your age.” Take that, keep-fit
police.
With the former Rolling Stone is his youngest daughter, 9-year-old Matilda,
and her miniature terrier. Dad’s in charge because the third Mrs Wyman is
off skiing with their two older girls.
http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/stage/theatre/article3232169.eceActually,
here’s a tip for any old rocker wanting to ward off questions about your
priapic past: pop an angelic moppet on your knee, preferably one with a dog
called Daisy. So, today we won’t be talking about the teenaged second Mrs
Wyman (Mandy Smith) or his heroic sexual exploits of the 1960s.
No, we’ll be discussing Wyman’s band, the Rhythm Kings, at least when he
doesn’t stray on to his other multiple interests – local history,
photography, cricket, archaeology and the joys of metal detecting – which is
often. The Rhythm Kings, built around a core of grizzled Sixties vets, are
back together for a six-week tour. Wyman does two such stints a year, one in
Britain, one around the Continent – which is quite enough, he says. He keeps
having to fend off big offers from America and Japan.
“We’re well-loved because we are so adaptable. We can play anything: gospel,
soul, rock, reggae, boogie-woogie, ballads... everywhere we went on the last
tour we got six-stars-out-of-six reviews.”
Their last London appearance was supporting Led Zeppelin. The Rhythm Kings
beat a similar outfit to the gig, a rhythm and blues orchestra run by a
celebrity pianist whom Wyman would prefer me not to name. “He was furious,
but we’re better,” he says with a grin. What did he think of the reformed
hammerers of the gods? “I’d known Jimmy [Page] from his session days in the
Sixties when he did Kathy Kirby records, so it was magical to see them. But
the volume was treble what we played at – hard to take.” Wyman snuck
backstage halfway through, “which was where most of the other musicians
were”.
Ah, amplification... if Wyman avoided the excesses of drugs and drink that
laid so many of his peers low, why isn’t he at least deaf? “If ever I stood
next to Keith Richards’s amp, Jesus, my trousers used to flap up.” Which may
explain why Wyman is rooted to the spot in all those old concert clips – and
why flares fell out of fashion. Ronnie Wood and Richards, he thinks, are
partly deaf but Jagger has the danger sussed. “If you ever watch Mick on
stage, he likes to stroll about. He goes right, past the keyboards, then he
comes prancing back, and when he has to pass Woody’s or Keith’s amps he
runs. He’s not daft.”
Is Wyman surprised that the band he left 15 years ago rolls on? “I am in a way
but I’m not in a way. It’s the thing Keith wants to do most of all. He does
the odd record with other musicians and, apart from his family, what else
does he do in his life? Mick has a bit of movie involvement, bit of girl
involvement, but nothing else. Charlie [Watts] does a bit of jazz. Woody
does his art... I don’t think they’ve got anything more important in their
lives.”
But Wyman found in the early Nineties that there was lots more he wanted to
do. Lately, he’s been writing up the history of his 550-year-old country
pile, Gedding Hall in Suffolk. He knows exactly who lived there from
medieval knights to the associate of the Kray twins from whom he bought it
in 1968. It turns out that Ronnie and Reggie fled to the house the night
after the killing of Jack “the Hat” McVitie in 1967. They stayed up until
3am deciding what to do before returning to London.
Then there is Wyman’s photography. He was clicking away through the Stones
tours and has had exhibitions in the US and Europe. He’s the celebrity face
at archaeology events, has created the Bill Wyman Signature Metal Detector,
and there’s a rambling website to nurse.
It’s hardly the acme of rock grooviness but Wyman is a contented man. “The 15
years since I left the band have been the best years of my life. I should
have been a museum curator or a librarian because I like that better than
being a ‘rock star’.” Kids think of the glitz and forget about all the
hanging about. “Do you know what the biggest problem is for most musicians
on tour? Getting your laundry done.” That’s what killed Buddy Holly, he
tells me, catching a doomed overnight flight because he wanted to sort out
the washing. Many musicians end up washing their smalls in the hotel sink.
Wyman, ever practical, packs in bulk.
But hang on: what about the groupies? Do teenage nymphets throw themselves at
museum curators? “Well there was that,” he grins. And the money? “I missed
out on the money. You didn’t have sponsorship of tours then, or the
merchandising... People think I’ve got more money than I have. I’ve got two
big ones in the bank [he means millions] but I do have three houses
[Suffolk, Chelsea, South of France]. I invested very carefully. But I’m 71
and can’t go on for ever and I’ve got to bring up these kiddies. School fees
are a nightmare.” Wyman’s brow briefly furrows and he reaches for another
fag.
I wonder if he feels lucky – a bombsite boy who grew up in poverty in Penge,
southeast London (the family shared one toothbrush), who is now lord of the
manor. Wasn’t this solid, but hardly virtuoso, bass player lucky to bump
into Mick and Keith, two of pop’s seminal songwriters?
Wyman doesn’t see it like that. “It was Brian Jones’s band when I joined. He
invented it, gave it a name, chose what music it played. They were playing
blues music in jazz clubs and it was totally uncommercial.” Mick and Keith
just used to nick his fish and chips, cop his fags. “It only became Mick and
Keith’s band when Andrew Oldham became manager and Brian got eased out. The
songwriting followed only slowly."
Wyman grins. “You talk about luck. Well back in 1935 two boys from Sydenham
went to Penge Empire to see the music hall. Up in the gods they happened to
sit next to two girls from Penge and they get talking. One boy said to the
other, ‘Which do you fancy?’ They toss a coin and Dad called tails and
walked my Mum home. Now what would have happened if he had called heads?”
Wyman stubs out his cigarette. The lunchtime customers at Sticky Fingers are
on their way, it’s time to go.
So there you have William George Wyman. There seem to be two ways to exit
rock’n’roll. On the one hand the Kurt Cobain/Richey Edwards way – 100 per
cent cool, 0 per cent alive. On the other, the Wyman way, 100 per cent alive
and... well, I know which I would prefer.
The Rhythm Kings play the Stables, Milton Keynes, tonight, and their tour
continues until March 5. Details at www.billwyman.com. See also www.billwymandetector.com
Although Bill Wyman's entire time with the Rolling Stones was memorable for their fans, in my view there was a period from 1969 through 1974, known as the Stones Mach II, when he and Charlie Watts formed the unparalled rhythm section in what was truly the greatest band in the world. They brought the blues into rock 'n roll in a way that was creative, authentic and quite beautiful to behold. One only has to listen to some of their better bootleg concerts to appreciate this, and the fact that Bill Wyman was and is a great musician. Thanks Bill for all those wonderful notes!
Christopher, Winnipeg, Canada
what a great interview
george dixon, devizes, uk
Whenever I read bad things about the Stones I remember an occasion at the Odeon Theastre, Chester when I interviewed this up an coming band and had a long and interesting onversation about the Civil War, contemporay affairs and books. Thy were certainly the most cultured,gentlemanly and friendly group and infinietely more intelligent coinversationalists than the Beatles, who at the time were so sruffy they were banned from the River Park Ballroom by local impressario Gordon Vickers
ian skidmore, march, cambs