Mick Jagger sat athletically on the floor of the Rolling Stones’ New York office listening to The Best of Ray Charles. Next door, Keith Richard, nattily dressed in a white suit, was doing an interview with a gentleman from The Toronto Star. His eight-yearold son Marlon ran up and down the corridor playing with some promotional red lips and chattering teeth that said: “Love You Live.”

Three days later, the scene had changed slightly, The Best of Ray Charles sat silently on the office turntable. The man from Toronto had been replaced by a reporter from the Montreal Gazette, who was conducting a joint interview with the notorious Glimmer Twins.

During the stimulating discourse, a jet-lagged Jagger received a nasty electric shock by simultaneously turning on a lamp and the radio. Such are the perils of being a rock ’n’ roll star.

“Oh fuck. It’s not that rough,” Jagger deadpanned. “Just think—could’ve been worse.”

Nevertheless, Jagger was tired. He had just flown in from London, having completed another endless string of interviews to promote the eagerlyawaited release of a double live Stones album, Love You Live. He complained

wouldn't want to be the next Mick Jagger.