Not Being Petty, Brian Jones was Doomed

          I finished reading the Brian Jones biography at the riverside in my late afternoon jaunt. I have a new appreciation for Brian, the man who started and named the Rolling Stones and introduced black blues masters to white American youth, ahead of his time almost bringing World music from Ethiopia into the rock world in 1968 before his final demise; I say final because he had been dying since 1965 when those son-of-a-bitches Mick Jagger and Keith Richards ganged up with Andrew Oldham to undercut his contribution. But the final blow is Detective Pilcher and London Yard's seven raids and two arrests for planted drug contraband. The author, Paul Trynka, didn't buy any of the conspiracy theories about Brian's drowning death and concentrated on Brian Jones contribution to the music and fashion world. Jagger-Richards stole his image, the way he tuned his guitar, and ostracized him. Beggars' Banquet, aside from the stupid Jagger Sympathy for the Devil crap, was a back to Brian blues roots masterpiece, Brian's last substantial contribution, and the residual great albums, Let it Bleed and Exile on Main Street were what the Stones had left. After that, they became an expensive oldies but goodies act. Sticky Fingers, released in April '71, was starting to show their creative tank was empty by the end of 1970. 

          I don't like Tom Petty as a person; this I learned from reading his bio. The author kisses Tom's ass and makes excuses for every shitty thing Tom did to his fellow musicians, especially the Heartbreakers, and to his wife he tortured for twenty years with neglect. His rise to fame was unrelenting as he sold his soul to the Denny Cordell, then sued him and MCA finding Jim Iovine, who commercialized Patti Smith with “Because the Night” to get fame. He separated himself from his bandmates who essentially became his employees and fired his bass player and later his drummer. He then fired Iovine on Southern Accents but hired him back after his fling with the Eurythmics’ Dave Stewart detoured him to techno London on his mission to north Florida.

At that point in his bio, I couldn’t wait to read about the arson that burned down his southern California home but the author gives three measly sentences about it and instead wastes time with Stevie Nicks and his sponging off Dylan while firing another Heartbreaker and dissolving the band, meeting George Harrison who was guided by Beatle loving Jeff Lynn' for “Cloud Nine” into the Traveling Wilburys and then restart his career. Petty, like Del Shannon and the others, became an ELO sound-alike before he petered out into the last phase of his celebrity, driftwood by the 90's and a oldie too high-priced for Seaside Park. In the end Petty was as full of himself as Elvis Costello but with a lot less pretension; Costello played an opera house in Taipei as Petty hired a band and was a redneck’s Bryan Adams. Not a pretty picture. I put the book down with ninety pages to go.

          I found no redeeming quality in his Petty ways; not an activist, or a leader to improve the world. He should have taken better care of his family, bandmates, and himself. After gaining respect for Brian Jones' musical contributions to the Rolling Stones from the bio, I wish he had kept the extra five quid for himself as he originally asked as leader of the Stones,the way Petty did with the Heartbreakers down a notch; it would have saved Jones from Jagger-Richards-Oldham's gang-up and take-over.