Tales from the Watercooler: Go for customer satisfaction, Mick
The Stones have little to prove in terms of relevance
Your support helps us to tell the story
From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.
At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.
The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.
Your support makes all the difference.The Rolling Stones today drag their fragile, papier-mâché bones onto a Barclaycard-branded scaffold in London’s Hyde Park, where they will cough their way through some of their hit records from the inter-war years, just like they did at the same venue in 1969.
Of course, having headlined last weekend’s Glastonbury beat-fest, Mick, Keith, Charlie, Bob, Lefty and “The Thumb” have little to prove in terms of relevance, but I’m disappointed they won’t be repeating one legendary aspect of that long-ago performance, which happened two days after original guitarist, Brian Jones, had been found really most sincerely dead in his pool.
To mark that sad event, Mick Jagger read a poem by Shelley and opened a box of butterflies, hoping they’d flutter into the air and make everyone feel wistful. Sadly, many of the creatures had already gone the way of the recipient of their tribute, so fell dead onto the stage, where hard-partying guitarist Keith – dazzled by their brilliant whiteness – snorted 42 up his nose before he could be stopped.
Perhaps today, in the spirit of corporate synergy displayed by modern rock stars, a better gesture would see Mick, rather than whining his way through some awful romantic poetry, instead reading out the Terms and Conditions offered by Barclaycard to prospective customers. He can then open a box, releasing hundreds of little credit cards to flutter into the crowd. Being plastic, none of them will die during the show and, what’s more, a good many punters will discover some real financial “satisfaction”. Bonus!
Twitter.com/DonaldAMacInnes
Join our commenting forum
Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies
Comments