2Stoned

There is a saying which has gained some currency: anyone who says they remember the Sixties couldn't have been there. I dare say this is true, given the heady nature of the times. But it is time that a new, albeit windy, saying was posited: nobody has any excuse for not knowing everything about the Sixties because there are so many books about that fabled decade.

On the other hand, the fact that most of these books are written by people who were actually there tends to pull the rug from beneath that original epigram, suggesting that we are being sold a gigantic Sixties' drug-addled pup. I hope you're still with me, man, because this is the Sixties and everything's up for grabs, dig?

I think that we can assume that the contents of 2Stoned are real, albeit the product of some warped minds. This second part of Andrew Oldham's autobiography follows the format of the first - the subject's voice ringing out loud and clear over a chorus of contemporaries. 2Stoned essentially tells the story of Oldham's dealings with the Rolling Stones, of whom he was the more-or-less manager and up-to-a-point producer for just a few turbulent years.

The first point to make is that Oldham is a terrific writer, a beat-inspired hipster who makes the language do his bidding in the same way that he once cajoled and bullied the pop world into making room for his charges. He is also acute beyond the bounds of mere frippery.

Here is his take on the relative attractions of Mick Jagger and Keith Richards: "Wishful thinkers didn't dream of going to bed with Keith; they dreamt of staying up with him." He kept a similarly sharp eye on himself. Writing of attending the opening night of a new Lionel Bart musical, he waxes lyrical over his own outfit. Then, the solipsistic dandy kicks in: "You'll forgive me for forgetting what Sheila (his wife) wore."

The mood convinces me that this book is the truth. When the Sixties of the Stones and Beatles began, the Fifties had not finished its turn. Thus figures like Judy Garland, Alma Cogan and Diana Dors are still fighting for attention on a stage which now also contains Jimi Hendrix, Marianne Faithfull, and Brian Wilson.

The cultural collisions are exhilarating: with such a rich and unprecedented artistic mulch, it is no wonder that the Sixties were responsible for so much creativity, and so many people going bonkers.

Oldham also knows a bummer when he sees one. The demise of Brian Jones, midget love god and all-round shit of the Stones is recorded unsparingly. While the merry whirl gathered pace, it moved to the rhythm of the sound of bodies toppling. Oldham's was one of those to fall.

He announced his decision to cease working with the Stones on the phone to Mick Jagger. "So that's it then?" "Yep, that's it, Mick." "Okay, Andrew, goodnight." "Goodbye, Mick, have a good life."

Ah, the Sixties. Perhaps it's better to read about them after all.