Books in Brief: Uptight with the Stones

Uptight with the Stones, by Richard Elman (Scribners, 119 pp., $5.65).

In this puny publishing venture, the author tours with the Rolling Stones and jots down new-journalistic impressions. The result is a slender volume with large print, a sprinkling of captionless, yearbook-quality photos, and a lot of white space. Elman’s observation seems to be that, well, yes, the Stones are definitely evil, their performances writhing, frenzied celebrations of perverted sex. He admits that “the constantly made analogy to Albert Speer’s Nuremberg rallies of the Thirties is accurate.” The Stones themselves, he tells us, are pushing thirty now, but off stage they still talk about how their fathers don’t understand them. And on they go: “Wop bop a loo bop/ Gotta get/ Wanna get/ Must get/ Will get . . . wop bop.” Evil’s banality personified? Or what does the author think about it all? Well, he’s a new journalist, and he’s hip. And more to the point, Truman Capote and Princess Radziwill and Terry Southern are touring too. They’re snubbing him already, and just imagine if they caught a glimpse of moral concern. Elman obviously sees this book as just an opportunity to get off some jazzy, with-it prose. But what he proves, albeit unconsciously, is that the Stones are committing statutory rape on kids who a generation ago would have been enjoying Peter Pan. But Wendy’s a groupie now, the lost boys are obliging little buggers, and Peter is afflicted with a disgusting disease of the mouth and throat. Not pretty at all, and the book is trash. But if you want to know what they’re doing to our children, perhaps you’d better read it.

PC

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P. S. Coyne

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Uptight with the Stones, by Richard Elman (Scribners, 119 pp., $5.65).

In this puny publishing venture, the author tours with the Rolling Stones and jots down new-journalistic impressions. The result is a slender volume with large print, a sprinkling of captionless, yearbook-quality photos, and a lot of white space. Elman’s observation seems to be that, well, yes, the Stones are definitely evil, their performances writhing, frenzied celebrations of perverted sex. He admits that “the constantly made analogy to Albert Speer’s Nuremberg rallies of the Thirties is accurate.” The Stones themselves, he tells us, are pushing thirty now, but off stage they still talk about how their fathers don’t understand them. And on they go: “Wop bop a loo bop/ Gotta get/ Wanna get/ Must get/ Will get . . . wop bop.” Evil’s banality personified? Or what does the author think about it all? Well, he’s a new journalist, and he’s hip. And more to the point, Truman Capote and Princess Radziwill and Terry Southern are touring too. They’re snubbing him already, and just imagine if they caught a glimpse of moral concern. Elman obviously sees this book as just an opportunity to get off some jazzy, with-it prose. But what he proves, albeit unconsciously, is that the Stones are committing statutory rape on kids who a generation ago would have been enjoying Peter Pan. But Wendy’s a groupie now, the lost boys are obliging little buggers, and Peter is afflicted with a disgusting disease of the mouth and throat. Not pretty at all, and the book is trash. But if you want to know what they’re doing to our children, perhaps you’d better read it.