In the ego-riddled world of rock’n’roll, the Rolling Stones drummer was the model of a grown-up
I was fortunate enough to meet Charlie Watts, the Rolling Stones drummer who died on Tuesday, interviewing him in 2000 for one of his beloved jazz projects. In the interview, I managed to call George Harrison “the bass player of the Beatles”. Still, I got some things right, writing: “Charlie’s the Stone who is so universally well liked that he commands instant respect without trying.”
It soon became apparent when his death was announced that the response was about honouring a great musician – the rock’n’roll legend, the lifelong jazz aficionado – but also a lot more. There was the standard emotional outpouring, the shock and dismay, that sense of grief-ownership that hits you: “Oh no, not Charlie!” However irrational such feelings are (Watts was 80, not 20), it nevertheless stings when one of “your own” artists takes their final bow. But something else was noteworthy: the reaction, immense and heartfelt, was also courteous, genuine, adult.
