Good old Fred 'n' Barney, I'm sure going to miss them. Like half the musical world and many others I've been reading Life, Keith Richards' 550-page trawl through his undeniably fascinating life, for which he was apparently paid something around US$7,000,000.

Fair enough too. It's a rollicking read, and probably the most interesting book that's going to come out of the world's most long-standing rock ‘n roll group. There have been many Rolling Stones books but the ones most eagerly awaited are those by the actual band members which, up until now, have been a bit thin on the ground. Bill Wyman's book was, in a word, boring, and Mick Jagger famously returned a multi-million dollar advance, claiming that he couldn't remember enough of his own past to fill a book.
So it's down to Keith and the amazing thing is he remembers a whole lot. Sure there are (mainly drug-induced) gaps here and there, but Keith has a remarkably vivid recall of much of the band's history and is a never less than engaging raconteur, as interviews through the years have proved.
That he has been so prolifically interviewed, and been remarkably candid in many of those interviews, means that many good stories have already been told; it's only been a handful of years since According To The Rolling Stones, which told the band's story in their own words. But there is still a lot that is new.
Keith's Life was written in conjunction with English journalist James Fox, so it's basically a series of interviews which have been written up and organised, with occasional sections filled in by the likes of saxophonist Bobby Keyes or producer Don Was. It captures Keith's distinctive voice and sense of humour while never rising to the literate heights of Bob Dylan's Chronicles, now a standard by which to measure other autobiographies.
So there are old stories: everybody by now has heard the famous tale of the ‘Satisfaction' riff being written in Keith's sleep and recorded on a bedside cassette player. But there is much, much more.
There are the adventures, usually drug-fuelled and often involving Texas wildman Bobby Keyes. That Keith was finally busted only in Toronto was a feat of amazing luck, given the astonishing number of close calls with the law across several continents. He also seems to have survived an unfeasible number of car accidents.
But the real treasure trove for musicians – not that the tales of crazy hell-raising aren't entertaining enough – is the stuff he tells us about the songs, and about how they were written and recorded.
Certainly it is a reminder, after years becoming something of a self-parody, of what an extraordinary songwriter Mick Jagger is, and how incredibly the two of them churned out great song after great song. It seems that Keith would come up with a riff and an opening line or idea and Jagger would just run with it, spontaneously writing down verse after verse in the studio.
Keith talks about the recording of some of the albums in depth, particularly Exiles On Main Street and its genesis on the French Riviera. There is fascinating detail about Beggars Banquet and Let It Bleed too, confirming the fact that songs like ‘Jumping Jack Flash' and ‘Street Fighting Man' were recorded without electric guitars, just a bank of acoustics run through an old cassette player which would duly distort the sound. (This was early days for cassettes – Keith notes that, sadly, the new models which came out had fixed ‘limiters' making it impossible to get the sound any more.)
He talks about the epic four-days-without-sleep recording of ‘Before They Make Me Run' and the tangled genesis of ‘Start Me Up', which first emerged as a reggae song for the Black And Blue sessions.
It's fascinating stuff. The fractured relationship with Mick Jagger is examined at length (including an hilarious incident where Charlie Watts punched out Mick). Bill doesn't get much of a look in but Charlie is obviously a top man. And Keith tells the true story behind the palm tree (it wasn't) fall and his hospital stay in New Zealand.
If you were looking for a Christmas present for someone musically inclined, look no further.