The Rolling Stones ripped off the blues greats, and were just another example of white men ripping off black men, like Elvis and all the rest. I have no idea what contribution Brian Jones made to their tinny dance records, and I tended to agree with the outraged father of a fourteen year-old girl (depicted in an early scene) who said how much he despised him for getting her pregnant. Jones's despicable answer was that a doctor could do away with it. Way to go, Mr Wooley, set up your hero as a total tosser right from the get-go! Now we don't care about him at all, let's get on with the rest of the film, eh? There's no mystery about the pool death now, any more than there was in Sussex at the time: I was there. The guy was a decadent poltroon who had an asthma attack while swimming and accidentally drowned because he was hopelessly overweight and weak from chronic dypsomania. No one killed him, he killed himself, blatantly. Looking at the footage of the half-million attending the free concert for Brian held in Hyde Park, I wonder what got into everyone at the time. It must have been the very powerful sound systems that were coming in, and could reach big crowds and make more money than anyone had ever imagined. Give me Nora Jones instead of Brian Jones any time.
