Lessons from the Mouth of a Rolling Stone

Part 1

by: John Miller

A table for two at the Ritz-Carlton.  While everything was, well, too cool, suddenly my stomach was in knots.  I had allowed myself to actually think about the fact that the man across the table from me had been and is the bass player for the World’s Greatest Rock and Roll band, The Rolling Stones, for 25 years.  I admit to a momentary freak out, but I kept it on the inside.  I forced myself to remember he’s just a man, like me, and I’m even a couple of years older.  Anyway, it wasn’t even The Stones that we had initially bonded over.  

I didn’t go to dinner in July 2019, expecting anything other than a chance to hang with an extraordinary human being, and a guy who is at the absolute top of the craft of playing bass guitar, the instrument I have spent over half my life coaxing a groove from.  I left with a series of life lessons from a deeply thoughtful and beautiful man.  If those lessons interest you, please read on, I’m happy to share with you.  I hope Darryl Jones will approve.

My dad was a minister.  He held, throughout his career, social justice issues in the highest regard, and he and my mom were particularly involved in the civil rights movement of the 1960s, especially in Tuskegee, Alabama.  Several years after dad had passed on, it was those issues, and dad’s career, that interested Darryl enough to want to get together for dinner.  I consider my communion with Darryl to be a gift from Dad.

Because Dad was a preacher (that’s right, I’m the son of a preacher man), we moved, often throughout the Southeastern United States in the 1960s and 70s.  To some, Dad was a hero, to others he was a heretic.  He believed deeply in the brotherhood and equality of all people.  After Tuskegee, we lived in St Petersburg, Florida, and there I regularly visited a record store where we could spend our small allowances on used 45 RPM singles from our favorite artists. 

I no longer have any idea of the name of that record store, but I remember that the first time I saw the Sticky Fingers album with the Andy Warhol cover art was in that place. In the back corner to the left, was where the used 45s were kept. I specifically remember buying a copy of the Ruby Tuesday single with the Decca label in blue.  Later, I would purchase a copy of the Brown Sugar single on the Rolling Stones label, the yellow one with the tongue and lips logo.  

Those are some of my earliest memories of the Rolling Stones, so I guess I was always a fan, but it was not until the New Orleans Superdome in the fall term of 1981 when some fraternity brothers and I made a road trip from Memphis along the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico where we stood for six hours to be only a few people away from the stage when Mick, Keith, Charlie, Bill, Ronnie and The Rolling Stones performed. Although I had already been in rock bands for eight years at that point in time, it was that night during which I really came to understand the power of rock 'n' roll.  After that I have seen the Stones whenever I can including in Leeds, England at Ian Stewart’s last concert.  I haven’t kept count, but I’ve probably seen them 30 times.

Fast forward about 15 years to the mid-late 90s, and I followed the Stones around to a number of stops on their Bridges to Babylon tour.  It was after a Stones concert in Philadelphia that I was invited to a party in a fancy hotel. While there, a friend asked if I would like to join a small group of people and be introduced to Darryl Jones. Yes, was the obvious answer.  When we were introduced, I congratulated Darryl on the classy manner in which he had replaced Bill Wyman, obviously a legend, as bass player in the Stones. Then I told him what I really wanted to know about was his time playing with Miles Davis. I had heard Miles live only once and mentioned to Darryl that I had felt that I was in the presence of greatness. He responded that every time he took the stage with Miles that he also had felt he was in the presence of greatness. After an enjoyable conversation and just before he excused himself, he leaned in and whispered his email address to me and said to stay in touch.

It would be cool to say that we formed a strong bond of friendship from that time forward, but it would not be true. We did exchange a good number of emails over the years, and narrowly missed connecting a few times. Life moved on, and I met my wife Krista, and we had children.  For a long time, I didn't write Darryl, and he didn't write me. After that while, when something reminded me of him, I dropped him a note, and he very politely inquired who was I. For a while after that we didn't communicate at all. 

Then, in 2018, I saw an article entitled “Unknown Stone.”  In it Darryl discussed his parents being a part of the Civil Rights Movement.  Since, mine were, too; I wrote him.  It turned out our parents had given us many of the same lessons during the 1960s.  That email led to a number of exchanges, and ultimately to our deciding to get together for dinner.  The catch was, because of the change of date due to Mick Jagger’s heart surgery, I was at a conference in Orlando, coincidentally at the Ritz there, when he invited me to Amelia Island to the Ritz-Carlton for dinner.  Of course, I made the drive.  Our conversation ranged far and wide, with the exception of never addressing the Stones or any of their members, I don’t think.  Darryl had said maybe we’d spend an hour or so together.  We spent three.  The evening ended with chatting with Chuck Leavell and his wife, Rose Lane.

A few days later, a mentor of mine asked if I had got any lessons. My mind first went to music lessons and I said there wasn’t time for a bass lesson.  He waited patiently for me to figure out the real nature of the question, and I realized that Darryl had indeed imparted some wisdom to me.