Giles Coren is a C*nt and this is why.
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www.timesonline.co.uk]
Earnings last tour £86m; biggest single audience 1.5m; A&E visits 1
Bourgeois posers who do nothing but get their end away, says Giles Coren
Forgive me for asking this — I am 103 and thus not old enough to remember — but were the Rolling Stones ever cool? Because I can’t for the life of me imagine how they could have been. Even when they were young, they were greedy, bourgeois posers in stupid clothes. Since then, all they’ve done is got scrawnier and wrinklier, and poked their frantic little penises into young girls who don’t know any better.
I can’t imagine that anybody ever liked their music — that ghoulish, middle-class, white-boy pastiche of R&B, such an insult to the tradition of the blues. Such a fraudulent exploitation of a noble idiom by ambitious young breadheads. How can a man who went to the LSE stand there and sing: “I can’t get no satisfaction”? Mick Jagger doesn’t talk like that. He is the Al Jolson of rock: a grim parody of black entertainment performed for the smug enjoyment of the tittering classes.
And the lifestyle has always been more rotten than the music: the glorification of casual sex, the drug-taking, the partying, the indulgence of every vacuous and diseased aspect of an indolent and unrestrained life that the Stones’ particular corner of popular culture celebrates so unremittingly.
I hate that preposterous grunter Richards who fell out of the coconut tree. Do not ask what a human being was doing climbing a coconut tree; ask what a monkey has been doing all these years playing a guitar.
I hate those women they hang out with. All those ex- and current wives, with their rictus grins and big cash settlements. And I hate Bill Wyman, even though he’s not even in the band any more, for marrying a woman who caught his eye when she was 13. And I hate all the airhead offspring, with their fashion lines and their parties and their daft-arse hippie posturing from the starting point of vast ill-gotten wealth.
Most of all, I hate the way every time a member of the Rolling Stones is the subject of a newspaper article, the headline is always, always, some dreadful pun on one of their song titles. Charlie Watts accidentally drops his underpants in the loo and it’s “Jumpin’ Jock Flush!”; Keith Richards endorses a range of smooth-edged furniture, and it’s “Sympathy for the Bevel”. It’s only rock’n’roll — not to mention antisocial attitudes, sexual incontinence and repetitive thundering dross — but I hate it.
So whoever wants to post here please do so I can forward your remarks to Giles f**kin twatface Coren....apparently he's a writer/ restaurant critic. What does he know about one of the most influential bands of the 20th century? Screw all, that's what....@#$%&.
NickB