At 83, Mick Jagger Reveals The 5 People He Loved The Most 

The the thing about doing this kind of thing is you you you delegate these big jobs. You know, I never organized that thing that we did. Not really. >> But what did I do? I approved the place. You know, I thought that you would be a great person to do it. The other day, someone asked me a question.

 I’d never really been asked before. They said, “Mick, after all these years, who are the five people you love the most?” I laughed for a second cuz that’s a very different question from asking who the greatest musicians were. The greatest musicians, um, people can argue about that forever. The people you love, that’s personal.

I’ve spent most of my life around extraordinary people. Some of them became famous, some already were. Some stayed in my life for a long time, and some only came along for a chapter. But every one of them left something behind. When you’re young, you don’t think much about that. You’re too busy making the next record, booking the next tour, wondering where you’ll be next week.

 You never imagine you’ll reach an age where most of your favorite memories are behind you instead of ahead of you. But that’s life. The older I’ve become, the more I find myself thinking about people instead of performances. People remember the concerts. I remember who was standing beside me before we walked onto the stage.

 People remember the records. I remember the the conversations after everyone else had gone home. Those are the things that stay with you. I’ve been fortunate enough to know some remarkable people over the years. Some made me laugh harder than anyone else. Some taught me lessons without ever realizing it. Some were only part of my life for a little while, but somehow left memories that never disappeared.

Uh, so I actually took a moment to think about that question. Five names came into my head almost immediately. Not because they were the biggest stars, not because they were the most talented, simply because they meant so much to me. The first name that came to mind was Charlie Watts. That probably won’t surprise many people.

 If you knew anything about the Rolling Stones, you knew Charlie and I spent most of our lives together. When people looked at us, they usually noticed how different we were. I was always moving around the stage. Charlie barely moved at all. I enjoyed the chaos that seemed to follow our band everywhere we went. Charlie always seemed happiest when things were quiet.

 Some people thought that made us an odd pair. I never did. I think every band needs someone like Charlie. Someone who doesn’t have to be the loudest person in the room. someone who’s comfortable letting everyone else have the spotlight. Charlie was like that. He never seemed interested in proving anything. He simply showed up, sat behind his drums, and did what he always did night after night, year after year.

 People talk about consistency in music. Charlie lived it. One thing I always appreciated was how dependable he was. There wasn’t any drama with Charlie. If rehearsal started at 2:00, he’d be there before two. If we had a concert that night, you never wondered whether Charlie would be ready. He always was. When you’ve worked with someone for that many years, trust becomes something you don’t even think about anymore.

 It just becomes normal. I’d hear him count us in and that was enough. Everything else seemed to fall into place. Of course, everyone remembers what an elegant drummer he was. They’re right. He had a style that nobody else could copy. But um when I think about Charlie, I don’t start with the music.

 I think about the man. I think about all the airports we sat in together, all the hotels, all the dressing rooms, all the miles we traveled without either of us realizing just how much time was passing. You spend that many years beside someone and they stop feeling like a a bandmate. They’re simply part of your everyday life.

 That’s why losing Charlie felt so strange. It wasn’t just that we’d lost our drummer. I’d lost someone I’d expected to see again, someone who had always been there. Even now, every once in a while, I’ll hear one of our old records and find myself listening for Charlie more than anyone else. Um, I suppose that’s what happens when someone has been part of your life for so long.

You don’t remember one big moment. You remember a lifetime of little ones. The next person who came into my mind brought a completely different kind of energy wherever she went. Um, the next person I want to talk about is Tina Turner. Now, there aren’t many people who could walk onto a stage and make you stop watching everyone else.

 Tina could she had that kind of presence. People saw the performances. They saw the voice. They saw all that incredible energy. I saw those things, too. But that’s not why she’s on this list. I always enjoyed being around Tina because she never made things complicated. She was easy to talk to, easy to laugh with.

 There are people in this business who always seem to be performing even after they leave the stage. Tina wasn’t like that. Once the show was over, she was just Tina. That’s something I always appreciated. Whenever our paths crossed, we’d spend more time talking than people probably realize. Sometimes we’d talk about music.

 Sometimes we’d talk about life on the road. Sometimes we’d hardly talk about work at all. After you’ve been doing this long enough, that’s usually what happens. You stop talking about careers. you talk about life instead. Of course, people still remember the times we performed together. I understand that we had a wonderful time, but if you ask me what I remember first, it wouldn’t be the audience. It wouldn’t be the lights.

 It would be the few minutes before we walked on stage, standing backstage, having a laugh, making sure everything was ready. Those little moments always seem to stay with me longer than the performances themselves. One thing I admired about Tina was how she handled everything life threw at her. Most people know parts of her story.

 They know she went through difficult times. What impressed me wasn’t that she survived them. It was that she never let those experiences take away her warmth. She still smiled. She still laughed. She still treated people kindly. That’s not always easy to do. Success changes some people. Hardship changes others.

 Neither one seemed to change Tina. She stayed true to herself. The last time I saw her, she was exactly the person I’d always known. Worm, gracious, full of life. When I heard she’d gone, I found myself thinking less about the music and more about those conversations we’d shared over the years. It’s funny what stays with you.

 Not the biggest moments, just the simple ones. That’s the Tina I still think about. I don’t think I ever met anyone quite like David. Some people could walk into a room and make everyone notice them. David didn’t have to. you noticed him anyway, not because he was trying to There was just something about him.

 People usually start by talking about how creative he was. I understand that every few years it seemed he’d come back as someone completely different. Most artists spend their careers trying to protect an image. David never seemed interested in that. He was always looking for the next idea, the next challenge, the next version of himself.

I admired that. We first got to know each other many years ago, and whenever we ran into one another, the conversation never felt forced. We’d talk about music, of course, but we’d just as easily end up talking about books, films, or whatever had caught David’s attention that week. He was curious about everything.

 I think that’s what kept him interesting for so long. He never stopped learning. People often mention dancing in the street. I still smile whenever somebody brings it up. We had a terrific time making that. Honestly, I don’t remember worrying about whether it would be a hit. I remember laughing. I remember two friends enjoying themselves.

 That’s what comes back to me first. One thing I respected about David was that he never seemed afraid of changing. That’s difficult. Once people expect something from you, it’s very tempting to keep giving them the same thing. David never worked that way. He trusted his instincts. Sometimes people understood them, sometimes they didn’t.

 It never seemed to bother him very much. He just kept moving forward. We didn’t see each other all the time. Nobody does in this business. Everyone ends up on different tours, different projects, different parts of the world. But whenever we met again, it never felt as though much time had passed.

 We simply carried on where we’d left off. When I heard David was gone, I sat quietly for a while. It didn’t seem possible that someone who had always been creating had suddenly gone silent. Every generation gets a few people who change the way everyone else thinks. David was certainly one of them. But when I think about him now, I don’t think about the costumes or the characters.

 I think about the conversations. I think about the laughter and I think about how much more interesting an afternoon could become whenever David Bowie happened to walk into the room. Now, I know people who spent years comparing the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. I understand why. We were both young. We were both from England.

 And we both happened to be making records at the same time. People love a rivalry. The truth is, it never felt quite that simple to me. Of course, we wanted to make great records. If the Beatles released something brilliant, it pushed the rest of us to work even harder. I’m sure they felt the same when another band came along with something new.

That’s good for music. It makes everyone better. But it never stopped me from admiring John. The first thing that comes to mind isn’t one of his songs. Everybody already knows those. I remember how direct he was. You never had to wonder what John was thinking. If he agreed with you, he’d tell you. If he thought you were wrong, he’d tell you that, too.

 There wasn’t much pretending with with John. I always like that. This business is full of people who say what they think you want to hear. John wasn’t one of them. He said what he believed. Whether people liked it or not, that took courage. Whenever we found ourselves in the same place, we’d end up talking about far more than music, fame, family, getting older, trying to have something that resembled an ordinary life when everyone seemed to know your name.

 Those conversations meant a lot to me. They reminded me that underneath everything else, we were all just people trying to make sense of this strange life we’d found ourselves living. When I heard what had happened to John, I remember sitting there in complete disbelief. You hear the news. You hope somebody’s got it wrong. Then you realize they haven’t.

 That’s a difficult moment to describe. The world lost one of its greatest songwriters that day. I lost someone I genuinely enjoyed talking to. Even now, every once in a while, I’ll hear one of his songs and find myself thinking about the man instead of the music. I suppose that’s how you know someone really mattered to you.

 The songs never disappeared. Neither did the memories. Last person I want to talk about is uh Keith Richards. I don’t think anyone will be surprised to hear his name. If you spend more than 60 years with someone, they’re going to become part of your life. whether you plan for it or not. People have always been fascinated by our relationship.

They’ve written about the arguments, the disagreements, the times we weren’t speaking very much. Most of those stories are true. When you’ve known someone that long, you’re not going to agree on everything. I’d actually be worried if we did. The funny thing is, people usually focus on the times we clashed.

 They don’t spend nearly as much time talking about all the years we worked side by side. And there were a lot more of those. Keith and I were just two young blod American Blues Records. That’s really where it all started. We didn’t have some grand plan. We weren’t trying to change music. We simply loved playing. Somehow that turned into a lifetime.

I’ve shared more stages with Keith than anyone else. More rehearsals, more recording sessions, more airports, more hotel rooms, more late nights trying to finish songs that probably sounded better the next morning. When you’ve lived through that much together, words become less important. Sometimes we’d know exactly what the other one was thinking without saying anything.

 That’s not unusual after 60 years. It’s just what happens. People often ask me what kept the Rolling Stones together. I don’t think there’s one answer, but I do know this. Neither of us ever stopped believing the band was worth fighting for. Even during the difficult times, even when we annoyed each other, even when we needed a bit of space, we always found our way back.

 I think that’s because there was always respect underneath everything else. You can’t spend a lifetime making music with someone if that respect isn’t there. These days, when I look across the stage and see Keith standing where he’s always stood, I probably appreciate it more than I did when we were 25. Back then, you think it’ll last forever.

Now, you understand what a privilege it really is. The older I’ve become, the more grateful I feel that we’re both still here. We’ve lost a lot of friends over the years. We’ve said goodbye to too many remarkable people. So, I’d never take another concert for granted or um another rehearsal or even another conversation.

If this business has given me one friendship that shaped my life more than any other, it’s the one I found with Keith Richards. I wouldn’t trade that for anything. Looking back now, I realize that music gave me far more than a career. It gave me people. That’s the first thing that comes to mind these days.

 Not the records, not the awards, not the soldout tours, the people. Charlie taught me what quiet loyalty looked like. Tina reminded me that kindness and strength can exist in the same person. David never stopped showing me that there’s always another way to see the world. John proved that honesty matters even when it’s uncomfortable. And Keith, well, Keith has been there through just about every chapter of my adult life.

 When you’re young, you think success is measured by what you’ve achieved. When you’re older, you realize it’s also measured by who was standing beside you while you were achieving it. I consider myself incredibly fortunate. Not because I became famous, because I got to spend my life around people who made that journey worthwhile. Sometimes I’ll hear one of our old songs on the radio.

 People assume I’m remembering the recording session. Most of the time I’m not. I’m remembering who was in the room, who made me laugh that day, who stayed behind after everyone else had left. Those memories seem to last longer than anything else. If there’s one thing I’ve learned after all these years, it’s that careers eventually become history.

 Friendships become part of who you are.