DISGRACELAND - The Rolling Stones Pt. 2: Swinging London, Stolen Jewels, the Mars Bar Myth, and Busted at Redlands

Episode Date: June 30, 2020

The Establishment strikes back in this second installment of the Rolling Stones time in Swinging London. UK pop star Donovan is busted, a precursor to the Stones Redlands bust. Mick Jagger is in jail looking at hard time. The tabloids and the coppers are in league to bring down the disruptive Rolling Stones while the myth of Keith Richards is born. To view the full list of contributors, see the show notes at ⁠www.disgracelandpod.com⁠. This episode was originally published on June 30, 2020. To listen to Disgraceland ad free and get access to weekly bonus content and more, become a Disgraceland All Access member at ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠disgracelandpod.com/membership⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. Sign up for our newsletter and get the inside dirt on events, merch and other awesomeness - ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠GET THE NEWSLETTER⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Follow Jake and DISGRACELAND: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠YouTube⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠X⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ (formerly Twitter)  ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Facebook Fan Group⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠TikTok  See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

This is exactly right. Double Elvis. This season on Dear Chelsea, with me, Chelsea Handler, we have some fantastic guests like Amelia Clark. When like young people come up to me and they want to be an actor or whatever. My first thing is always, can you think of anything else that you can do? Rather be disappointed in. Do that.

David O'Yellowo. I love this podcast, whether it's therapy or relationships or religion or sex or addiction or you just go straight for the guts. Dennis Leary, Gaten Moderato from Stranger Things, Tana Monsu, Camilla Morone, Carrie Kenny Silver, and more. Listen to these episodes of Dear Chelsea on the Iheart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Movies can make you feel, make you dream.

Sometimes they even make you appreciate architecture. Is there anybody who's been hotter in a doorway? Then Elizabeth Taylor. That's the kind of analysis you'll find every week on Dear Movies I Love You, the new podcast from the Exactly Right Network. Every Tuesday, we break down the films we're crushing on, from blockbusters to deep cuts. Listen to Dear Movies I Love You on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Sometimes a suspect is found guilty before a verdict is ever read in court.

On the Wicked Words podcast, I talk with the writers who dig deep into the cases that changed history, including Marsha Clark, who went from prosecuting one of the most famous murder cases to writing crime fiction. It doesn't matter that you didn't take part in the murder. If you were at the scene at all, you're guilty of murder. Every week, the real story is revealed. Join us every Monday for new episodes of Wicked Words. Listen to Wicked Words on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Disgraceland is a production of Double Elvis.

The Rolling Stones, their place in London's society in the mid-60s and the circumstances leading up to and surrounding the arrests of both Keith Richards and Mick Jagger are so complex that I needed two episodes to properly tell this story. If you're just getting hip to this now, I suggest you hit pause and go back to Disgraceland Episode 60 or Part 1 of the Rolling Stones Swinging London's story, where we discuss the band's prefab rivalry with the Fab 4, London's fast-changing culture, the arrest of Pop Star Donovan, the news of the world's axe to grind with the stones, the influence of the Aristos, gangsters, and spies, one escaped and won in the ranks.

In this episode, we get deeper into the band's bending of the law and social norms, as well as into the mold-breaking, great rock-and-roll music that the Rolling Stones created. Unlike the music I played for you at the top of the show, that wasn't great music. That was a preset loop from my Melotron called Cockadoodle Blues, M.K. I played you that loop because I can't afford the rights to Windy by the Association. And why would I play you that specific slice of easy, breezy pop geez could I afford it? Because that was the number one song in America on July 1st, 1967. And that was the day the conservative London Times released the editorial entitled,

Who Breaks a Butterfly on a Wheel, effectively saving the careers of the embattled and likely soon to be. be imprisoned, Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. On this episode, a jewel heist, a drug bust, a powerful axe to grind, Mick and Keith behind bars, Brian Jones off the rails, and easy, breezy cheese. Ladies and gentlemen, the Rolling Stones. I'm Jake Brennan, and this is Disgraceland, 24 years old, and one of the biggest pop stars on the planet,

with the eyes of Her Majesty's entire kingdom trained on him. Mick Jagger sat in the back of a rickety police car racing through the streets of London, taking him to jail. He arrived, numb and indisbelief. How had it come to this? Jail? For nothing? Pills, amphetamies.

They were prescribed, legal. Was it because of Robert Fraser, with his 24 jacks of heroin in his dainty Elizabethan box, the fallen angel of Eaton, slumming it with the Rolling Stones, showing just how far a society could slide into the disgraced clutch of rock and roll. Was it because of Marianne, with the fur rug and nothing on under it? The well-behaved beatific young lady turned lascivious nympho by the Rolling Stones. Or was it because of Brian Jones and his loose acid-smacked lips, corrupting London's youth, turning them on to tuning out the establishment?

Whatever the reason, Mick Jagger hardly felt like he had committed any. crime befitting of this punishment. Three months in prison for possession of drugs, again, prescription drugs. Inside the walls of the prison, Mick was stripped and de-laused and thrown into a solitary cell off the infirmary. He was permitted the visit of a girlfriend. The aforementioned quote-unquote lascivious nympho Marianne Faithful. Marianne was scared, but not as scared as Mick. Mick saw the writing on the wall. This was it. This was Game Set Matter. The squares had won, he was done. Keith was surely done as well.

Brian had been done for over a year now. Charlie would have to go back to the trad jazz clubs. Who knew what Bill would do? Ian would probably end up driving a lorry. Andrew had already split for the states, couldn't take the heat from the arrests. He wasn't even there. Coward.

If Mick ever got out of this, he knew one thing. If the Rolling Stones were to continue, it would be without Andrew Lou Goldham. Alan Klein would take over the whole show, get Mick some of that Sam Cook juice. Marianne stood outside the cell. Mick was in regulation prison garb. It was two sizes too big.

He looked so small and so scared. He was mumbling, semi-coherent. It was as if Marianne wasn't even there. Mick's rambling was incessant. It turned to anger, anger-borne of desperation. The past few years for Mick Jagger in the Rolling Stones was one constant ascent. And there were no real setbacks, and there was no plateauing of any sort. Since their inception, since the early packed crowds at the Marquis Club in 1962,

to signing on with Andrew Oldham as their manager in 63, and then soon after with Deca, their first tour of the UK with Bo Diddley, Little Richard, and the Everly brothers. How top was that? Mick could have died then and there and gone to his grave of success, in his own mind at least. What soon followed was beyond his schoolboy, Dreams. Chart success in the UK. Number 12 with John and Paul's I Want to Be Your Man. And all the way to number two with Buddy Holly's not fade away. And then it was off to America where they'd have to find a way to overcome the indifference and disdain of the American establishment.

Without a hit, relying on their live chops and charisma to put a snarky Dean Martin in his place on national television. Then to Chess Studios where muddy waters carried in their gear for them. Again, Mick could have died then and there. The old blues man, Muddy Wolf, they welcomed Mick and his bandmates with genuine kindness, real openness, not a shred of cynicism or contempt. In the Rolling Stones, they saw reverence, sincerity, authenticity, which was more than what James Brown saw. James saw a threat, a bunch of white boys from a strange little country profiting off of what he was working hard to dominate.

Black American R&B music. James took them to school of the film. of the Tammy show, but the vanquishing from the stage wasn't without its value. Mick learned a lot from watching James on stage, how he moved, how he owned the audience. And later that year, when Ronnie Specter, Keith's American girlfriend, she was Ronnie Bennett at the time. Crazy Phil hadn't sealed the deal yet. Anyway, when Ronnie took them to see James Brown's legendary Apollo performance, Mick would learn even more how to be a frontman on and off stage. James was finding sideman in the middle of a set with subtle hand gestures and backstage holding court like a regal prince,

being catered to by his servantry fussing over his hair, his outfit, even his nails. Mick Jagger took note. Then there was the number one hit in the UK, Little Red Rooster, the tour of Australia and New Zealand and another number one slot in the UK with Bobby Womax the last time. That went to number nine in the US, and they were moving up, and they could feel it, The world could feel it. The movement was constant. The Rolling Stones were coming. And then, Keith had the dream.

The dream that changed everything. He dreamed up the riff after listening to Too Much Otis Redding. Trying to play those horns on an acoustic guitar. Keith woke up from the dream and luckily had enough sense to put the riff down on tape. Recorded it on a little Phillips tape recorder he kept on the nightstand in his hotel. In the morning, there it was. Bada, ba-da-da-da-da-ba-ba-ba. Mick had no problem writing lyrics to that one.

Wrote them next to the pool at the hotel in Clearwater, Florida. And you can feel the sticky heat on those words. Satisfaction. It went to number one in the U.S., and in the UK, of course. And then the last time, another one Keeffe and Mick wrote, went to number one as well, and then the same top slots for Get Off of My Cloud and Painted Black.

The Rolling Stones couldn't miss. The Beatles, of course, were enjoying their own success at the time. And the Stones wore the black hat, sure, but that was just image for the Kitty magazines. Anyone in the know knew better, knew that John, Paul, George, and Ringo were up to the same extracurricular activities the stones were. Hell, even together with the stones a lot of the time. George and Patty Boyd were at Redmond's the night of the bus. And they just happened to have the good fortune of leaving before Bloody Hell busted up their trip. And this, it was all over now.

Jail. The very likely end of the Rolling Stones. Mick couldn't handle it. He was breaking down behind the cell bars. Mary Ann on the other side broke character and went for tough love. Pull yourself together. Don't let the jackbooted thugs see you cry. Don't play the part of the prissy little pop star.

Be a man. Mick would never forgive her for it. And he'd never forgive whoever it was who tipped off the cops. It had to be one of Keith's friends. not Robert Fraser and not Christopher Gibbs. They were too sophisticated. But Keith had other friends, more unsavory. Spanish Tony came to mind.

He was always running some sort of scam, right there in the open, without you even knowing it. Mick remembered the story that Keith told him. This season on Dear Chelsea, with me, Chelsea Handler, we have some fantastic guests, like Amelia Clark. When, like, young people come up to me and they want to be an actor or whatever, My first thing is always, can you think of anything else that you can do? Rather be disappointed in.

Do that. Dennis Leary. I wake up and I'm hitting him in the head with a water bomb. And Bruce Jenner is on the aisle in a karate stance. Like he's about to attack me. Like making karate noises. And his entire, the Kardashian family over there, everybody's going. And the air marshal is trying to grab my arms and screaming.

And I immediately know that. I've better sleepwalk. David O'Yellowo. I love this podcast, whether it's therapy or relationships or religion or sex or addiction or you just go straight for the guts. Guy Branham. So anyway, Nicole Kimman broke up with Keith Urban. Being half of a country couple was always a hat she was going to wear, not like a life she

was going to lead. Oh, interesting. I like that. Did you practice that on your way over? Gaten Matarazzo from Stranger Things. Tanya Monjeu, Camilla Morone, Carrie Kenny Silver, and more. Listen to these episodes of Dear Chelsea on the Iheart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. I'm Kate Winkler Dawson, host of the Wicked Words podcast.

Each week I sit down with the true crime writers behind some of the most compelling true crime stories and discuss their years spent investigating and why it still matters. He sees his father coming out of the woods. with his hands over his face, and he knows something happened. His father just grabs him and says she's gone. She's gone. These are the cases that leave survivors, families, and the journalists who cover them changed forever. Working in national television, it'll push you to your limits, and you'll end up doing things you never thought you'd do.

You know, you look back at it, and you're like, I can't believe that really happened. Join me and step inside the investigation. drop every Monday on the Exactly Right Network. Listen to Wicked Words on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Remember when you'd walk into your local video rental place and there were always those two employees behind the counter arguing about movies? Well, that's us. I'm Millie to Cherico. And I'm Casey O'Brien.

And now we're arguing about movies on our podcast, Dear Movies I Love You from the Exactly Right Network. Can I say something about the Criterion Clause? Go ahead, dude. They're letting too many people in there. Okay, that's another film, great by God, too. Sadly, that rental place doesn't exist anymore. It's probably a store that sells running shoes. Or an ice cream shop with an extra pee and an E at the end.

So consider us your slacker movie clerks in podcast form. I would like to establish a timeline of the moment you figured out who Channing Tatum was. Every Tuesday, we dig into the movies we can't stop obsessing over, from hidden gems to big screen favorites. New episodes drop every week on the Exactly Right Network. Listen to Dear Movies I Love You on the Iheart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Behind Bond Street, near Piccadilly, the Burlington Arcade, a covered European shopping gallery, one of the precursors to the modern day shopping mall, built by the Earl of Burlington,

brother to the Duke of Devonshire. The Burlington Arcade retailed jewelry boutiques, fine watches, luxury perfumes, a mix of modern and traditional wares for both the old guard and discerning Chelsea set. Keith Richards sat outside behind the wheel of Spanish Tony's new Jaguar Mark 10, pimped out in two tones, top-of-the-line saloon car with a max speed of 120 miles per hour, faster than Brian Jones's Rose Roy's Silver Cloud, the one he could hardly see over the steering wheel of and for half the price. Keith was eager to wheel around town in Tony's new Jag, see what it was made of and how it would handle, and Tony had just the opportunity. Keith waited outside the arcade, casually dragging on his cigarette,

and the sirens he heard were distant and dreamlike, more like the air raid sirens from the Second World War than anything twirling atop a copper's roof or from an alarm. But with every passing second the sound grew louder, more intense and finally, coupled with what most certainly was the sound of an alarm, a sharp, consistent rattle. Keith looked around the outside of the jag, and there was no one around, a couple stragglers shopping about, and then Keith looked to his right. Out of the driver's side window toward the arcade's entryway double doors, they burst open and through them came Spanish Tony in full sprint, sprinting from what Keith didn't know. Keith left his cigarette to dangle between his lips, reached down with his left hand to twist the ignition,

grabbed the wheel with his right, reached down to the stick shift to put the car in gear, looked up to see Tony sliding across the hood of the car, and then bouncing into the passenger seat Next to him with one word. Drive. Keith was already a step ahead of him. No idea what Tony had just gotten him into. He knew he didn't want to stick around to find out. Unbeknownst to Keith, Spanish Tony had just robbed the arcade's jewelry store.

A hit and run. A real bang, bang job. Tony had the new jag, a clean car, and he needed a clean getaway driver. He knew Keith would never do it if he knew the score. So Tony set him up. Keith was pissed, but not entirely unsurprised. It wasn't the first time Spanish Tony would land with in piping hot water, and it wouldn't be the last. Tony had his complications, but he wasn't entirely bad.

He helped Robert Fraser out with his debt to the Cray Twins. Tony ran one of their casinos, and that was another plus for Keith. It opened up the Rolling Stones world to a wide array of assorted characters, who, in addition to being as glamorous as rock stars, could also procure hard-defined drugs, in particular, acid. which is most certainly how David Schneiderman, the acid king, came into the picture. Through some Spanish Tony, Robert Fraser, Craig Casino, Chelsea set, Christopher Gibbs' Aristo connection. And no one really knew. But here he was. Fresh from the States. With his smarmy Carrie Grant's skin and white lightning LSD, it was better than the strawberry fields,

better than the purple haze, supposedly fresh from Kesey's personal batch, but who knew if that was true? David had a way about him. instantly you get the vibe that at least half of what he said was utter bullshit and he was as pretentious as they came in that real hippie-dippy American West Coast kind of way on that infamous day February 11th 1967 before handing out the LSD to the group assembled at Redlands Keith's new home in West Sussex David actually said this is the Tao of lycergic diethylamine man let it speak to you let it tell you how to navigate the cosmos What tripe. Even Mick snickered at that one, and he was obsessed with the Tao.

But regardless of the accompanying BS, the LSD that David the Acid King handed out was the stuff. The Stones, Keith and Mick, the Chantus, Marianne Faithful, the Etonians, Robert Fraser, and Christopher Gibbs, and fellow Aristotor, Nikki Kramer, the photographer Michael Cooper, and they tripped hard. And by the time dinner rolled around, Beatle George Harrison and his girlfriend and Patty Boyd had turned up, only to quickly split after the rest of the group made it back safely from their excursion through the nearby woods and then to the beach, back to Keyes Redlands home. Lavishly decorated by Christopher Gibbs, the home wrapped the tripping set up in its warm embrace. Cozy, they began to settle in to riding out the final hours of their trip.

And then, a hard knock on the door. Was it really a knock? Or was it a collective oral hallucination? And there it was again, hard, intrusive, not going away. The group looked around at each other. No one spoke. Everyone had the same thought. And just be quiet and maybe it'll go away. And maybe whatever bad road was on the other side of the door would just roll itself up and wind itself away. But it didn't go away.

It grew louder, more persistent. Keith took to it head on, strolled over to one of his front windows, pulled back the heavy curtain and looked out upon the pending disruption. There, on his front lollip. lawn, at least a dozen, possibly more. Dwarves. All wearing the same blue uniform, the same little shiny black shoes and the same tiny little SS helmets. Keith couldn't wait to meet them. He opened the door, shirtless, and his skin tight, pinstriped slacks, barefoot, brown rocks, and a tumbler in his right hand, welcoming them in with a wide stretch of his left arm.

Gentlemen, wonderful attire. Am I expecting you? Anyway, come on in. It's a bit chilly out. The main dwarf tilted back his helmet had to look up at Keith. We have a search warrant. We'd like to read it to you. Keith would have none of it. Oh, that's very nice, but it's a bit cold outside. Come on in and read it to me over by the fireplace. Keith's hospitality was not met with kindness.

In March, the stuffy uniform dwarves. They began to quickly search the home, turning out ashtrays, opening up desk drawers, pulling books down, rare and valuable first editions procured by Robert Fraser, and casually throwing them to the ground. The sudden action sent Keith's head a wobble. He blinked his eyes and the dwarves had multiplied, completely overrun his home and the sounds they made,

grunting like pigs at the trough, tearing through his belongings, frightening his guests. He heard other sounds, the wind of the alarm outside Spanish Tony's jag. One of the pig-faced dwarfs marched Marianne down the stairs, clad in nothing but Keith's fur rug. Marianna had just showered when the intrusion came upon them. Keith watched, confused.

He heard the sound of Brian's pissy little laugh, the little carnival clown he turned into, content with pissing his pants in the back of Keith Bentley, while he and Mick took the piss out of him for being such a sniveling little twat. Brian had it all, and he was blowing it. Keith heard the tumble from grace, out of tune sitars, cracked marimbas and bent mallets,

failure, fear of failure. It was scarier than any jack-booted pig rummaging through his house at the moment. But fear wasn't Keith's game. Mix. Keith heard Blue Lina roaring toward Stonehenge from the back seat with Princess Margaret, his butler at the wheel, Christopher Gibbs and his double-breasted suit up front, spouting off about flying saucers and the latest rumors about David Litvanov. Keith heard the razor blade pierced through Litvanov's skin, just under the chin, the slight tear of the skin,

the sound of Litvanov taking it like a man, stifling his screams, staring Kray's heavies in the eye, daring them to go all the fucking way with it if they were going to go. go on with it at all. Litvinov was hard, like Spanish Tony, like Keith, he could take it, and he'd live to tell about it. The dwarves were relentless. The chick dwarf made Marianne drop the rug, naked, and the pigs double-took one take, Marianne. There she stood, bare, paranoid, ravaged with fear, a nightmare of shame come to life, but nothing compared to what was about to come down on poor Marianne. It wasn't anything Keith hadn't seen before, but the sounds, these were new. The snorting of the pigs, the roaring engines, and then the horns, the hawk of the air raid siren, bending itself into the sound of the Memphis horns, shaping his satisfaction rift.

The way it was supposed to sound. Thick, like the feeling in his head, like the rabbit fur on Mary Ann's bat, like the multi-track guitars he had to cobble together to compensate for Brian's fuck-offery, like the bullshit being spewed by the piggy dwarves, now fixed to separate the group. The Etonians, Robert Fraser, and Christopher Gibbs, upper class. The pigs reserved whatever niceties they had for Groovy Bob and Gibsey. Then the stones, Mick and Keith, Marianne alone on the stairs. The rest of the revelers off to the side with the servants, who the pigs barely acknowledged as being worthy of their disdain.

They'd found pills, speed, wanted to know whose they were. Mick immediately and valiantly copped to them being his. And then there were the jacks of heroin. 24 of them in Robert Fraser's beautiful little antique box. But strangely, left alone throughout the entirety of the raid was David Schneiderman. He wasn't even searched. Neither was his highly suspect aluminum briefcase filled with LSD. So strange, no matter.

The cops had what they wanted, a drug charge that would stick on a rolling stone. And possibly, too, and they'd gotten what they came for. The rest was now up to the courts. While they exited, with the contraband to bring back to police headquarters to test and then use later to charge Mick and possibly Keith with and most certainly Robert Fraser with, Keith decided to play them off with a little tune. He found his way to the downstairs record player, quickly popped down Bob Dylan's blonde-on blonde,

and dropped the needle on Rainy Day Women No. 12 and 35. Everybody must get stoned. Keith's guests cut up and the piggies were enraged upon exiting they'd see who got the last laugh We'll be right back after this word, word, word This season on Dear Chelsea with me, Chelsea Handler We have some fantastic guests like Amelia Clark

When like young people come up to me and they want to be an actor or whatever My first thing is always can you think of anything else That you can do rather be disappointed in Do that. Dennis Leary. I wake up and I'm hitting him in the head with a water bomb. And Bruce Jenner is on the aisle in a karate stance like he's about to attack me. Like making karate noises.

And his entire the Kardashian family over there, everybody's going. And the air marshal is trying to grab my arms and screaming. I immediately know that I've been asleep walking. David O'Yellowo. I love this podcast, whether it's therapy or relationships or relationships or religion or sex or addiction or you just go straight for the guts. Guy Branham. So anyway, Nicole Kimman broke up with Keith Thurban.

Being half of a country couple was always a hat she was going to wear, not like a life she was going to lead. Oh, interesting. I like that. Did you practice that on your way over? Gaten Moderato from Stranger Things. Tena, manjou, Camilla Morone, Carrie Kenny Silver. And more.

Listen to these episodes of Dear Chelsea on the Iheart radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. I'm Kate Winkler Dawson, a host of the Wicked Words podcast. Each week I sit down with the true crime writers behind some of the most compelling true crime stories and discuss their years spent investigating and why it still matters. He sees his father coming out of the woods with his hands over his face, and he knows something happened. his father just grabs him and says she's gone. She's gone. These are the cases that leave survivors, families, and the journalists who cover them changed forever.

Working in national television, it'll push you to your limits and you'll end up doing things you never thought you do. You know, you look back at it and you're like, I can't believe that really happened. Join me and step inside the investigation. New episodes drop every Monday on the Exactly Right Network. Listen to Wicked Words on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Remember when you'd walk into your local video rental place and there were always those two employees behind the counter arguing about movies? Well, that's us. I'm Millie de Cherico.

And I'm Casey O'Brien. And now we're arguing about movies on our podcast, Dear Movies I Love You from the Exactly Right Network. Can I say something about the criterion closet? Go ahead, dude. They're letting too many people in there. Okay. That's another film, Grape I Got 2. Sadly, that rental place doesn't exist anymore.

It's probably a store that sells running shoes. Or an ice cream shop with an extra pee and an E at the end. So consider us your slacker movie clerks in podcast form. I would like to establish a timeline of the moment you figured out who Channing Tatum was. Every Tuesday, we dig into the movies we can't stop obsessing over, from hidden gems to big screen favorites. New episodes drop every week on the Exactly Right Network. Listen to Dear Movies I Love You on the Iheart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. The Redlands bust was in February 1967.

But Keith Richards, Dick Jagger, and Robert Fraser would not be formally charged until May 10th of that year. On that day, Brian Jones was recuperating from a brief trip to Cannes at his Courtfield Road, South Kensington apartment with his friend. Yet another bohemian aristow who'd come under the side. spell of the Rolling Stones, stashed Klausowski. The phone rang. Brian ignored it. It kept ringing. He ignored it still. It rang again. He picked up the receiver and quickly dropped it back on its handle. It then rained some more. He repeated the move. And then it rang again and again and again until finally Brian was forced to answer. Hello? The voice on the other line was clearly a journal. Kurt, excited, zero politeness. Have you been arrested? Excuse me? Brian said. How's it

feel to be the third Rolling Stone busted for drugs? What? Brian asked and quickly hung up the phone. He told Stash about the exchange while the phone began to ring again. Immediately, Stash figured out what was going on. Quick, hide the drugs. They're on their way. The two sprung up and began searching for whatever drugs they could find to quickly dispose of. There weren't many, thankfully, but still, Stash and Brian were smart to be on the lookout for random supplies absent-mindedly left behind by past partiers at Brian's flat. They found none. After a thorough search, secure in the fact that the apartment was clean, the two collapsed into Brian's living room furniture and awaited what they suspected was a coming shit show. The doorbell rang.

Stash peered through the people. It was Mohamed Johaj. Robert Fraser said, servant, whose Stash had called after the press phone to inquire about coming over to help. Stash opened the door to let Muhammad in, and when he did, out of nowhere, a pack of strangers pushed their way into the flat behind Muhammad. The strangers quickly went to work. At first, Stash couldn't tell if there were cops or press or both, but it didn't take long to realize. It was indeed a mix of both.

But how in the hell did the press get there so quickly? How did they know what was going on? Enough to call and inquire about being busted for drugs before the police even. showed up. And here, now, it was clear that the police had arrived after the press, fighting their way past them out front of Brian's flat to work the way in the front door to search for drugs that he had supposedly already been arrested for. Despite the clear and present skullduggery, Stash was convinced, as was Brian, that nothing would come of it as they knew there were no drugs in the house. But that confidence faded. As soon as they saw the head knob himself,

police sergeant Norman Pilcher. Old Nobby hadn't made. made it to the Redlands raid, but he made his presence felt during the raid of Brian Jones' apartment, making a big show of his search technique, sauntering around the apartment, blowing hard in that booming voice of his about the moral turpitude of pop stars. Stash caught the move. One of Pilcher's men pulled a hippie-looking wallet from under the mattress. In it, grass. Bullshit. Stash knew there was no wallet full of grass under the mattress. He just checked it. And before he could bring his mouth to protest, Pilcher shouted his disdainting. discovery from another part of the flat, a vial of cocaine. Again, bullshit, thought stash. The drugs were

planted, pure and simple, planted to sink, the stones. It didn't matter. More drugs, found in the possession of another rolling stone. On the same day Keith Richards and Mick Jagger were being formally charged. That's what the press was going to report. It was the next move from the establishment. The one meant to counter Mc Jagger's move where he brought a libel suit against the news of the world for the libeless and incorrect account in their drugs and rockstar's expasse from a couple months earlier, accusing Mick of admitting to taking LSD, when in reality, it was actually Brian Jones. Raiding and arresting Brian Jones was the corrupt news of the world working in tandem with Norman Pilcher's police to strike back, to prove, despite Mick Jagger's libel suit, that it didn't matter what

Mick Jagger said with his lawsuits, or what his and Keith Richards' lawyers said in court in their defense, this new bust of Brian Jones would prove it that the Rolling Stones were dangerous drug addicts whose influence would corrupt London's youth and completely disrupt the established social order. After the bus, Brian was back home. His phone rang, and this time he picked it up on the first ring. It was Beatle Paul McCartney offering to help with Brian's legal bills, imploring Brian, who he correctly suspected was in a depressive and defeated state to fight these corrupt charges. Brian was agreeable if not inspired, clearly down. Paul invited him around the studio to sit in on a session the Beatles were having him to play guitar.

Brian showed up later at Abbey Road Studios, but not with his guitar, with an alto sax. And during the recording of John Lennon's highly abstract, you know my name, look up my number. Brian, once again showing his prowess as an inspired multi-instrumentalist, blew an impressive sax soul to wrap the tune at the 351. mark. The track would show up three years later in 1970 as the B-side to the single Let It Be. By that time, Brian Jones would be long gone. Later that month, at the end of June, 1967, Mick Jagger, Robert Fraser, and Keith Richards stood trial for drug possession. On day one, it took the court five minutes to convict both Mick and Groovy Bob, and they were sent to

lose prison to await sentencing. Mick heard the snickering of the guards, and then came their lewd inquiries. How did it taste? The Mars bar, the one the coppers caught him eating out of Marianne Faithwell's vagina at Redlands on the day of the bust. Mick was beyond disgusted. The rumor was sick and totally false and cooked up by one of the raiding cops and passed on to the press to run with.

And there was a Mars bar on the scene, yes, and yes, Marianne was wearing nothing but a rug, but how those two facts led to the rumor about the Mars bar should have been beyond anyone's wildest imagination. Beyond being ridiculous, it was totally unfair to Mary Ann Faithful. She was getting it coming and going. Slut shamed publicly by the press and cast as an unwitting innocent victim by the prosecution to make the case that Mick Jagger and Keith Richards had corrupted her, proof of the disruptive, morally bankrupt behavior of the Rolling Stones. On the second day of the trial, Keith Richards' day in court, with Mick sweating it out behind bars,

and Mary Ann sweating it out on the outside with the full heat of the national press coming down on her. The judge tried provoking Keith, pointing out that surely someone who would allow cannabis to be smoked in his home, to allow a young, innocent woman to come under the influence of drugs in his home, and to then be defiled by disreputable men, drug addicts, the lot of the men, surely someone who would do this was nothing more than, quote-unquote, filth or scum, and suggested that people like this shouldn't be a lot of

allowed to walk free. The prosecutor, thinking he had Keith on the ropes, went in for the kill, asking, Mr. Richards, would you agree that in the ordinary course of events you would expect a young woman to be embarrassed if she had nothing on in front of several men? Keith, stone-faced, not at all. We are not old men and we are not worried about petty morals. She had been upstairs and bathed. The prosecutor, did it come as a great surprise to you that she was prepared to go back Downstairs, still only wearing a rug in front of ten police officers? Keith, I thought the rug was big enough to cover three women. The prosecutor, I wasn't talking about the impropriety, but embarrassment.

Keith took a moment, thought about the question, let the tension in the room naturally build before answering and then deadpanned. She doesn't embarrass easily, nor do I. The exchange, once reported, instantly cemented Keith Richard's reputation as we know it today. That tell it like it is can't give a fuck rock and roll pirate swooping into action to lend his toughness, his attitude, his bad assery to whatever the situation demands. The move made the press and the public consider Keith Richards differently. He wasn't the third chair in the band, behind Brian Jones, the band's founder, and Mick Jagger the band's front man. He was his own man,

a rebel's rebel, and for putting his neck on the line, on the court record, for sticking up for his singer's girlfriend in public at the expense of his own freedom and for in effect telling the establishment to go fuck themselves, he was elevated to instant folk hero status. The judge, however, was not impressed. He gave Keith a one-year sentence for his smart mouth, the maximum allowed for the relatively minor drug charge of allowing others to partake in illicit drugs in his home. Hell, Robert Frazier had heroin on him, and he only received a three-month sentence along with Mick. Brian would get nine months suspended sentence and forced drug rehabilitation, but just as the bust made Keith Richards, it broke Brian Jones. His days were numbered,

both as a rolling stone and as a living, breathing, functioning member of society. He would continue his slide into drug abuse and paranoia and be arrested again a year later, unceremoniously kicked out of the ban by Mick and Keith a year after that in June of 1969, and less than a month later would drown to death, somewhat mysteriously, in his swimming pool on July 3, 1969. Keith stood in the yard at Wormwood Scrubs, staring at the prison wall, visions of George Blake in his great escape. One of the guards nudged him on the shoulder and informed him that his one day in prison would be his last. His lawyer had secured his release pending appeal. Keith's prisonmates quickly went to work, penning letters swiftly to their loved ones and handing

them off to Keith to deliver them as soon as he could on the outside. Keith stuffed his pockets and delivered every last letter. Mick Jagger was released that day as well. Robert Fraser wasn't so lucky. He'd serve his time. Ironically, upon Mick and Keith's release, it was the Bastion of Conservative UK Press, the London Times that ran an editorial pointing out the unjust and extremely harsh sentencing handed out to Mick and Keith, claiming correctly that had they been regular citizens and not pop stars that the establishment deemed disruptive to society and establishment with a clear vendetta against the duo that their sentences wouldn't have been nearly as extreme. The editorial and the Times went a long way and swaying public opinion in favor of Mick and Keith

and on appeal their two prison sentences were quashed. As it turned out, the Redlands bust was the result of Keith Schofer tipping off the news of the world who was clearly in cahoots with the police, tipping them off. to make the raid. And the coppers were one step ahead, having already ensconced their man, David Schneiderman, the acid king, King Narc, into the good graces of the Rolling Stones and the rest of the Aristotel Chelsea set, who had fallen under the dangerous sway of the lower-class rockers. But when it came time to bust Brian a few months later, when the press showed up at

Brian's place to cover a drug bust that hadn't even taken place yet, what was supposed to be the final nail in the Rolling Stones' coffin, turned out to be. clear proof that the establishment was colluding to imprison the pop stars. How disgraceful. I'm Jake Brennan, and this is Disgraceland. Disgraceland was created by yours truly and is produced in partnership with Double Elvis. Credits for this episode can be found on the show notes page at disgracelandpod.com. If you're listening as a Disgraceland All-Axist member,

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at DisgracelandPod, and on YouTube at YouTube.com slash at Disgraceland Pod. Rockerola. This season on Dear Chelsea, with me, Chelsea Handler, we have some fantastic guests like Amelia Clark. When like young people come up to me and they want to be an actor or whatever. And my first thing is always, can you think of anything else that you can do?

Rather be disappointed in. Do that. David O'Yellowo. I love this podcast, whether it's therapy or relationships or religion or sex or addiction or you just go straight for the guts. Dennis Leary, Gaten Matarazzo from Stranger Things, Tana Monsu, Camilla Morone, Carrie Kenny Silver, and more. Listen to these episodes of Dear Chelsea on the IHeartRadio app,

Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Just like great shoes, great books take you places. Through unforgettable love stories and into conversations with characters you'll never forget. any good romance, it gives me this feeling of like butterflies. I'm Danielle Robeye, and this is bookmarked by Rees's Book Club from Hello Sunshine and IHeart Podcast, where we dive into the stories that shape us on the page and off. Each week I'm joined by authors, celebs, book talk stars, and more for conversations that will make you laugh, cry, and add way too many books to your TBR pile.

Listen to Bookmarked by Reese's Book Club on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcast. Brought to you by Cotton, the fabric of our lives. Sometimes a suspect is found guilty before a verdict is ever read in court. On the Wicked Words podcast, I talk with the writers who dig deep into the cases that changed history, including Marsha Clark, who went from prosecuting one of the most famous murder cases to writing crime fiction. It doesn't matter that you didn't take part in the murder. If you were at the scene at all, you're guilty of murder. Every week, the real story is revealed. Join us every Monday for new episodes of Wicked Words.

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