In a Word ... longevity

“Well, when you’re sitting there in your silk upholstered chair / Talkin’ to some rich folk that you know / Well, I hope you won’t see me in my ragged company. Well, you know I could never be alone . . .”

One of the great mysteries of life has to be the remaining Rolling Stones. They all should be dead (sorry, but there's no other way of putting it!). Instead, they begin a 13-city tour of the US later this month: Mick Jagger (78); Keith Richards (77); the baby, Ronnie Wood (74). RIP, dearly departed Charlie Watts (80).

“Take me down little Susie, take me down / I know you think you’re the queen of the underground/And you can send me dead flowers every morning . . .”

Okay, so it’s no surprise to discover Keith Richards is 77. He has looked 77 for millenniums. But Jagger – 78!

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"Well, when you're sitting back in your rose pink Cadillac / Making bets on Kentucky Derby day /Ah, I'll be in my basement room with a needle and a spoon/And another girl to take my pain away ..."

Considering their lifestyle since hitting the road back in 1962, you have to conclude they are not just a phenomenon of the music industry; in human and physiological terms they are an outright outrage.

“Take me down little Susie, take me down/I know you think you’re the queen of the underground/And you can send me dead flowers every morning . . .”

I mean, look at the Beatles. Those four, clean-cut boys from the 1960s too. Any sane person back then would have forecast that it would be they who would still be touring almost 60 years later.

But no. John and George are dead, Ringo (81) all but forgotten, with just Paul (79) churning out, well, what he churns out. Of course, there is still the infant Elton (74), on that planned three-year farewell tour that will probably go on for ever.

None of which explains the Rolling Stones. They are the greatest living, breathing, warning against moderation in any thing and probably the most powerful advertisement for the success of excess we are likely to see in our lifetimes.

Roll on, boys, roll on.

“... and I won’t forget to put roses on your grave ...”

Longevity, from Latin longaevitatem, for great age.

inaword@irishtimes.com