Brian Jones' Diary

By Kim Kinrade

The year 1969 was one of the most pivotal years modern history: the first moon landing; Woodstock; the Tate-LaBianca murders; the first trans-Atlantic flight of the Concorde; and the end of the 1960's revolution on the blood-soaked track of Altamont Speedway in California.

The beginning of this negative synergy was in the form of a body found on the bottom of a swimming pool in southern England on July 3rd. The founder, artistic driver and symbol of the Rolling Stones, Brian Jones, died under mysterious circumstances that night launching a bizarre string of celebrity deaths which included Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison. It also signaled the end of music as an artistic endeavor and ushered in the era of big business.

Brian Jones' Diary, explores this transitory time in history through eyes of a rock wannabee named Andrew Widgeon, who just happens to die violently in the midst of playing a Rolling Stone song. A disheartened soul, Andy is propelled to an area between life and death where he comes face-to-face with his idol, Brian Jones, the founder of the Rolling Stones, as well as a gathering of persons who died at the same instant as Jones. The area appears to be a giant holding pen for all the unattained dreams of the 1960's with young Andy as the reluctant interloper.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kim Kinrade
• Release date: Mar 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9780978427306

Kim Kinrade

Bestselling author Kim Kinrade was born and raised in Kimberley, British Columbia, on the B.C. side of the Canadian Rockies. He put himself through the University of British Columbia - where he received a degrees in Political Science - by playing guitar and singing in lounges. During this time he recorded his first single and an album.After graduation Kim went into music professionally, touring Canada with a showband band. During the 1980′s Kim became one of the busiest pub performers in western Canada and also did a stint in Australia. Besides getting married and becoming a partner in a British pub he recorded two more singles and produced a video that aired on the Jerry Lewis Telethon.Moving to Halifax, Nova Scotia in the early 1990′s Kim continued to perform professionally at night while looking after a young daughter and infant son during the day. It was during this time that he rekindled a past-time that had been put on hold while studying at U.B.C. – writing short stories. An Honourable Mention award in the Writers’ Federation of Nova Scotia-sponsored writing contest spurred him on to write another short story focusing on his grandfather's exploits in World War I. This was expanded into his first manuscript, "The Salient."As well as having a long stint at one of Nova Scotia’s premier resorts Kim has played in Europe, Great Britain and the United States making new fans with his unique brand of entertainment.On the writing side Kim has penned 8 novels of which 6 have been published. He is a member of the Writing Council of Nova Scotia and has been a judge in national writing competitions.

Book preview

Brian Jones’ Diary

by

Kim Kinrade

Copyright 2007 by Kim Kinrade

First eBook edition: 2007

Cover art by Babs Walker

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Brian Jones’ Diary is entirely a work of fiction. Brian Jones, one of the founders of the Rolling Stones musical group, actually existed however, the role played by Brian Jones in this narrative is entirely fictional. My imagined Jones and the characters of the 1960’s-era mentioned in the novel abide by the generally known facts of the times and other characters, living or dead, are depicted using artistic license.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Table of Contents

Dedication

George's Prologue

Brian's Prologue

Chapter: 1

Chapter: 2

Chapter: 3

Chapter: 4

Chapter: 5

Chapter: 6

Chapter: 7

Chapter: 8

Chapter: 9

Chapter: 10

Chapter: 11

Chapter: 12

Chapter: 13

Chapter: 14

Chapter: 15

Chapter: 16

Chapter: 17

About the Author &

More of Kim’s Books

Dedication

For my friend,

Ken Blaine,

who taught me the blues.

1953-2005

*

If ever a man genuinely lived the rock and roll life and naturally characterized the Stones in every way - long before the five of us assumed a style - it was Brian Jones. The band would not have existed without him . . . many attitudes and sounds of the sixties were developed from Brian's style and determination . . . he was the archetypal middle-class kid screaming to break away from his background, bumming around in dead end jobs before finally finding his niche. And when he found it, he hammered it across to the world, with idealism and commitment.

- Charlie Watts, drummer, The Rolling Stones

George’s Prologue

"Hello. I would like to be able to explain this existence in terms that, hopefully, you can understand. And to help with this I would introduce you to the concepts of the Tibetan hermitage culture. You see, hermits are confined to very small and dark places for years at a time, but it is claimed that during this self-imposed incarceration they soar the universe in spiritual forms. Although many scoff at these pronouncement in actuality they are being very truthful about their travels. This I know. For I have met many of them during my travels.

"The human mind, you see, is the connection. This said, I must confess that hermits have to endure many years of punishing instruction before their psychic faculties can open up to this realm of experience. And only then can they begin to approach what is happening within this level: which is the very level, or dimension, I watch over.

"However, the easiest way to reach this existence is, in your human terms, to die. But for your species dying is not the end by any means. In fact I can verify that the end of physical life gives the human entity a path directly to, and through, this small barrier between human existence, what they call ‘the spirit world.’

A few special ones pass directly through and on to their chosen destinies. Others - the vast majority, mind you - make a complete loop like one of your projectiles orbiting your planet that has expended its energy source and then falls back to earth. These ones end up back where they started, having to repeat what they never completed. Some call it reincarnation. That is, they need another life, or lives, on earth before they can move on.

"The rest come to me.

"Who am I? Well, for convenience sake I appear to them as a man named George. Why George? Well, why not? Humans need to see human forms even if there is no such thing as the human form.

"Are you confused? Well, it is all quite simple. Just look into your earthly definitions of quantum mechanics. If humans are all light and sound energy then human form is just . . . oh, I'm sorry. Now I'm getting into realms that are well beyond the scope of your imagination. Just let me say that nothing in existence is what it seems except in your mind . . . and your mind is the most powerful force you humans possess . . . and it is also your greatest deceiver.

But you wanted to know about Brian Jones, didn’t you? Well, the only thing I can say on this subject is that Brian was a very different sort from those we usually see coming through this place. Oh, he was a stayer" alright. That is, he definitely did not possess the qualities to move on, either at the time he first arrived or much later for that matter. And in any other situation he would have been sent back.

"The unique circumstances surrounding Brian Jones is that he came to us during a unique time in human history. He was an entity that only comes along when the right numbers line up. And, my friends, the numbers during his stay were astounding.

Brian’s Prologue

"Although I would never let on to Mick, Keith and Billy, I think Charlie really understood me. I think Charlie knew me better than all of them put together. And that includes me bird, Anita . . . and that Swedish tart had me buggered long before she buggered oof and messed up Keith.

"’Cause, to be bleedin’ honest, mate, Charlie was the only musician in the band when we started . . . really. And what he was doing with a bunch of spoiled bastards like us only he knew for sure. Y’see, Charlie was Savoy jazz and could have played with any of the best jazz bands in London, maybe even the whole U.K . . . maybe even bleedin’ America. He was that good, mate. He rode that stool like he was a block of stone and his steadiness kept our songs from coming apart at the seams.

"In fact, he was so good at it that we purposely built a lot of songs in freestyle, putting all sorts o’ shite in until the groove was ready to fold like a drunken sot. But behind it all Charlie would work the skins like a headmaster tapping on his desk trying to get his unruly class to heel. And then, suddenly, the song would magically come together. It worked like that for a lot of tunes, y’know.

"As a band, we were a strange lot, really. Loogie’d be tellin’ the press we were very bad boys. Y’know, to build us an image like the Beatles, only opposite. He wanted us to be ‘bad boys.’ Well, that still cracks me up, mate, even after all these years!

"I remember a time during the first go when Loogie tried to convince the newspapers we were the ‘naughty band.’ I can’t remember the venue, offhand, but I do remember Mick showing up wearing a fucking rowing sweater with the embroidered crest of the London School of fucking-Economics, and Chrissie Shrimpton, the ‘Stupid Girl’ herself, hanging off his arm.

"Then along comes Billy wearing a clerk’s suit with his frumpy wife, Diane, holding his hand like a scared goat. Following him was bloody Charlie dancing a passable rendition of a Fred Astaire routine. And he was humming a Charlie Parker tune.

"Then there was Keith . . . barmy, bloody Keith. Back then he looked like a choirboy. Can you believe it?

"I came in last looking like a scheming vicar! Not much to say there. Oh, that was bleedin’ bad alright! Well, that plug, Loogie, he went through the fucking roof! His ‘bad boys’ looked like they stepped out of a Wanker’s Convention!

"Yes, we were the big, bad Rolling Stones that were going to cause all the young girls in Britain to get knocked up by just listening to us.

"But y’know, it was sad when I think about it. Because Loogie, Mr. Andrew Loog Oldham, took us down the wrong fork in the road, mate. That was when we stopped trying to be the best blues band in the world and caved into what other people wanted us to be. Loogie and Mick pulled hard on that.

"Keith . . . yeah Keith would’ve followed me down the blues trail if me head was on right. He was that dedicated and that much of a goer. And even though he stole me bird he was, and always will be, me mate.

"But after a while Keith forgot where we came from. And me buggering around with me chemistry set, I wasn’t in me right mind to guide him.

"Just like Mick, he was suckered into the artificial life that became the focus of pop music. And like Mick he began to suffer from a severe case of inadequacy because of the Beatles. And like Mick he wanted to believe Loogie’s shite. And like Mick he forgot that we were a bloody great blues band.

"So that’s where that leaves me. I’m no purist, me old cock. Bugger me blind I fell for the pop bullshit too. Except I did what the fuck I wanted . . . but I paid the price for it. To the bleedin’ Fleet Street tight-arses I was the Anti-Christ, the symbol of what was wrong with the whole earth. So, me being me, I poured fire on the flames like a naughty kid. I stuck me arse in their collective faces. I pushed . . . they pushed . . . but the dope pushed harder.

"So, instead of becoming a great bluesman I became the first rock-and-roll druggie . . . but, hey, I was the best-dressed druggie in England . . . until I quit it. . . . That’s right, I quit the shite one day and never went back. Ask John Lennon. He knew that I . . . Oh, right, he never made it either . . .That’s a real fucking shame, that. John was a ripper, and so were the other Beatles, although Paul could be like Mick. Y’know, a smarmy wanker.

"But that’s not me story, really. That’s the history of ‘Brian Jones, the Rolling Stone’s ‘60’s guitarist who was snuffed out in a mixture of drugs, booze and swimming pool water. ‘

"At least that what the press said. And who told the press what to say? Well, me old friends did, that’s who. They even told me girlfriend, Anna, what to say and then had me house cleaned out and all me nice clothes and precious tapes burned in a huge bonfire. Was I sure it was me mates that did it? Well, none of them struck a match . . . but they never stopped it either, did they?

"So what did they do in me honor? They just let go a bunch of half-dead butterflies during a concert in Hyde Park that Mick quickly dedicated to me. (And, by the way, it is down in the books as the worst concert the Stones ever played.) It wasn’t their fault. They were just following the crowd.

So, here I am, Brian Jones . . . but not in the flesh. So, am I a ghost? Sorry mate, but that’s too out there even for me. Let’s just say I stuck around awhile to see what would happen . . . to watch while the blues train took a dirt road.

Chapter 1

On Saturday night, Andy kissed a train.

Some romantics at the local club thought it a glorious way for a depressed musician to go out, but anyone who really knew Andy found it tragically odd. He simply loved himself too much to snuff it. Many others, however, including the coroner, decreed that poor Andy did himself in with a cocktail of booze, drugs and steel.

There was a byproduct of the incident that a sensitive guy like Andy would not have wanted to happen - if he had indeed planned such a suicide – and that was for any self-destructive act of his to affect other people. That meant he definitely wouldn’t have wanted to traumatize the train engineer. But, he did. First, there was the vision of his thin, whitish figure standing tip-toe on the track with skinny arms wrapped around an