The Stones at Glastonbury

I've always thought, at least since those first doses of Gimme Shelter or Street Fighting Man, fought out across suburban living rooms at seventeen wafting long scarves and doing Jagger's moves and colliding with G-Plan; that the Stones told you how to do just about everything, even if it ended up a house extension in Clapham.
I think this is still the case.
One of the loveliest things about staying up to watch them this evening was that image of Keef not unlike a wonky building with a paunch, unconcerned for anything but his own little moments, the parts he knew how to play so well and those moments (and they are just moments) he gets to play on top and under and all through and those moments he doesn't play at all (which appears, rather delightfully, to be quite a lot of the time). That man knows the meaning of architecture alright, he understands the feel of it,  the way it can piece together, when to play and not to play. He once said; 'If I'm dancing it's either going very well or very badly'. Too right. Anybody who takes to the stage with any passion understands that one.
I LOVED watching the Stones tonight, I loved the fact that they cared but did not, that Mick Taylor came in, and that it was all....well what you might expect, but they deserve it. They stand for stuff that is not so much 'dope', as 'gas'! Above, Ronnie Wood, from his Twitter or whatever.
Meanwhile I also loved Primal Scream, or rather Bobby Gillespe's excellent version of the Stones as the warm up. I thought his perfect puce suit was, well, sort of affectionate, very smart.