You see a picture in a Havana newspaper announcing the arrival of the band to this city in its first and surely only appearance and you can’t help but stand in front of the mirror in a comparative stance to determine whether you or the musicians deteriorated more with the pitiless passing (and weight) of the years.
Many of us won’t be able to see the Rolling Stones. Something happened to our generation that kept us from surmounting the 70-year barrier. About half of us are dead and a similar number left the country. In fact, those of us who remain are few, very few.
Notwithstanding what some musicologists (uncommitted to themselves or to others) may say, listening and enjoying the Stones — along with other groups, including the Beatles — in the 1960s was a clandestine act. Our scholarly or political future was at risk if some report said that So-and-so listened to extravagant foreign music, entertaining but ideological, “and besides, note how he dresses and wears his hair…”