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COPYRIGHT 2006 All rights reserved. Reproduced by permission of The Condé Nast Publications Inc.
The persistence of the Rolling Stones, like that of diphtheria or kudzu, is a riddle of nature. As a band, they are easy to mock: a collection of wealthy gents adding to their fortunes each year by replaying their tunes of sexual dissatisfaction and satanic dread. The Stones are not so much a band as a corporate juggernaut like Citibank or Microsoft, and an enduring medical miracle: Can your grandfather even climb a tree, much less fall out of one, bash his head, survive, and still remember the changes on "Sister Morphine"?
As a matter of fiduciary responsibility, the Stones almost always play vast venues like Giants Stadium––a date at the Garden is considered tres intime––and the Baby Boomer fan comes to the event with three beers, two or more indulgent children, and the keys to the...
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