STACK #243 January 2025

FEATURE MUSIC

SHAKE SOME ACTION

MY NIGHT IN MICK JAGGER’S HOTEL ROOM Words Stuart Coupe

B efore we continue, let’s be clear – I don’t make a habit of sleeping in the hotel rooms of major rock’n’roll stars, but… Let’s time travel back to 1987. Mick Jagger has just released his solo album Primitive Cool and, soon after, I received a call from a record company publicity person asking if I wanted to interview Mick. I said yes – very loudly and quickly – and asked which day the telephone call was scheduled for. There was a condescending sniff at the other end of the line. “Oh, it won’t be a phone interview. Mick is doing a day of international press in Paris, so you’ll need to get yourself there. And before you ask – no, we’re not paying.” The Sun-Herald newspaper (who I wrote for at the time) sorted out a business class air ticket to Paris. Those were the days! After a night in London, I arrived in Paris in the morning and wandered around the city before heading to the prestigious and ultra-expensive George Cinq hotel, where the interviews were being conducted. I discovered that Jagger was flying in for the day from England, which begged the question as to why the interviews couldn’t be conducted there. This was particularly pertinent because I was also told that Jagger had a bad back and his flight had been delayed while he was having it looked at. Then I found out I was nearly the final interview of the day. So, more wandering

room that was Jagger Central. But there was a slight problem. I’m not exactly super tall – just a smidgeon under six foot in the old calculations. And Jagger, a bit over four foot (actually, he claims to be five feet eight), didn’t want to have his photo taken next to me: at least not until the hotel brought him a foot stool to eliminate the disparity. Who was that “you’re so vain” song written about? This was almost the end of Mick’s day and he announced that he was – as expected – heading back to London. I was heading back to New York early the next morning to meet up with the Paul Kelly entourage (that bunch I managed!), who were in the middle of a lengthy run of dates in the US. I needed a place to stay, so I asked the record company guy if he could recommend a cheap hotel nearby. In my semi-zombie state – and not exactly knowing my way around Paris – I’d filed it in the too-hard basket until it needed to be dealt with. The record company rep told me they’d paid for Jagger’s room for the night, so I might as well stay there. Amazing. Room after room full of antiques, a spectacular view of Paris and a fridge full of expensive champagne. Bring it on! I settled in on the couch, poured myself the first of many, many glasses of Moët, pulled out my phone book and called just about everyone across the planet I knew for a chat. “Yes, I’m in Mick’s suite. It feels like it’s about 14 rooms. No, he’s gone back to London. He’s kinda dull. Yes, the fridge seems to only have Moët in it. Have another glass? OK, if you insist. Cheers to you and Mick and whoever is picking up the tab.” Around 6am, I walked out and caught a taxi to the airport. I guess the staff at George Cinq knew that Jagger had left the previous day, and that somehow countless quantities of Moët had still been consumed, and hours’ worth of international calls made. But the bill? Well, I’ve never heard a word about it.

Jagger and Coupe

around Paris. By mid-afternoon I was back at the hotel. In the bar. Jetlagged and waiting for Jagger. The interview itself was pretty dull. At the end of my 40 minutes, it dawned on me that I’d just talked to one of the most famous humans on the planet and I’d come away underwhelmed. Jagger was, frankly, fairly dull. Or maybe I’d asked sh-t questions? Keith Richards was much more fun – but that’s another story. I now needed to get a photo with Mick, so we went onto the balcony outside the

I settled in on the couch, poured myself the first of many, many glasses of Moët, pulled out my phone book and called just about everyone across the planet I knew

41