You tend to slow down if you want to keep going; you pace yourself.
At 82, Keith Richards — great-grandfather, survivor, and still a Rolling Stone — sits in a New York studio where his band recorded nearly half a century ago, offering a quiet meditation on endurance. The release of Foreign Tongues, the Stones' third album in a decade, arrives not as a farewell but as evidence that longevity, when earned rather than merely survived, can still generate momentum. Richards, who once seemed destined to become rock and roll's most famous cautionary tale, has instead become something rarer: a man who listened to his body just before it screamed, and kept going.
- At 82 and newly a great-grandfather, Richards defies every actuarial expectation — still recording, still irreverent, still laughing that wheezy, hard-won laugh.
- Foreign Tongues arrives just three years after Hackney Diamonds, driven by Jagger's relentless creative output and a young producer who delivered both inspiration and a firm kick of urgency.
- The old friction between Richards and Jagger — years of jousting, broken lances, solo detours — has quietly dissolved into something resembling ease, a late-career harmony neither man may have predicted.
- Richards draws a sharp line against AI and modern technology, warning that music's soul is at risk from forces even their creators don't fully understand.
- The album closes with a Chuck Berry cover, mirroring the band's 1963 debut — a gesture that feels less like a finale than a full circle, though Richards won't rule anything out.
Keith Richards is 82, a great-grandfather, and calling from the Hit Factory in New York — the same studio where the Stones recorded Emotional Rescue nearly fifty years ago. He announces the birth of Luna Richards-Von Bismarck with the delight of a man who has outlasted every prediction made about him, laughing the kind of laugh that sounds like it was paid for in full.
His survival, he explains, comes down to a simple philosophy: listen to your body just before it screams. He quit cigarettes six years ago, finding the habit childish, though he still smokes weed and drinks in what he calls moderation — delivered with enough irony to fill an arena. The man who once consumed everything has learned, late and deliberately, to pace himself.
The Rolling Stones have now released three albums since 2016, a pace that would have seemed absurd when Richards was making unwanted solo records just to shake the band awake. Foreign Tongues is here partly because Jagger, Richards says, simply won't stop writing, and partly because producer Andrew Watt — a 35-year-old who has worked with McCartney, Elton John, and Iggy Pop — brought fresh energy to the sessions. The long creative tension between Richards and Jagger has softened with age. "He's broken his sword, he's broken his lance," Richards says. It turns out time is a more effective peacemaker than any negotiation.
The album itself ranges widely — disco echoes, an Amy Winehouse cover, a Robert Smith cameo Richards wasn't even present for — before closing with an acoustic rendering of Chuck Berry's "Beautiful Delilah," a deliberate mirror of the band's 1963 debut. Berry remains Richards's north star: the man who showed him that rock and roll could carry sophistication, and whose naturalness made Richards believe in what was possible for himself. That Berry once punched him for reaching toward his guitar only deepens the affection. "Quite right, Chuck," Richards says.
On technology, he is unsparing. The cassette tape gave the world "Satisfaction" — a riff caught in his sleep on a recorder. Synthesizers earn a reflexive curse. And AI, he says, is killing him. "They don't know what the hell it does, so now we all dangle and wait." He has watched recording evolve from two-track tape to digital and believes none of it has helped the music.
Asked whether Foreign Tongues might be the last Rolling Stones album, Richards neither confirms nor dismisses the thought. At 82, after 64 years in the band, he says you'd be an idiot not to consider it — but it's not something he dwells on. His great-grandchildren, he reflects, offer a new mirror to look into. "Is it called maturing or something like that?" he asks, and laughs. "God forbid."
Keith Richards is 82 years old and has just become a great-grandfather. The news delights him—he announces it with the enthusiasm of a man who has somehow defied every prediction that he would not live to see next Tuesday, let alone the birth of Luna Richards-Von Bismarck. He's calling from the Hit Factory in New York, the same studio where the Rolling Stones recorded Emotional Rescue nearly half a century ago, and he's vague about exactly how many grandchildren he has acquired in recent years. "I lose track, you know," he says, and laughs the kind of laugh that sounds like it's been earned through decades of survival.
There was a time when Richards's longevity seemed like a cosmic joke—a man who had consumed every substance available to human chemistry, who had been punched by Chuck Berry for reaching toward his guitar, who had spent years in a haze that should have ended him. Yet here he sits, hale and hearty, having quit cigarettes six years ago because he found the habit childish, though he still smokes weed and drinks in what he calls moderation, a term he delivers with a wheezy chuckle that suggests irony. "I tended to listen to my body just before it screamed for help," he explains. "You tend to slow down if you want to keep going; you pace yourself." It's a philosophy that has worked.
The Rolling Stones have released three albums since 2016, a productivity that would have seemed impossible a decade ago when Richards was making solo records he didn't want to make, frustrated that the band was in hibernation. He had even told his bandmates he was retiring, trying to punch them awake. Now, with the arrival of Foreign Tongues—their third album in a decade—the momentum feels unstoppable. Mick Jagger has been prolific, Richards says, "which is one reason this album has come out so quick, because he won't bloody stop." Producer Andrew Watt, a 35-year-old who has worked with Paul McCartney, Elton John, and Iggy Pop, brought what Richards calls "a breath of fresh air and a kick up the ass." The relationship between Richards and Jagger, once marked by what Richards calls "jousting," has softened. "He's broken his sword, he's broken his lance," Richards says. "It's another thing that Mick and I gave up, probably down to age."
The new album contains multitudes. There are tracks that sound like a 21st-century version of the disco Stones of "Miss You," a cover of Amy Winehouse's "You Know I'm No Good," and an unexpected appearance by Robert Smith of the Cure—a collaboration Richards admits he wasn't even present for. "Andrew said: 'Do you mind if I put in so-and-so?' And I said: 'No, man, if it's a piece that's necessary, do it.'" But the album also closes with a cover of Chuck Berry's "Beautiful Delilah," rendered as an old acoustic blues, a deliberate echo of where the Stones began in 1963 with their debut single, a Berry cover called "Come On."
Berry remains Richards's north star. "There's something about those early records of his," he says. "They have an ease about them and a sophistication in a way, particularly in the lyrics." Berry showed him that rock and roll didn't have to be trash for teenagers—it could be something more. The guitarist's naturalness, the way his whole body became part of the instrument, made Richards focus on what was possible for himself. It made his mother buy him an electric guitar. He felt a natural affinity with Berry, even though, as he puts it, Berry was "a cussed bugger." Richards laughs when he recalls the time Berry punched him in the 1960s for reaching toward his guitar in a dressing room. "Nobody touches it!" Berry had said, and Richards agrees it was justified. "Quite right, Chuck! I would have done the same."
But Richards has had it with modern technology. He calls it "an electric kettle and that's about it, pal." He mourns the cassette tape—"If it wasn't for a cassette, there wouldn't have been a Satisfaction, because I got the riff in my sleep, hit record and then the next day played it back and it was Satisfaction in a very raw form." He cannot say the word "synthesizers" without prefacing it with "damn." As for AI, he is unsparing: "AI is killing me, you know. Do I fear for the future of music? I fear for the future of everything. They don't know what the hell it does, so now we all dangle and wait." He has watched records evolve from two-track tapes to eight tracks to 16, to 24, to digital, and in his view, none of it has helped the music. "I stick to the old ways, as my dad would have said."
When asked whether Foreign Tongues might be the final Rolling Stones album—a question suggested by the circular structure of closing with a Chuck Berry cover—Richards demurs. "I wouldn't say it was intentional." But he acknowledges that at 82, after 64 years in the band, the thought crosses his mind occasionally. "You'd be an idiot not to," he says. "But it's not something you dwell on. By now I'm fully set on my path and I'm just going to see where it goes." He has been thinking more about the past lately, he admits. "I mean, you do suddenly turn around and say: Christ, I'm 82. It's a long thing to look back on. But it's a fascinating thing, especially now we go into the whole great-grandkids thing. They suddenly give you another mirror to look into where you're from." He laughs again, that wheezy, earned laugh. "Is it called maturing or something like that? God forbid," he says.
Citas Notables
AI is killing me, you know. Do I fear for the future of music? I fear for the future of everything. They don't know what the hell it does, so now we all dangle and wait.— Keith Richards
He's broken his sword, he's broken his lance. It's another thing that Mick and I gave up, probably down to age.— Keith Richards, on his relationship with Mick Jagger
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
You've survived things that should have killed you a hundred times over. What changed? What made you decide to actually listen to your body?
I didn't decide anything, really. It was more like my body decided for me. You get to a point where you feel the edge of the cliff, and you either step back or you don't. I stepped back. Not all the way—I'm not a saint—but enough.
The Stones are releasing albums faster now than they have in decades. What's different between now and, say, 2015, when you were frustrated enough to threaten retirement?
Mick won't stop. That's the simple answer. He's got energy, he's got ideas, and Andrew Watt doesn't let anyone waste time. When you've got that combination, you either keep up or you get left behind. We gave each other a look and said let's keep pushing. So we did.
You've said you're done with technology, that AI frightens you. But you're making music in 2026. How do you reconcile that?
I'm not making music with technology. I'm making music the way I always have. The technology is just the delivery system now. It's not the thing itself. But yes, AI troubles me because nobody knows what it does. We're all just waiting to see what happens.
Chuck Berry punched you for touching his guitar. Do you think that moment shaped how you guard your own work?
Absolutely. He was right to do it. Your instrument is sacred. It's not a toy. When I saw how seriously he took it, how his whole body was the guitar, I understood what music actually was. That's not something you forget.
You're a great-grandfather now. Does that change how you think about legacy?
It gives you a mirror. You look at them and you see where you came from, and you think about where you're going. It's strange at 82. You suddenly realize how long the thing is—the whole arc of it. But I don't dwell on it. I just keep moving.
Is Foreign Tongues the last Rolling Stones album?
I don't know. I wrote the song about that, didn't I? The thought crosses your mind. But dwelling on it is pointless. I'm on my path. I'm going to see where it goes.