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Rolling Stone: The Complete Covers

bibliography

This book has a picture of every RS cover, as well as excerpts from the cover stories. This includes an excerpt from the January 31st 1985 issue cover story, entitled Billy Idol: Sneer of the Year by E. Jean Carroll.

Here it is (p154-155):

HERE'S THE CHECK.
     "I'll let you pay," says Billy Idol, "but it better be a good article, you cunt."
     "Right," I say.
     "Otherwise, stick it up your ass. Don't tell me you'll pay for it."
     "Okay," I say, laughing.
     We are in a back booth at Emilio's in New York City's Greenwich Village. We are on a date set up by ROLLING STONE. Billy Idol has had two bottles of wine. It is one in the morning.
     "Anyway, ROLLING STONE sucks," says Billy, affably. "If ROLLING STONE was clever, they would have bought their own TV channel. And put me on it. I know they're rich enough."
     He's in a high mood.
     "That's why, 'Don't fuck with me, motherfuckers!'" He bangs on the table. "'Cause I'm going to be rich enough soon, I'll be at your economic level, and then fuck you, ROLLING STONE."
     "Right," I say, paralyzed with delight.
     "I want to be on the back of that motherfucker!" says Billy. "Don't put me on the front!" He pushes his dark glasses up on his nose. "I think it sucks being on the front of ROLLING STONE!" He bends toward the tape recorder. "I love you all, you motherfuckers. But you should have fucking had a bit more respect when I came up in 1977, '78 to see you in your Fifth Avenue offices! But I don't care. Now maybe you understand that I am worth being on the front cover of your magazine, for the right reasons, motherfuckers! Don't put me on if you don't like me! Fucking don't put me on it!"
     "Well, you're probably going to be on it," I say.
     He drops his lower lip and looks for the cigarettes.
     "Well, I better be real on there," he says, slapping his coat for the lighter. "We don't want no Cyndi Lauper this year."
     "You'll be real," I say.
     "I don't like the picture they put of me in the year-end issue."
     He lights up.
     "You didn't?"
     "No, I thought it sucked." He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and leans toward the recorder again. "You put the wrong picture in, and you know you did . . . ooooaaaah [chuckling] I know. I know. Don't fuck with me. All right. Let's go."


Holly George-Warren, Rolling Stone: The Complete Covers 1967-1997, New York: Harry N. Abrams, Inc., 1998.

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