The Place: A Manhattan rehearsal studio
The Time: Sometime in the near future
Mick: Replacing Bill is gonna be tough. He scored all the birds in the early days — even kept count of ’em in that damn book of his.
Charlie: Sod that! I’m just worried about the music.
Keith: Me too. We gotta start recording soon and we have no bass.
Mick: I think we need someone who knows the roots of our music. You know, blues, R&B, that bit.
Keith: Well, we used to do ”Little Red Rooster.” How about Willie Dixon?
Mick: Uh, he died, Keith. Last year.
Keith: Bollocks, where was I?
Ronnie: Maybe somebody who’s a little more pop. McCartney? (Silence)
Charlie: Look, let’s just get somebody who’ll play real tight with me and not prance about like you lot!
Mick: You know, we could just record the bass parts on a synth and sync them up to Charlie. All the best dance producers do that now.
Ronnie: It would be one less share to pay out, too.
Keith: Dance producers? Look, I’m not about to watch us become MJ and the Sunshine Band for any amount of money. There’s plenty of good guys: Willie Weeks, Duck Dunn, the Living Colour guy, Muzz Skillings, T-Bone Wolk, that Flea feller from the Chili Peppers.
Ronnie: I hear John Entwistle might be interested. The Who aren’t doing much, unless they’ve got another ”Farewell Tour” lined up.
Charlie: And he does have the stone-faced bit down pat.
Keith: Well, I don’t know, Charlie. We’d better sleep on that one.
Mick: But, Keith, you never sleep.
Ronnie: By the way, Shane MacGowan, that bloke from the Pogues, says he’d be willing to learn bass. He had a lot of questions about dental insurance, though.
Charlie: And the guy who used to be in Chicago, Peter Cetera, wants to know if the job includes a piece of the new contract. He wondered if we’d mind numbering the albums. You know, Rolling Stones XXVI, that sort of thing.
Mick: (Sighs) I don’t think these guys are getting the idea. We’re the Rolling Stones, and we have been for 30 years now. They’re gonna have to blend in with us if they wanna join up.
Keith: Just a thought, Mick. Bill was 56, and we’re getting up there too. Maybe we’d better get somebody a lot younger.
Keith: Somebody’s gotta carry these bleedin’ amps!