The TBTS Investigative Presumption: How Dave Matthews Saved the Rolling Stones

There’s something sinister going on in the rock world, folks, can you feel it? Something’s just a little off-kilter, and it’s not just Denis Leary’s naughty bits.  No, my friends, I’m referring to all the craziness surrounding the Rolling Stones these days.

In case you haven’t heard, the funk started a couple of weeks ago when Sussex, England police officials announced that they were re-opening the case on the death of Brian Jones, a founding member of the Stones.  Jones died in 1969, ostensibly drowning in his swimming pool.  However, recent information uncovered by London’s Daily Mail have convinced the police that something more nefarious might have been going on.

Then, in an unlikely coincidence, an Australian website reported that drummer Charlie Watts was leaving the Stones and would never record or tour with the band again.  This was a blow to the band as Watts was the last member of the Stones with any level of musical credibility left and some even suspect that he’s the last member of the band still actually alive.  Publicists for the Stones were quick to deny the rumor, but this picture of Watts in drag at a Dave Matthews Band concert seem to tell a different tale.

You’re smelling it now, aren’t you?  It’s the slightly pungent odor of something fishy.  I’ve spent the last two weeks carefully examining these seemingly unconnected incidents, trying to fit the pieces together.  Finally, thanks to the ole flannel wearers at Pitchfork, everything fell into place.  Yes lovers, thanks to painstaking internet research, heavy drinking, and absolutely no evidence whatsoever I have presumptioned my way to the truth!

Ladies and gentlemen, the culprit responsible for all of the turmoil in Stonesville is none other than my favorite vampire:  Jack White.  I know, pick your jaw up off the floor.  Believe me, I wish I could tell you that this was all a plot by Ashlee Simpson to hype the new Melrose Place, but alas there is no such plotting.

I’ve already uncovered the dirty little secret of Mr. White’s undeadness.  Since he’s likely been on the earth for at least a thousand years, the real question is where was Jack White at midnight on July 2, 1969?  I find it easy to believe that he was on one A.A. Milne‘s former estate, maybe taking a swim with Master Jones?

Fast forward to 2009 and the aforementioned Pitchfork media, which penned an article just for me that lets the cat out of the bag on a Jack White/Keith Richards collaboration.  Now I freely admit that I have not one solid shred of proof of White’s vampyrism, but no one can deny the fact that Richards has been dead for many a year.  Don’t believe me?  Check out the Martin Scorcese douche-fest Shine A Light and convince yourself that the guy’s alive.  I rest my case.

So now it’s all clear.  Charlie Watts suddenly finds himself in a cabal of bloodsuckers, wants to protect the small shred of life he’s clinging to, and so decided to get out–most likely leaving during the day while the rest of the group rested in their coffins.  He blabs to the Aussies and heads off in drag to follow Dave Matthews on tour, where he knows no self-respecting rock band members will find him.  Using his supernatural abilities, White tracks Watts down and threatens to turn Dave Matthews into a flesh sandwich unless the drummer returns to the band and disavows any intent to flee.  Watts, apparently oblivious to what a sweet world it would be without Dave Matthews, agrees to return to the band.  The White/Richards cabal lives to bite another day.

I can’t find any holes in my theory, which means it’s gotta be fact.  Plus, I ran it past my other Societeers who all gave me the look of stunned silence I get when I’m right.  So underlings, the moral of the story is don’t mess with Jack White unless you’re ready to play drums with Dave Matthews.  Wait…what?  OK, maybe I do need to rethink this thing.

On a serious note, I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least acknowledge today’s release of the remastered Beatles catalog.  This is a historic event for anyone who loves the Fab Four.  For any of you that don’t, I encourage you to give them a fresh chance.  The remaster release has been written about ad nauseum and I truly don’t think I have anything original to say on the subject other than to acknowledge the event and express my love for this timeless music.  There, I said it.  Now I’m going to listen to the final chord of “A Day In the Life” over and over for the next 24 hours straight.