Doctors in New Zealand fear that Rolling Stones guitarist Keith Richards might suffer permanent brain damage. I'm afraid it's a little too late for that. Perhaps what the doctors, and Keith's fans, are worried about is that the brain bleed from falling out of a coconut tree, and the subsequent surgery (surgeries?), will impair Richards so much that he won't be able to continue playing music. The Rolling Stones can go on without Brian Jones. The Rolling Stones can roll without Bill Wyman. But Keith Richards?

And the fans don't want Keith Richards to go out like that. Choke on your own vomit. Let acid melt your brain. Overdose on heroin after killing your girlfriend. But just don't fall out of a coconut tree. That's not rock.

Why is that? Why is the slow road to brain damage (or death) through chemicals somehow cool, but a split-second fall from the coconut tree uncool. Paradoxically, a stuttering Keith Richards, an incoherent Ozzy Osbourne, a burned-out Papa John Phillips are comic, but a cartoonish fall from the coconut tree is tragic. They are, of course, all terrible. Seeing a sixtysomething man unable to verbalize a thought is sad whatever the cause. But if you arrive at that sorry state through years of alcohol and drug abuse the public will venerate you, give you a reality show, and splice together your more discombobulated attempts at speech to use as radio filler. To borrow a phrase from rap, chemical self-abuse is seen as keeping it real.

Keeping it real, true, has led to some great music: Appetite for Destruction, Back in Black, and Quadrophenia couldn't have been created by people who hadn't lived it. And Dark Side of the Moon? It certainly took a loss of brain cells to make that album. Perhaps the rock gods require some sacrifice to place their blessings upon good music.

Though keeping it real has resulted in some awesome albums, it has also taken members of just about every major rock act: The Who, Nirvana, The Doors, AC/DC, The Band, Jimi Hendrix, Elvis, The Rolling Stones, The Sex Pistols, The Ramones, The Pretenders, Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers, Led Zeppelin, et cetera, et cetera. And how many bands have drugs and alcohol broken up? Yet the rock fan wants his rock star drunk, or stoned, or best of all, dead. Jim Morrison would be fat and pathetic had Jim Morrison lived. Keith Moon stays forever young. Death saved Janis Joplin from becoming a bloated Stevie Nicks, an aging Grace Slick, a grandmotherly Tina Turner. Thank you, rock stars, for dying before you reminded your fans that they've aged too. Death brings rock fans the lesson in reverse: in mortality rock stars become immortal. The rock gods demand the ultimate sacrifice every so often.

I prefer my rock stars mortal but alive. I don't care that much if they're old, or fat, or wrinkled. Yes, rock is the music of youth. But no corpse is youthful. I want my rock stars playing. I want to hear Keith Richards sing "Happy" and "Salt of the Earth" and most especially "Memory Motel." I want him playing that unmistakable riff opening "Brown Sugar." Whether heroin, or vodka, or a fall stops him, Keith Richards will be done all the same. Death by coconut tree isn't Stones cool, but is death ever cool?

Keith did not suffer any damage according to the band. He only had one surgery too. The press is probably trying to smoke information out of the group. He will probably start talking like Cary Grant now and win Wimbleton.

What's the diff and who really cares? Stones haven't put out a good disc since Exile anyway.

Yet, the Crowes rock on, thrilling crowds everywhere with their unique improvisational abilities.

Now in my fifities, when I listen to some of the music of my generation (Beatles, Stones, Led Zepplin, Who, J. Giels, etc) I cringe that I ever liked this stuff. It does not age well, in my opinion, with few exceptions.

Some might say there is something wrong then. I was driving through the Green Mountains yesterday and my cd selections were LZ, Lynard Skynard, Mettalica and, just when you think it's safe, Ten Years After Anthology.

Immaturity? Reliving my past? No. I just still like this stuff.