What a curious idea to produce a photo-book that follows this somewhat passé figure from pouting adolescence through an extended girl-boy phase in the Seventies and the rock-aristo of the Eighties to his tram-lined old age. Why pick him when Keith has suddenly come from behind to become the quintessential Stone?
The answer comes in the introduction, which explains that it was originally an exhibition in Arles. In short, the French are displaying their traditional hipness where rock is concerned that is, none whatsoever. Maybe the same applies to the National Portrait Gallery, showing the exhibition from May. Even those who have a soft spot for Sir Mick are liable to find this a posed collection.