Sympathy for the Survivor: Keith Richards Unlocks the Vault in “My Life – My Way”
There is a long-standing joke in rock and roll that after the apocalypse, only two things will survive: cockroaches and Keith Richards. For decades, the Rolling Stones guitarist has existed more as a mythical creature than a man—a bandana-wearing pirate who cheated death so many times that the Grim Reaper seemingly gave up and asked for an autograph instead. But myths, by their nature, are static. They don’t bleed, they don’t cry, and they certainly don’t apologize.
With the release of the groundbreaking new documentary “My Life – My Way,” the myth is finally deconstructed to reveal something far more compelling: the man.
Directed with an intimate, fly-on-the-wall lens, this film is not the standard concert flick filled with pyrotechnics and screaming fans. It is, as the promotional material boldly claims, a confession. After five decades of defining the very essence of “cool,” Richards sits down, lights a cigarette (old habits die hard, even if only metaphorically), and opens the book on an existence that defies medical science and musical logic.
From the Gritty Blues Clubs of London
The documentary shines brightest when it takes us back to the grey, post-war bleakness of Dartford and the damp basements of London. “My Life – My Way” strips away the stadium lights to show us the mud. We see a young Keith, shy and obsessed with American blues records, finding his salvation in the muddy waters of the Thames.
The footage from these early days—the “gritty blues clubs” mentioned in the film’s synopsis—is revelatory. It captures the hunger of a generation that didn’t just want to play music; they wanted to escape. The film meticulously traces the moment he met a frantic, harmonica-playing Mick Jagger on a train, a chance encounter that would alter the rotation of the cultural earth. But rather than focusing on the inevitability of their success, Richards focuses on the labor. The bleeding fingers, the cheap vans, the cold nights, and the relentless pursuit of that one perfect sound.
The Human Riff and the Architecture of Rock
While the film is a personal journey, it is also a masterclass in musicology. Richards is known as “The Human Riff,” and the documentary allows him to explain exactly why.
In one of the film’s most electrifying segments, Richards breaks down the sonic architecture of hits like “Gimme Shelter” and “Start Me Up.” He explains his signature open-G tuning not as a technical trick, but as a way to create a drone, a heartbeat that mimics the human pulse. This is where the documentary succeeds in showing the “humble” side of the genius. He doesn’t claim divine intervention; he credits the collaboration, the “weaving” of guitars, and the unshakeable rhythm of his late, great friend Charlie Watts. The grief shown when discussing Watts is raw and unscripted, offering a glimpse into the “quiet battles” fought away from the tabloids.
Surviving the Darkness
“My Life – My Way” would not be honest if it ignored the notoriety. The drug busts, the Redlands trial, the decade lost to heroin—it is all here. However, the tone is not one of glorification, nor is it a heavy-handed “Just Say No” campaign. It is, simply, the truth.
Richards addresses his past with a wry, self-deprecating humor that disarms the viewer. He speaks of his survival not with arrogance, but with a sense of bewildered gratitude. He admits to the flaws, the selfishness of addiction, and the toll it took on his family. This is the “redemption” the film promises. It isn’t found in a grand public apology, but in the quiet acknowledgement of a man looking back at the wreckage and marveling that the car is still running.
The Man Behind the Bandana
Perhaps the biggest surprise of “My Life – My Way” is how domestic it feels. Between the clips of roaring stadiums, we see Keith the grandfather, Keith the voracious reader (with his extensive library), and Keith the cook (making his famous shepherd’s pie).
This is the “fiercely human” element that the world rarely sees. The snarl is replaced by a wheezy laugh; the switchblade is replaced by a acoustic guitar strummed on a porch. We see a man who has made peace with his own legend but refuses to be trapped by it.
A Final Homecoming
As the documentary closes, the audience is left with a profound sense of intimacy. We realize that for fifty years, we have been watching a character named “Keith Richards,” a construct of leather and smoke. “My Life – My Way” introduces us to the human being inside that armor.
It is a film about integrity. In an industry built on smoke and mirrors, Richards has always played it straight, even when he couldn’t walk straight. He has remained true to the blues, true to his bandmates, and ultimately, true to himself.
“It’s not about glory or nostalgia,” the film posits. And it’s right. Watching Keith Richards recount his life is like listening to the history of the second half of the 20th century, told by the guy who provided the soundtrack. Raw, honest, and electrifying, “My Life – My Way” proves that while the riffs may be immortal, the heart beating beneath them is beautifully, fragility human. The Human Riff has finally come home, and he has left the door open for us to follow.
