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TIM DE LISLE

The Rolling Stones Metropolitano, Madrid Touring the UK until July 3

Do you remember the first time you saw The Rolling Stones? Mine was a midsummer night at the old Wembley Stadium. I thought I’d better send off for tickets, in case it was the last chance to catch them. That was 40 years ago this month.

And here they are in Madrid, starting their 60th anniversary tour. Mick Jagger, who is 78, had a heart operation in 2020. To the entourage that surrounds every self-respecting rock star, Mick has now added his cardiologist.

In some places, including London, the Stones’ ticket sales have been uncharacteristically slow. Either inflation is biting or people no longer believe this could be the last time. But you wouldn’t know it from Atletico Madrid’s stadium, which is packed with 60,000 fans, partying as if they’ve just won the league.

The show begins with a classy video tribute to Charlie Watts, the Stones’ beloved drummer. His death has left them as a trio – just Mick and the two guitarists, Keith Richards (also 78) and Ron Wood, the baby of the band at 75. On stage they turn into a football team, with eight extra musicians making a sound as warm and welcoming as the evening air.

The older our rock stars get, the more you wonder if they’ve still got it. Tonight the answer is a resounding yes. The Stones’ greatest hits, though much mimicked by laddish young pretenders, remain majestically distinctive. Street Fighting Man sets the tone, Honky Tonk Women fans the flames, You Can’t Always Get What You Want stirs the soul and Jumpin’ Jack Flash raises the roof.

There’s some filler, but you’re never more than ten minutes away from a classic – a sparkling Miss You, a storming Start Me Up, a beguiling Out Of Time. They’re almost joined by Living In A Ghost Town, now sharper and slinkier than when it first appeared as a lockdown single.

Keith, who always did deal in lethal economy, does less and less with each passing tour.

He’s like the elderly Matisse, painting a portrait with three brushstrokes and still managing to move you.

The design, by Patrick Woodroffe and Stufish, is elegant, with little sign of that tiresome logo. The wardrobe is a topic of discussion. Is Mick, with his sumptuous satin shirts, raising his game to keep up with Harry Styles? Is Keith’s hat made of felt, fur, towelling or old tea cosies?

A stadium show ultimately runs on a showman’s energy, and nobody moves like Jagger. While the others shuffle down the catwalk, he takes it at a canter. He’s still romping and stomping, yelling and crooning, just around midnight. The cardiologist might well be having palpitations.