("For one brief, blissful moment I thought I saw a way out of my pop nightmare," she wrote three decades later in her autobiography, Faithfull, which is every bit as insightful, vivid, and deliciously bonkers as Keith Richards' Life.) Faithfull was a passable vocalist with a folksy, melancholy, relatively generic lilt, but there was a certain vacancy and listlessness about her that suggested she'd not yet become comfortable in her skin. In the spring of 1964, 17-year old Marianne Faithfull walked into a swinging, star-studded London party and landed a record deal without singing a note Andrew Loog Oldham, the Rolling Stones manager and world-class sleazeball, famously summed up the matter with his usual showbiz aplomb: "I saw an angel with big tits and signed her." Within the year, the bookish baroness' daughter was climbing the charts and making the rounds at concert halls and the BBC, thrust into a pop career she didn't much want in the first place. Like a lot of stories of scandal, ruin, and the opportunity for redemption, it started with a pretty face.
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