Rod Stewart - The Vices and Virtues of a Rock Hedonist

From the bombs to skiffle

Roddy was Dad's mistake. But, as mistakes go, a fairly profitable one.

This story begins on a cold winter's night, precisely the night of 10 January 1945, in a small top-floor bedroom of a typical terraced house on Archway Road. In the suburb of Highgate, north-east of Hampstead Heath, little Roderick David comes into the world, the fifth fruit of the love between Bob and Elsie Stewart, at a time when London is still reeling from German bombs. In their Forties, Bob and Elsie have never considered the idea of moving away, perhaps to the countryside, to avoid a V2 missile crashing through the roof of their home. The Stewart family must stay together, if only to honour their proud Scottish roots, even though "Dad's last mistake" was born English. Bob Stewart in fact hails from Leith, north of Edinburgh, and moved to London to follow work in the merchant navy alongside his brothers. It's here that he meets Elsie, a genuine Tufnell Park Londoner, before the couple have three boys and two girls. The brood is a large one, a fact that doesn't sit particularly well with two factors: the World War and Bob's vices, since he doesn't drink but does smoke and gamble, particularly betting on horse races. Yet the Stewart family carries on, proud and united. They even manage to afford a piano, played mainly by Elsie and their son Don, and a telephone that Bob uses to organise matches for his football club, Highgate Redwing, which he runs himself as a hobby. Little Roderick, still too young for football, always sees his first "sporting idols" arrive for the tactical meetings at the Stewart house. Not least because his two older brothers, Don and Bob, actually play for Highgate Redwing. When there's no match on, there's a party. During get-togethers in the basement of the Stewart house, there's piano playing, singing and dancing. A first, decisive influence on young Roderick David.

As mentioned, Roderick is born the fifth of five children to Bob and Elsie. The age gap with his brothers and sisters is considerable, and indeed by the time he's just 11 he practically watches his whole family disperse. First Mary marries the truck driver Fred; then Peggy marries Jim, who fought in the war at Cassino, in Italy. Then it's the turn of Bob and Don, at around 26. But the Stewart family, of proud Scottish stock, doesn't come apart - quite the opposite. All the children go to live nearby, precisely so as to stay close-knit. None of them is particularly surprised when the teenage Roderick announces he has failed the exam known as the Eleven Plus, introduced in England in 1944 and given to students in their final year of primary education. Roderick is thus sent off to William Grimshaw Secondary Modern, alongside two other students by the names of Ray and Dave Davies. The boy is reasonably well-behaved, but soon shows a greater aptitude for the arts - even though he's found to be colour-blind after some colour-identification tests - and above all for team sports, being captain of the school's cricket and football teams. Among his early loves is also music, from when his brother Don takes him to see a Bill Haley and the Comets concert in 1954. To encourage him, the family gives him a classic Spanish guitar for his 15th birthday. Armed with his new instrument, young Roderick starts strumming away in the skiffle style, imported from North America along with the jug-band tradition and the fame of Lonnie Donegan thanks to songs like "Rock Island Line". Kool Kats is the name of Roderick's very first band, and he abandons his studies for good to set off on the personal journey that will turn him into Rod.

Being Bob Dylan

That's what I have in common with the Queen: we've both had more or less the same haircut for forty-five years. Well, they say you should stick with what works for you…

Having so abruptly cut short his schooling, Roderick David Stewart has one clear idea of what an unqualified working-class kid can try to make it in life: play football. At 15, he lands an "apprenticeship" contract in the youth ranks of Brentford Football Club, dreaming of one day starting for much more celebrated sides like Manchester United or Real Madrid. He soon discovers that the concept of an "apprenticeship" at a football club is far closer to a military regime, where you're expected to polish the first team's boots or clean the dressing rooms. A proud Scot at heart, Roderick won't stand for it and promptly packs his bags. In the summer of 1960 he gives it another go, mostly at his father's urging, when Brentford calls him back for a trial. He's rejected on the spot - the end of his very brief brush with professional football.

If school and football aren't the way to the future, then from the summer of 1960 onward he has to make do. Roderick tries his hand at screen printing for a company in Kentish Town, earning good enough pay to open a post office account. But it's only the first in a long line of very short-lived jobs: picture framer, electrician, labourer at Highgate Cemetery, and clerk for an undertaker's in Barnet. The lad isn't cut out for it, still lives with his parents, and above all has no love for back-breaking manual work. What Rod does love is the good life with his mates, early pints down the pub, the latest boot fashions and, naturally, buxom blondes. Luckily, one of his favourite pastimes is also music. In the early Sixties he becomes obsessed with the early work of a certain Bob Dylan, as well as the music of Eddie Cochran and, above all, the powerful voice of Sam Cooke. With his first savings and a loan from his brother Bob, he buys an acoustic guitar and a harmonica from a shop in the West End, determined to learn to be and sound exactly like Dylan. While working at his father's newsstand, he often flips the "open" sign to shut up shop and lose himself in music, experimenting with his voice.

So comes the moment to vent all his teenage rebellion, following the beatnik philosophy imported from the United States. Roderick grows his hair long, stops washing himself and his clothes, and starts buying socialist newspapers to talk politics, even though he doesn't understand a word of it. He now throws himself into various anti-nuclear protest initiatives, bringing along his acoustic guitar to play songs by Dylan, Ramblin' Jack Elliott and Woody Guthrie. When the sunny weekends come round, he heads off with his mates to Brighton, where everyone keeps asking him: "Rod, play this one. Rod, play that one." In the summer of 1962 he hitchhikes his way to France and Spain, where he essentially becomes a busker, playing guitar outside cafés or at the gates of Camp Nou.

But the adventure is short-lived: he's picked up bodily by the Spanish police and sent back to England through the British consulate. Waiting for him are Bob and Elsie, ready to grab all his stinking clothes and set them on fire. With no sense of direction, Rod leaves the beatnik universe behind to enter that of the mods, undoubtedly a far more decisive step in the rest of his rollercoaster personal development.

Miracle at Twickenham Station

One moment you're at a dead end in your life, waiting for a train; the next, you're being offered a contract as a professional musician.

The year is 1962. At 17, Rod meets his first love, a dark-haired girl from a good family named Susannah Boffey. Less than a year later, his rebellious charm hits the jackpot in the worst way: Susannah is pregnant. It's obviously a shock for both of them, so young and without a penny or so much as a scrap of a job between them. There's a particular problem too, since the law known as the Abortion Act won't come into force in England for another four years. But Susannah decides to go through with the pregnancy, giving birth to a baby girl nine months later. Rod, barely 19, wants nothing to do with being a father and decides to sign the papers giving up his first daughter to another family.

With that matter behind him, Rod delves ever deeper into the English music scene of the early Sixties. At the Crawdaddy Club there's a fiery band called the Yardbirds, fronted by a hugely gifted young guitarist named Eric Clapton. Stewart is also a regular at the legendary Eel Pie Island Hotel, an old jazz dance hall from the Thirties now home to many up-and-coming acts on the rhythm and blues scene. Rod is seeing a friend of Susannah's, Chrissie Shrimpton, who at the time happens to be dating a certain Mick Jagger, singer of a new band called the Rolling Stones. When he goes to see the Stones play, Rod is struck and thinks to himself: "I could do that too, my voice is better than his."

After seeing the Stones, Rod decides it's time to give music a serious shot. Just as with jobs years before, his first bands are numerous, from the Raiders to Jimmy Powell and the Five Dimension, where he starts out playing harmonica and singing part-time. His stints are brief, since he soon leaves to join Long John Baldry, a blues singer of Anglo-Canadian descent. A sharp, sharply-dressed lad, Baldry is a blues fanatic and convinces Rod to move away from folk tradition toward the sound of Muddy Waters. Their first meeting is dated January 1964, when Rod is waiting for his Waterloo line train at Twickenham station, having just watched Baldry play a show at Eel Pie Island. Long John - probably drunk on vodka - hears him blowing a few phrases of "Smokestack Lightnin'" on his harmonica and introduces himself. The two new acquaintances get to chatting on the train, and Long John immediately invites him to join his band, the Hoochie Coochie Men, for a weekly wage of £35 "just" as backing vocalist. Rod can barely stop himself swallowing his harmonica, but keeps his cool: "I'll have to ask my mother first." Long John Baldry is so (and so inexplicably) determined that he turns up at Bob's shop just a few days later, bringing flowers for Elsie. "Don't you worry, Mrs Stewart, I'll take good care of Roddy."

The start of his first well-paid job can't wait. Rod sets off with Long John's band touring around England, but the early shows are a nightmare because he's nervous and shaking with fear. Cliff Barton, Long John's bassist, offers him a small dark pill known as a black bomber. "It's like drinking a nice cup of coffee," he tells him. The amphetamine wakes him up and completely flips him out, so much so that they have to drag him off stage by force. Fuelled by the drug, Stewart launches into a sprawling version of "The Night Time Is The Right Time" (Ray Charles) that goes down particularly well with the crowd in Manchester. The gigs keep coming non-stop, sometimes three shows in a single weekend. Riding around the UK in a battered van, Rod tries out new songs and expands his repertoire, from Muddy Waters' "Tiger In Your Tank" to John Lee Hooker's "Dimple". He still doesn't feel like a real blues singer, but at least he no longer needs the black bomber. A bottle of dark ale and a few scotch and oranges will do just fine.

John William Baldry is a strapping lad well over two metres tall, hence the obvious nickname Long John. Openly gay, Long John begins his career as a professional musician alongside Alexis Korner's band, Blues Incorporated, with whom he records the album "R&B From The Marquee" in 1962. A friend of Mick Jagger and Paul McCartney, Baldry joins Cyril Davies' All Stars a year later. When Davies dies suddenly, Long John takes over leadership of the group and renames it the Hoochie Coochie Men, shortly before his movie-worthy meeting with the hero of this story.

Rod's presence within Baldry's band becomes ever more overbearing. The R&B fervour, the haircut, the sharp clothes that Stewart brings to the stage draw in a new kind of audience to shows by a band used to blues crowds, which now - on some posters - is billed as Hoochie Coochie Men, featuring Rod "The Mod" Stewart.

Rod, “The Mod”

Signore e chiunque vi siate portate dietro, ecco a voi… Rod ‘The Mod’ Stewart!

According to English sociologist Dick Hebdige, mod subculture - a derivation of the term "modernist", first used in the Fifties to describe modern jazz musicians and fans - starts developing its identifying symbols around 1963. Scooters (especially Italian models like the Lambretta and Vespa), amphetamine pills, and an unbridled passion for the most energetic R&B. The earliest mods aren't social animals, nor do they follow a uniform style. Each individual reflects a personal style, while sticking to the same French-style haircut and the same fixation on tailored Italian clothing. In slim-cut jackets and parkas, young mods rebel against family ties, forever chasing the new, especially in music. In England, the first mod wave runs between 1962 and 1965, when thousands of young people on scooters descend on the summer resorts of Brighton to hear on the radio the songs played on the show Ready Steady Go!. Between shopping trips to Carnaby Street and scraps with the rockers - the opposing subculture devoted to rockabilly or rock and roll style - the mods shift their musical tastes toward Black America and Jamaica, ranging from soul to ska, which will soon come to be known as bluebeat.

When he's introduced on English stages by Long John Baldry - partly because of the haircut, partly the sharp clothes, the amphetamine use or his new passion for R&B - Rod Stewart becomes known to everyone as "The Mod".

In March 1964, the Hoochie Coochie Men, with Rod "The Mod" Stewart, open a series of shows for blues legend Sonny Boy Williamson, among his last performances before his death from a heart attack. A few months later, in June, Rod is invited by Long John to take part in recording the B-side of the single "You'll Be Mine" - the result of Baldry's new solo deal with United Artists - namely a gospel cover of Sister Rosetta Tharpe's "Up Above My Head". Baldry and Stewart launch into a call-and-response structure with R&B overtones, with Rod's vocal support climbing like a man possessed by excitement over his first officially recorded track.

By the summer of 1964, Rod Stewart is a young singer with flashy hair, proud to be part of a group of fine, seasoned blues musicians. Long John's lessons prove essential to him, effectively marking the start of his adventure in the world of popular music. Even though mum Elsie has plenty of doubts - "What kind of future could you possibly have?" is the recurring question at home - Rod manages to buy his first sports car, worth almost 500 pounds, and couldn't be happier. Between a drink, a blonde girl and a gig. Not even he knows what's about to happen on the English music scene, as the first loud, distorted chords of "A Hard Day's Night" are about to sound the fanfare of the British Invasion.

April 1964. During a Hoochie Coochie Men show at London's famous Marquee Club, John Rowlands and Geoff Wright are in the audience. Right after the concert, they approach the nineteen-year-old Rod and offer him a deal to become his managers. Rod nearly bursts out laughing. Rowlands was the Ovaltine man in a TV commercial, while Wright runs the business side of Associated London Scripts, which has produced some of the funniest screenwriters in the UK. Not exactly music industry experts, but they manage to win Rod over because they don't come across as arrogant and (above all) don't look like the typical sharks of the music business. After all, we're talking about a lad who has barely recorded a first single as a backing vocalist. But Rod is no pushover, and only agrees on his own terms, after talking it over with his brother.

John and Geoff's first task is to land Rod "The Mod" a record deal.

Not one manager, but two

Turning my first single into a hit was a tough job, even with the powerful reach of Ready Steady Go!

To get a deal, you need a demo recording. So Stewart brings in his bandmates Ian Armitt and Cliff Barton at Poland Street Studios in Soho to record a handful of trial tracks, including "Work Song" (Oscar Brown Jr.), "Ain't That Lovin You Baby" (Jimmy Reed) and "Don't You Tell Anybody" (Willie Dixon).

With the demo ready, the two new managers get straight to work, but the first results are discouraging: EMI, for instance, thinks Rod's voice is too raspy for radio and commercial success. Some labels turn him down because his nose is too big and he doesn't look as good as other singers. But Wright and Rowlands don't give up, and go to see Mike Vernon at Decca Records to convince him to produce and release Rod's debut solo single.

On the morning of 3 September 1964, Rod turns up at the studios on Broadhurst Gardens with a small packet containing some cheese sandwiches made by Elsie. "Rod Stewart, I have a booking." All true, except Rod has got the wrong day. The booking is for 10 September.

On 10 September, Stewart is dragged out of bed by a phone call from Geoff Wright "urging" him to rush to the Decca studios. The label's initial idea is to record some tracks left sitting in the archives, but they're too pop for Rod's voice. Together with a bassist named John Paul Jones, Stewart arrives at a decent version of the classic "Good Morning, Little Schoolgirl", followed by the B-side "I'm Gonna Move To The Outskirts Of Town" by Big Bill Broonzy.

Originally performed by Sonny Boy Williamson in 1937, Rod Stewart's "Good Morning, Little Schoolgirl" sticks to blues standards, albeit over a smoother, more measured beat, almost jazz-like. "The Mod"'s voice is even silkier on the B-side, a twelve-bar number with a dash of soul sweetness. Decca wastes no time and releases the single in October 1964.

Accompanied by a press release in question-and-answer form - here we learn that Rod's ambition is to sing with the Count Basie Orchestra - the record fails to stir up much enthusiasm among industry insiders. To boost Stewart's awareness, Rowlands and Wright arrange for him to appear on the famous Friday night radio show Ready Steady Go!. It's a big deal, since the show is hugely popular, especially, as it happens, with the mod audience. Extremely nervous, Rod fortifies himself with scotch and orange juice and heads to the Rediffusion Studios in Kingsway, where the show's staff hand him an electric guitar.

The Ready Steady Go! performance is anything but memorable. There's an added blow to Stewart's hopes: around the same time, a single comes out by an R&B group called the Yardbirds, featuring a version - far more explosive and driving - of "Good Morning, Little Schoolgirl". The commercial flop is total, and Rod heads off to a pub in Soho to drown his sorrows in booze. But it's during that very drunken night that a patron with a thick head of dark hair appears, introduces himself to Roderick and starts a long round of drinks with him. His name is Ronald David Wood - Ronnie to his friends.

I'm a Soul Man

One day you find a band, and you work at it so hard until it all falls apart. And then you find another one and, if you're lucky, you even buy yourself a car.

December 1964. The single recorded with Decca is a flop. What's more, the Hoochie Coochie Men break up, leaving Rod without a shred of work. But this time unemployment doesn't last long, because Rowlands and Wright first find him a role as frontman with Ad Lib, then place him in Roger Pope's quartet - Pope would later become Elton John's drummer - the Soul Agents. As the name suggests, the group is devoted to soul music, and for a couple of months they're the resident band at the Marquee, even opening a show for blues legend Buddy Guy. But Rod isn't at ease, he doesn't yet feel like a real frontman, and after just six months he leaves the group.

Summer 1965. Long John Baldry is once again a fixture in Stewart's destiny: he introduces him to the young organist Brian Auger, whose group - Brian Auger Trinity - is managed entirely by the eccentric, portly manager Giorgio Gomelsky. Of Eastern European origin, Gomelsky is already a central figure on the English music scene. His club, the Crawdaddy Club, has already hosted the Rolling Stones and is now home to the Yardbirds.

Baldry and Gomelsky want to set up a kind of R&B circus, a live show format featuring various exponents of the genre. Naturally, Long John slots Rod in, but Gomelsky thinks the frontman role should go to his own young collaborator, a Motown enthusiast named Julie Driscoll. Together with Julie, Auger and Long John, Rod brings Sam Cooke and Wilson Pickett covers to the stage: the new group is called Steampacket.

Considered by some observers to be "the first English supergroup", Steampacket are a ticking time bomb, both for their sonic mix of blues, R&B and soul, and for the egos of their own members (all singers, and all highly gifted). Driven on by Gomelsky, always sharply dressed on stage, Steampacket tour England at a rate of five shows a week, but they will never get around to recording a full studio album. The soul swagger of "Baby Take Me" and "The 'in' Crowd" remain live-only performances that would only be released on record starting in the early '70s.

Steampacket's most important show is at the London Palladium, when Gomelsky's fledgling band opens for the Stones during their English tour in the summer of 1965. Given the prestigious venue, Rod's brothers and his aunt Edna also turn up to see the young man live for the very first time. It's also the first time Stewart gets a taste of a truly big audience, one made up of fans in the grip of collective hysteria.

Just when everything seems to be going well, the first tensions begin to surface within the "first English supergroup". Long John refuses to perform in the States on a tour supporting Eric Burdon's Animals, preferring the small university circuit and the usual Wilson Pickett covers. Rod often argues with Julie over song choices, and one evening he insults her legs, earning himself a glass of beer thrown violently in his direction. The situation finally comes to a head in the summer of 1966, when the band is offered a residency package of shows at La Papayago in St. Tropez. Baldry and Auger are over the moon, eager to relax under the French Riviera sun, while Rod points out that the pay on offer is low. Stewart decides not to show up to the meeting called to confirm the booking, but the other members don't care and cut him out of the tour. By the time they return from France, Steampacket no longer exists.

With the brief Steampacket experience over, Rod throws himself headlong back into the music business and finds a spot in Shotgun Express, another covers-focused group featuring a certain Mick Fleetwood on drums and Peter Green on guitar. Here too it's mostly about live shows, while Rod tries his luck again as a solo singer with a new single, now on Columbia Records after the Decca fiasco. "The Day Will Come" is an orchestral beat number, while the B-side features the soul ballad "Why Does It Go On?". When Columbia, trying to land a hit, suggests he record the dancefloor number "Shake", it switches on a light bulb inside Rod: chasing success through covers is no longer viable, he needs to start writing new material - original material.

Rod and Jeff

Are you a taxi driver? No, I play guitar. Are you the bouncer, then? No, I'm a singer.

The Cromwellian describes itself as a simple cocktail bar with a discotheque, tucked among classic 19th-century terraced houses on Cromwell Road, London. In reality, it's much more than a cocktail bar: it's one of the temples of Swinging London, where Jimi Hendrix performed in 1966, and above all where, in January 1967, Rod Stewart first met a 23-year-old guitarist named Geoffrey Arnold Beck - Jeff to his friends. Two years earlier, in March 1965, Beck had been recruited by the Yardbirds to replace the rebellious Eric Clapton, after Jimmy Page's initial refusal to join. With an explosive temperament and a fearsome perfectionist streak, Beck recorded only the album "Roger The Engineer" (1966) with the Yardbirds, before composing a guitar instrumental called "Beck's Bolero", backed by Jimmy Page on guitar, Keith Moon on drums and John Paul Jones on bass. Having had a change of heart, Page then joined the Yardbirds, and the resulting guitar-hero rivalry complicated matters: Beck failed to show up for the American shows and was fired. Until, that is, his meeting with Rod at the Cromwellian on Cromwell Road.

Between drinks, Beck and Stewart size each other up. Rod obviously already knows of Beck's reputation and his recent clashes with Page, while Jeff has already had the chance to appreciate Stewart's voice at a Steampacket show. Above all, Beck is looking to get back on his feet after a couple of solo singles, and naturally he's after a gifted singer. The two arrange a more sober meeting at the Imperial War Museum.

A few minutes' walk from Elephant & Castle tube station, the Imperial War Museum is the perfect setting for Beck's ambitious ideas. After his stint as a forced second fiddle to Jimmy Page, Jeff wants a band all his own, one capable of moving beyond pop and Chicago blues. A harder, more distorted band, devoted to the creed of distortion and feedback. Mickie Most, a car dealer turned Beck's new manager, is by now convinced that Jimi Hendrix's sound is already ancient history, ready to be flattened by his protégé's sonic supernova. Despite being far more pop than Jeff (probably) imagines, the single "Hi Ho Silver Lining" comes out in early spring 1967 and marks a hugely important moment for Most, shooting straight into the English Top 20 and into the hearts of thousands of young students - and especially Aston Villa fans, who turn it into a genuine stadium anthem.

The relationship between Rod and Mickie Most isn't among the best, since Jeff's manager - later also producer of the newly formed Jeff Beck Group - simply doesn't like his rough, almost working-class vocal timbre. But Beck likes Stewart's voice, and that's enough. After the release of the single "Hi Ho Silver Lining", Jeff would like to enlist Jet Harris (formerly of the Shadows) on bass and Viv Prince (ex-Pretty Things) on drums, but Rod himself pushes for the inclusion of his friend Ronnie Wood - who has in the meantime switched from guitar to bass - and his old Steampacket bandmate, drummer Micky Waller. The new band thus makes its live debut at the Finsbury Astoria on 3 March 1967, under the name Jeff Beck Group.

The beginnings are anything but easy. The new group is met with great wariness, especially during a tour as the supporting band for Small Faces and Roy Orbison, when someone - suspicion falls heavily on Small Faces keyboardist Ian McLagan - decides to sabotage their performance by short-circuiting the entire electrical system. But Jeff doesn't lose heart, because deep down live fame isn't what interests him right now: he wants to shut himself away in the studio with Rod and Ronnie to give his new musical ideas their fullest expression. He listens tirelessly to electric bluesman Jimmy Reed and Motown groups like the Four Tops.

Despite the persistence of general scepticism - a rock guitar virtuoso with a soul singer? What's the connection? - Beck and Rod hold each other in high regard: Jeff realises he isn't capable of writing original material, not being a songwriter. Rod decides to step up, otherwise the group will end up as just another fleeting experiment in his career as a singer. Stewart places a great deal of trust in Wood, and the two often sit by the fire with an open bottle of wine and two glasses. But one evening Ronnie admits: "Well, you two aren't exactly going to be a threat to the Beatles." When Emi Columbia releases Truth, the Jeff Beck Group's debut album, in August 1968, there's little original material on it, but Beck's ideas and his chemistry with Stewart produce something truly extraordinary.

Rightfully among the seminal works in the development of "hard music," Truth is a kind of primordial soup in which Jeff Beck releases all the ingredients already sampled during his Yardbirds period. It's no coincidence that the loose-limbed beat march "Shapes Of Things" is credited to none other than vocalist Keith Relf and bassist Paul Samwell-Smith. Yet it's equally clear that Beck is stirring other substances into the cauldron too, including – of course – Rod Stewart's pub-honed wails. Still steeped in blues ("You Shook Me"), the sound of Truth is nonetheless rougher and more metallic: the call and response with Stewart on "Let Me Love You" backs up the notion that, had the group lasted longer, they'd have given the imminent Led Zeppelin a serious run for their money. Even though the underlying idea is to turn blues into hard rock, Stewart's voice manages to give the Jeff Beck Group folk and soul touches, as on the dreamlike "Morning Dew" or the liturgical "Ol' Man River," accompanied by the funeral-march Hammond organ of John Paul Jones.

But if Truth is such an important album for the turbulent 1970s, it's also thanks to brief acoustic watercolors like "Greensleeves," which officially kick off the folk-revival-meets-hard'n'heavy season. Beck's guitar playing is utterly out of control – the mini-suite "Beck's Bolero" would deserve a whole discussion of its own – unfolding through bends, effects and distortion, while still keeping step with Stewart's drunken vocals to stay within blues territory on "Rock My Plimsoul" and "Blues De Luxe," right through to the acid-drenched romp "I Ain't Superstitious."

Recorded at Abbey Road Studios in just four days, Truth is effectively the first album to feature Rod Stewart's voice, the first record of his professional career in the music business. In June 1968, the Jeff Beck Group set sail from London for the United States, their first tour in the promised land. While Jeff settled into business class, Rod and Ronnie flew economy, ready to knock back any free drink that came within reach. The US tour was a triumph: the trade press raved about their show at the Fillmore East in front of nearly three thousand people. For the New York Times, the interplay between Beck's wild guitar and Stewart's erotic wails was worthy of a Harold Pinter script. For the New Musical Express, it was as if Eric Clapton had met Jim Morrison. Live, the band was unstoppable, and the success of the 1968-1969 tour put Rod on everyone's lips.

Back in England, the group rushed to record a second album, again at Abbey Road studios under the usual production of Mickie Most, in April 1969. Released by Emi Columbia just two months later, Beck-Ola is another piece in the hard'n'heavy mosaic being built by Jeff Beck. The guitarist decided to make a change on drums, replacing Micky Waller – whose style was considered too close to the Motown sound – with the tougher Tony Newman, formerly of Sounds Incorporated and the man behind the kit on Donovan's Barabajagal.

The arrival of Tony Newman brought to fruition the seed Beck had been cultivating, much like the surrealist apple painted by Magritte and reproduced on the cover of the second album, Beck-Ola. The distancing from blues standards is even more pronounced, while the march toward the hard rock that would take over the '70s is now at its decisive step. Even though the Jeff Beck Group isn't yet a mature band in terms of pure songwriting, Beck-Ola is another blazing gem. The scattered, deconstructed covers from Elvis Presley's catalogue – "All Shook Up" and "Jailhouse Rock" – land like heavy-powered bombs on British psychedelia and blues. On "Plynth," Jeff Beck and co. rightfully lay the foundations of the heavy riff, truly proving they could become a defining band of the coming decade. Nicky Hopkins' keyboards merge with Newman's drumming, taking flight in the gospel interlude "Girl From Mill Valley." The final masterstroke is the hard-blues gallop "Rice Pudding," which flexes Beck's muscle as one of the most innovative and gifted guitarists of his era. Beck-Ola is the second successful sonic testament to his fine chemistry with Rod, who may take more of a back seat vocally but is perfect trading licks with Beck's flourishes. Without two such prickly, stubborn personalities, the Jeff Beck Group would probably have given Zeppelin a real run for their money.

Beck-Ola debuted at number fifteen on the Billboard chart, naturally taken on the road by the band both at home and in the States. Money, however, was scarce, handled solely by Beck's managers Most and a certain Peter Grant, who would later make a fortune with Led Zeppelin. In the US, Beck kept staying in grand five-star hotels, while sidemen Rod and Ronnie made do with cheaper digs, perpetually drunk and thrilled to have met people like Janis Joplin and Cream. But it wasn't the quality of a hotel room that would make the difference in this story: even on stage, while Jeff posed seriously with his guitar and jeans, Rod and Ronnie went over the top, drinking, throwing sultry glances, dressed in flashy clothes. The trouble was that Beck was a perfectionist with zero interest in playing just to make money – probably the main reason why today everyone remembers Clapton and Page instead – while Rod wanted more, wanted the music business. "Sometimes he'd jump in his limousine and leave us there to grab a taxi. That's just how he was, he lived in his own world," Rod would say years later.

In the summer of 1969 things fell apart irreparably: Beck grew tired of Ronnie Wood's complaints and threw him out of the band, replacing him with Doug Blake. Rod was furious, but stayed on for the final stretch of the American tour on the East Coast. Incredibly, one night Jeff hopped on a flight back to London for personal reasons – a rumor had reached him about an affair between his other half and the gardener – and in doing so blew off a booking for the band at a summer festival called Woodstock. In the lobby of the Hyatt International Hotel in Los Angeles, Lou Reizner, boss of Mercury Records, approached Rod to offer him a deal for a first solo record. This time Stewart didn't think twice and said yes: the contract was worth 1,300 pounds, since that happened to be the price of a brand-new Marcos sports car.

The Mercury Years

To my own astonishment, and no small amount of pride, I suddenly had a number one single and a number one album, at the same time, on both sides of the Atlantic. It was as if all the planets were aligning. No one had ever managed that before: not even Presley, not even the Beatles.

Late 1969. At almost 25, Rod had by then been through it all, from flop singles for Decca to American success with the Jeff Beck Group. When he signed with Mercury Records, Stewart felt like a singer ready for the big solo leap, with songwriting ambitions riding the global triumph of friends like the Rolling Stones. His new Virgil was Lou Reizner, born in Chicago in 1934, a self-proclaimed writer of cowboy songs before landing at Mercury Records and subsequently relocating to England to scout new rock talent. Reizner was also a record producer, though his charges – the Dylan-esque Dick Campbell and Big Jim Sullivan – hadn't exactly made a name for themselves so far. Stewart, who began working on his first solo album while still on tour (his last) with the Jeff Beck Group, agreed to work with him knowing he'd never be an overbearing, controlling figure. So much so that it was Rod himself who picked his sidemen: naturally Ronnie Wood on bass, Ian McLagan (Small Faces) on piano, and that same Micky Waller whom Beck had axed for being too close to the Motown sound. With this lineup, recording sessions began at Lansdowne Road studios, with Rod free to choose the material and return to indulging his folk passions after the harshness of the Jeff Beck Group.

Released first in the United States in October 1969, the album An Old Raincoat Won't Ever Let You Down marks Stewart's return to his roots, to his love of soul and folk music. Also known in the States as The Rod Stewart Album, Rod's solo debut is about as far as it gets from Beck's frenetic rhythms, a tight set of 8 songs that hits proto-hard-rock and sends it reeling back toward a more country, soul and blues style. Then again, Stewart preferred to return to his old sonic loves, as on the pastoral watercolor "Man Of Constant Sorrow" or the romantic piano of the thoroughly British ballad "Handbags & Gladrags."

The record oozes with Stewart's eagerness to test his own inspiration, trying his hand at songwriting specifically on two tracks, the boogie-barrelhouse "An Old Raincoat Won't Ever Let You Down" and the supersonic blues of "Blind Prayer." As debuts go, it's a very promising one: Rod picks his collaborators well – the inclusion of Keith Emerson's organ on the prog number "I Wouldn't Ever Change A Thing" is superb – and naturally strains his raspy voice on one of the finest covers of "Street Fighting Man" ever committed to record. In the end, on tracks like "Cindy's Lament," the album serves as a bridge between old country harmonies and the new sounds, poised between blues and aggressive rock, that were about to open a golden era in England as the Sixties drew to a close.

An Old Raincoat Won't Ever Let You Down was later released in the UK in February 1970, and sold decently right away, though it remained most appreciated by music critics. That was enough to convince Mercury Records and Lou Reizner to budget another 12,000 pounds to record an immediate follow-up in record time.

Recorded in just over two weeks at Morgan Studios in London, the album Gasoline Alley again features Ronnie Wood alongside Ian McLagan, Mick Waller, and new recruit from the Small Faces, drummer Kenney Jones. The record continues on a path of rock and roll steeped in soul and folk, opening with the driving country ballad "Gasoline Alley" featuring Ronnie Wood's great, Stones-esque guitar work. Aside from the energetic boogie-blues of "It's All Over Now," Rod's second solo album is decidedly softer, delivered by a more polished, romantic young man. Both written by Stewart, the slide-folk ballads "Lady Day" and "Jo's Lament" are – in the words of a Rolling Stone review from the time – marked by "rare sensitivity for the more delicate moments in a human being's existence." Amid mandolins and violins with an Irish flavor (chief among them the six-minute-plus gem "Cut Across Shorty"), Stewart sails confidently toward a vigorous mainstream singer-songwriter style. Not forgetting, of course, the urge to tear the world apart, as on the funk of "You're My Girl," with Ronnie Lane's monster bassline effectively opening the door to Rod's new sonic adventure as "The Mod."

When it was released in the United States, Gasoline Alley received even better reviews than An Old Raincoat, landing in Billboard's Top 30 with 250,000 copies sold. Stewart's success in the US wasn't matched back home, though, where listeners (and industry insiders) remained skeptical of his early efforts as a singer-songwriter. This chilly reception spurred Rod on: between late 1970 and early 1971 he shut himself back in Morgan Studios, this time without the help of Lou Reizner, who wouldn't even be credited among the producers. Released by Mercury Records in May 1971, Every Picture Tells A Story is the record that delivers Rod Stewart into the arms of rock royalty worldwide. The album represents Rod's definitive consecration among Albion's hottest songwriters, marked by an almost natural gift for choosing every song with unerring effectiveness. Starting with the title track – a perfect, raucous romp between country, folk and soul harmonies – the record captures Rod's emerging persona, one that balances rocker exuberance and the melancholy sweetness of the pub crooner almost on a spirit level. The odd tale of "Maggie May" stands above all as the first fruit of a different kind of pop about to conquer the world, ushering in the era of glam-tinged singer-songwriting. Here too there's no shortage of reworked songs by others, proof of how much Stewart valued his sonic roots, especially his ongoing tribute to Bob Dylan on the acoustic rainbow of the cover "Tomorrow Is A Long Time."

But Stewart is by now a mature musician, capable of not just reworking (and modernizing) the past: the aching folk of "Mandolin Wind" is the other gem that would make the album so universally beloved. From the aggressive rock of the "That's All Right" cover to the rolling Motown funk of "(I Know) I'm Losing You," Stewart doesn't put a foot wrong this time. With the help of his trusty Ronnie Wood, he crafts a work of the finest compositional tailoring. As AllMusic critic Stephen Thomas Erlewine put it: "Without radically changing his approach, Rod Stewart perfects his blend of hard rock, folk, and blues on what stands as his masterpiece."

In October, the single “Maggie May” shot straight to number one on the UK charts, pushing the album to the top (of course) in the States, but this time also at home. Only George Harrison's “My Sweet Lord” managed to overtake Rod Stewart, who was by then in a state of grace and full-blown fame-and-fortune delirium. Mercury Records thus decided to milk Roddy's explosive creativity by sending him straight back into the studio with his band of musicians to record the follow-up, Never A Dull Moment. Released in the summer of 1972, the album fails to match the success of Every Picture Tells A Story, even though it ideally follows the same path down folk-rock. Opened by the Stones-esque boogie of “True Blue”, Never A Dull Moment probably betrays a certain self-satisfaction on the part of the Stewart-Wood duo, who indulge in one too many carefree guitar romps, as in the breezy, easily-strummed country of “Lost Paraguayos”.

Not that Stewart had suddenly lost his “magic touch” – quite the opposite. The album contains another excellent reinterpretation from the Bob Dylan songbook (“Mama You Been On My Mind”), to which should certainly be added the other boogie-and-roll number “Italian Girls” and the spot-on blue-eyed ballad “You Wear It Well”. Clearly, listeners expecting another “Maggie May” are left largely disappointed, but Stewart still manages to put together a shrewd, well-crafted record, treating fans to the gem “Angel” (a Hendrix cover) and a honeyed, soul-flavoured version of the blues standard “I’d Rather Go Blind”, which seems tailor-made for his raspy voice.

In August 1973 came the first compilation, Sing It Again Rod, featuring the previously unreleased orchestral cover of “Pinball Wizard” from the rock opera “Tommy”. A little over a year later, in October 1974, Mercury closed the circle with the album Smiler. Panned by music critics who called it “a total waste of time”, Smiler is actually a highly enjoyable record, despite a few decidedly pretentious moments like the male take on “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Man” and some genuinely pointless acoustic interludes such as “Lochinvar” (Pete Sears) and “I’ve Grown Accustomed To Her Face”. Fiercely debated at the time – given the fame Stewart had reached in the music world and the run of successful albums before 1974 – Smiler was accused of “predictability” in Rod's (and Ronnie's) songwriting approach, but the point of the record is simply that the two bandmates wanted to have fun and floor the accelerator on glam-rock. Not by chance, guest star Elton John turns up on the wild piano boogie “Let Me Be Your Car”. The album is undoubtedly the weakest of the Mercury years, but also certainly the loosest and lightest, as in the explosive rock-glam-and-roll numbers “Sailor” and especially “Hard Road”. In between, yet another successful Dylan cover, “Girl From The North Country”.

Smiler is an important record, because it marks a turning point in Stewart's solo career: by now fully aware of his own powers as songwriter and performer, he was gearing up for the transformation that would turn him into a global entertainment superstar in the music business.

Long Player – The Story of the Faces

Those were complicated years, truly packed with commitments. There was one small detail that made them almost impossible to juggle: for all that time, I was also in a band. A pretty good one, I'd say.

Let's rewind the tape back to 1969.

Rod Stewart had just secured a solo recording deal with Mercury Records, ready to climb the charts with his debut An Old Raincoat Won’t Ever Let You Down. Steve Marriott, singer and creative leader of the Small Faces, had recently stormed off and left his bandmates – the little mods who had grown up with the masterpiece “Ogdens’ Nut Gone Flake”. Both Rod and Ronnie had worn out records like “Itchycoo Park” and “The Autumn Stone”, and both knew the band's three survivors: Ronnie Lane (bass and vocals), Ian McLagan (organ and keyboards) and Kenney Jones (drums). The three small faces of English freakbeat found themselves rehearsing in a former factory once used by the Rolling Stones, trying to find a new direction. Rod Stewart and Ronnie Wood had recently left the Jeff Beck Group and were on the hunt for a new band, despite Rod's solo career already getting underway.

At first, the five would gather just to chat, jam a little, and above all get drunk. Rod didn't even take part in rehearsals, preferring to sit off to the side and listen. Lane and Wood had this new tune, “Shake, Shudder, Shiver”, a sturdy rock-blues number. Rod, still sitting apart, thought neither of them had Marriott's vocal charisma. Then there was “Flying”, a soul-rock ballad with great potential but no lead voice. Kenney Jones stepped in, inviting Rod down from the control room to try something by Muddy Waters. The chemistry between the five was instant, though Lane and McLagan remained wary, still smarting from their dismal experience with their old frontman. Still, the results of those early sessions were obvious, and so the Faces were born – no longer “small”, given the difference in height between Stewart and Wood.

Initially riding on each member's own fame, the five tried out their first live shows, for instance at a US base in Cambridgeshire, where they unleashed the wild slide-guitar stomp “Around The Plynth” in front of impassive uniformed servicemen. But the Faces were now clearly serious, and they hired Irish-born manager Billy Gaff, who up to that point had only handled bookings for the Robert Stigwood Organisation. Gaff landed the band an excellent deal with Warner Bros., which provided enough money to buy new sports cars, and, more importantly, to release the album First Step in March 1970.

The Faces' recording debut fully reflects the off-the-cuff way the band itself came together, almost by chance between one bender and the next. First Step is certainly not a flawless record, feeling almost improvised on a wave of enthusiasm, tellingly opening with a gospel-flavoured cover of Bob Dylan's “Wicked Messenger”, as if to navigate (at least initially) safe waters. The compositional spark comes mainly from Lane, who wrote the soul-blues “Devotion” and, above all, the barrelhouse-paced psych-country gem “Stone”. While Wood unleashes his slide guitar (“Around The Plynth”), the instrumental jams “Pineapple And The Monkey” and “Looking Out The Window” leave behind a sense (however encouraging) of unfinished business – of a band still searching for the right balance between such large and different personalities. But the funky-blues closer “Three Button Hand Me Down” (credited to the Stewart-McLagan pairing) makes it clear that the Faces mean business: it's only a matter of time and chemistry.

Far from discouraged by the commercial flop of First Step, the Faces simply wanted to have fun together with some good honest rock and roll. So they decided to work on their look, following the glam style then in vogue in the early Seventies. Flashy scarves, satin and glittering outfits were donned onstage, while backstage saw litres of Newcastle Brown and rum flowing. Rod himself would later admit that alcohol abuse had, in fact, distracted the band far too much, flattening their creativity and preventing some albums from doing the group justice.

The Faces' recording sessions would normally start at the pub. The five of them probably spent more time drinking dark ale than actually being in the studio. But while the process of getting the songs down was tedious – even the great Glyn Johns had to surrender to the racket of five drunk musicians – onstage the band was utterly transformed, all reckless leaps and sequins. The Faces were more than just noisy: they'd launch footballs into the crowd and even had a liveried barman on hand onstage to refresh them during Kenney Jones's endless drum solos. Then again, the band came up in an era when the dawn of progressive rock was upending live music with ever-longer instrumental passages. And the more Jones played, the more they drank. Two birds, one stone.

Live, the Faces were a well-oiled machine. Rod Stewart honed his foul-mouthed performer skills, while Wood threw himself into blues-guitar virtuosity and the Lane-Jones rhythm section churned out groove without let-up. In March 1970, the band flew to North America, kicking things off with a Toronto date alongside MC5 and Canned Heat. Success in the United States was immediate, enough to convince the band's management to send them back for 28 more dates that October. The shows sold out instantly, much to the delight of Stewart and co., who loved getting drunk in luxury hotels and trashing their rooms. Banned from several major American chains, they had fun checking in under the names of other famous bands, from the Grateful Dead to Fleetwood Mac. The Faces were practically uncontrollable, and Rod Stewart started regularly using cocaine.

In February 1971 came the second album for Warner, Long Player. Recorded at Morgan Sound with the help of the famous Rolling Stones Mobile Recording Unit, the record does far greater justice to the artistic direction the Faces had taken. This time, Stewart and company sound immediately natural, starting with the pub-rock of “Bad ‘N’ Ruin” and moving straight on into soul territory (“Tell Everyone” and the gem “Sweet Lady Mary”), as if to underline, unmistakably, the whole reason for their existence. After “Stone”, Ronnie Lane pulls out the country-slide number “Richmond”, followed by a superb live cover of “Maybe I’m Amazed” recorded at New York's Fillmore East. Long Player is certainly not a flawless album, being yet another alcohol-fuelled product of a band never quite fully committed to making the most of its talent. “Had Me A Real Good Time”, for instance, is little more than a boogie jam improvised in the studio, following a path the Rolling Stones had already been treading for years. Undeniable, though, is the chemistry between Lane and Wood on the lo-fi blues “On The Beach”, and that of the whole band in a live setting, at its best on the New York version of Big Bill Broonzy's “I Feel So Good”.

The Faces' fame keeps growing, not just in the States but in England too. The band shares bills with Marc Bolan at the Weeley Festival and with the Who at Kennington. None of the five bother with contracts or royalties, they're just having fun, cruising around in luxury cars and living in villas with swimming pools. Stewart, in particular, releases his most successful album, Every Picture Tells A Story, and with the single "Maggie May" he's effectively on top of the world. And yet, between one rum and coke and the next, Lane and Wood start wondering: what direction is the band actually heading in? What are we really doing here?

In November comes A Nod Is As Good As A Wink…To A Blind Horse, recorded at Olympic Studios with the help of veteran producer Glyn Johns. Opening with Stewart's howling rock and roll number "Miss Judy's Farm", the album finally manages to strike the perfect balance between live-band energy and top-notch songwriting. Johns' steadying hand leads the Faces to trim down the running time of the songs – the longest is the shimmering country-boogie cover "Memphis" from Chuck Berry's catalogue – resulting in a tighter, cleaner sound. After the experimentation and improvisation of the first two albums, the band finds the perfect alchemy, that sonic cocktail blending humor, soul-blues warmth and pure rock and roll energy. Ronnie Lane is a major protagonist here, first leading the soul-blues charge on "You're So Rude" and then launching the gorgeous country-ballad "Debris" into the stratosphere.

The album, which will reach number six in the States and number two in the UK, is naturally propelled by the wild glam and roll of "Stay With Me". While Stewart gets the rawest, most "foul-mouthed" tracks – the closing hard blues of "That's All You Need" – Lane manages to give the record just the right touch of British humor (the Dylan-esque "Last Orders Please"). A Nod Is As Good As A Wink…To A Blind Horse thus finally does the band justice, not just for the gold record awarded by the RIAA the following year, but above all because it wins over the skeptics: the Faces may drink and trash hotel rooms, but they know how to make good music.

Between 1971 and 1972, the band keeps triumphing on tour, but doubts start creeping into the minds of the five Faces. In particular, Lane and McLagan begin to question the band's future, growing increasingly suspicious (and probably a touch envious) of Rod's solo success following the "Maggie May" breakthrough. Stewart is, without doubt, the star of the group. The situation worsens over small details: Rod always stays in extra-luxury suites, has his own private limousine, and in the States the posters read "Rod Stewart & The Faces". Lane, never one for an easy temper – made worse by his multiple sclerosis – is absolutely furious.

Stewart is certainly no angel either: he often skips studio rehearsals, couldn't care less about the next album, which will again be produced by Glyn Johns, the only person trying to hold the pieces together. Lane accuses Stewart of keeping the best songs for himself and leaving the band only his compositional leftovers. To get a sense of the mood between the two, Ronnie will later accuse Rod of having stolen the structure of "Mandolin Wind" from him. The bomb finally goes off with the release – in March 1973 – of the Faces' last album, Ooh La La. Despite topping the UK charts, Stewart publicly declares the record "rotten", "stinking", a "bloodbath".

In truth, Ooh La La is nowhere near the disaster Stewart described. Certainly an outlier in the Faces' discography – starting with its art deco-style cover featuring a stylized image of Gastone, one of the legendary characters played on stage by Ettore Petrolini – the album picks up the thread of brevity (rightly) demanded by Glyn Johns and offers several strong moments, especially in the second half, almost entirely helmed by Lane.

While side one of Ooh La La revisits the now-familiar rock and roll numbers ("Borstal Boys" and "My Fault"), side two opens with the brief instrumental rhapsody "Fly In The Ointment" and immediately, without holding back, signals the change of course. That's why Ooh La La is a true product of its time, a roughly 30-minute account of the artistic and personal rift between Rod Stewart and Ronnie Lane. The bassist continues with his sweet folk harmonies ("If I'm On The Late Side"), delivering yet another melancholy gem with the elegant "Glad And Sorry". While the sweet "Just Another Honky" almost signals a truce, the closing title track is the beachside singalong that effectively settles the score. Lane and Stewart are now worlds apart, and indeed the former decides to leave the group in the spring of 1973. Perhaps convinced the others would soon follow suit, Lane quickly realizes he's completely alone. Marked by a deep friendship, Stewart and Wood carry on with new bassist, ex-Free man Tetsu Yamauchi, a Japanese musician.

Without Lane, the Faces set off on another world tour, capturing the October 17, 1973 show at the Anaheim Arena in California on record. The band's first live album, Coast To Coast: Overture And Beginners, confirms exactly what the promotional posters of their recent tours have been claiming. From "It's All Over Now" to "Cut Across Shorty", the setlist draws heavily on Stewart's solo repertoire, leaving the Faces with the obvious hit "Stay With Me" and the final rock and roll blast "Borstal Boys". But the permanent inclusion of the hit "Every Picture Tells A Story" makes clear just how much weight Rod The Mod now carries in a band that is by then falling apart.

It's the end. Stewart loses interest, while Wood accepts the persistent courting of his friends the Rolling Stones, who need to replace the departed Mick Taylor. McLagan and Jones reunite with Steve Marriott for a failed Small Faces reunion. At the end of 1976, Warner Bros. releases Snakes And Ladders/The Best Of Faces, a compilation album featuring the previously unreleased rock and roll track "Pool Hall Richard" and the loping funk of "You Can Make Me Dance".

Nothing more is heard from the Faces on record until 1999, when another best of, Good Boys… When They're Asleep, is released, valuable to fans for including "Open To Ideas", one of the last soul songs the band recorded before imploding. Far better is the intelligent archival work behind the sprawling five-hour-plus retrospective Five Guys Walk Into A Bar…, probably the most complete and honest account of the saga of a bunch of hell-raisers who, despite plenty of flaws and internal divisions, tore up stages across half the world in under four years.

Crossing the Atlantic

It wasn't just me, you know. Joe Cocker was on my flight from Heathrow, headed the same way, and Eric Clapton was about to board the next one.

April 1975. After the implosion of the Faces and the release of Smiler, Rod Stewart is at the very top of the music business. He decides to move to Los Angeles to escape Britain's punishing tax regime, drawing more than a little criticism from observers and even his own "colleagues". Elton John, by then a close friend, accuses him of outright treason against his homeland. But Rod has no regrets about the choice, since he's raking in truckloads of money and no longer wants to hand over a penny to the UK's staggeringly high tax rate, a monstrous 83% imposed under Prime Minister Harold Wilson. His manager Billy Gaff has just found him a three-bedroom house on Doheny Drive, and when Rod arrives he explains one tiny detail: he won't be able to return to England for at least 12 months. No football matches, no cups of tea or pints down the pub. To ease the homesickness, Stewart buys a sprawling twenty-room mansion for $750,000 on Carolwood Drive. The pain is (partly) soothed by the presence of Britt Ekland, the Swedish actress who appeared in "Il Comandante" (alongside Totò) and dominated the gossip pages in the late Sixties over her troubled marriage to Peter Sellers.

After his early years with Mercury, Gaff has secured Rod a lucrative deal with Warner Bros., along with the chance to work with veteran producer Tom Dowd. As soon as he lands in the US, Stewart holes up in the studio, first in Los Angeles and then in Alabama, this time without his trusty sidekick Ronnie Wood but with top-tier musicians like Steve Cropper, Donald "Duck" Dunn and Booker T. Jones. Under Dowd's expert guidance, Stewart rediscovers a sense of freshness and, above all, a less alcohol-soaked, more creatively fertile environment. The result is Atlantic Crossing, released in mid-August 1975 and immediately shooting to number one on the UK charts. Tax exile notwithstanding.

A direct reference to crossing the ocean in search of fresh artistic inspiration – as well as keeping his money in his own pocket – Atlantic Crossing has the merit of not misleading Stewart's regular audience. The album marks a decisive turn toward a more soul- and pop-oriented sound, letting any trace of rock and roll or hard blues fall by the wayside. The choral lullaby "Sailing", which over the years will become one of the most famous songs in his catalogue, is the shining jewel Rod presents to the world, seemingly proud of the new direction he's taken. Pity that, without Beck or Wood, the record almost completely lacks bite, that spontaneous pub-rocker aggression. Soul-pop ballads like "Still Love You", "This Old Heart Of Mine" and "It's Not The Spotlight" reveal a sweet (and slightly syrupy) side that Rod had, until now, only ever hinted at. Never so plainly on display, and in some ways almost jarring. That's why the glam-and-roll number "Stone Cold Sober" (featuring Steve Cropper) gives the record a jolt, as do the funky-soul divertissements "Three Time Loser" and "All In The Name Of Rock 'N' Roll" that open the album. Atlantic Crossing is, in every sense, a new manifesto for Rod Stewart, who shrewdly realizes it's time for a change, while at the same time delivering an imperfect record, one better suited to widening his audience than to shaking up the world of music around him once again.

There's barely time to promote Atlantic Crossing before Stewart is back in the studio, still with Tom Dowd and his new band. Recorded between late 1975 and spring 1976, A Night On The Town will be remembered by Rod himself for a cover he loathed – his face inserted into a rendering of Renoir's painting, Bal du moulin de la Galette – but above all for one of the boldest compositions of his entire catalogue. Opened by the orchestral horns of the languid pop ballad "Tonight's The Night (Gonna Be Alright)," the album shines with cunning, since Stewart has understood what the more mainstream audience wants and decides to indulge it with the tear-jerking cover of Cat Stevens's "The First Cut Is The Deepest" or the soft-rock "Fool For You." At the top, however, sits the small masterwork "The Killing Of Georgie (Part I And II)," which in just over six minutes tells the tragic story of a gay friend of the Faces who was murdered, driven along by an instrumental coda that strongly recalls the Beatles' "Don't Let Me Down." If the first half of the record nails the pop-soul ballad format, the second tries to pick the pace back up with more ordinary rock and roll numbers, like "The Balltrap" and "Big Bayou," closing with the sugary organ of "Trade Winds."

At the end of 1976, Stewart splits from Britt, who turns to lawyers who, rather amusingly, advise her to seek a settlement of over 12 million dollars for Rod's blatant infidelity.

From the Punk Threat to Disco Music

In a way, the punks gave people like me and Elton exactly what we deserved: a good kick up the arse.

The year is 1977. Born John Joseph Lydon, the voice of the Sex Pistols, Johnny Rotten, publicly declares that Rod Stewart is nothing but an old fart. While the punks make it clear there can be no Elvis in 1977, one can only imagine what place a 32-year-old "old" mod could hope to earn. The Pistols' iconoclastic fury seems strong enough to overshadow all those rich, self-satisfied musicians wallowing in their soft-rock ballads. Rod doesn't take it well, not least because the Sex Pistols themselves have occasionally played "Three Button Hand Me Down" during studio run-throughs. But while the Faces are in some way spared by the punk storm, more for their stage approach than for the music they produced, Stewart's reputation is going through a critical moment, undermined by his recent choices: luxury cars and houses, a mondaine life in Los Angeles, increasingly docile and romantic songs. Stewart will eventually admit he "deserved a kick up the arse" from the English punks, but his resolve is quite firm: to carry on with the music he has always loved – soul, folk, rhythm & blues. In June 1977, the double A-side single "I Don't Want To Talk About It" and "The First Cut Is The Deepest" tops the English charts, knocking off none other than "God Save The Queen."

The punk revolution doesn't stop Rod The Mod, who in November releases Foot Loose & Fancy Free, still under Tom Dowd's guidance for Warner Bros. The album initially attempts to recapture some hard-rock grit with the Stones-esque "Hot Legs," then veers into a Chic-style funky groove ("You're Insane") before returning to the soft-ballad format with the folk-tinged "You're In My Heart (The Final Acclaim)."

The record flows pleasantly – there's another solid rock and roll number spiced up by John Mayall's harmonica, "Born Loose" – and it reaches its peak with the long fusion of progressive rock and Motown style on "You Keep Me Hangin' On," which remains one of the best things Stewart produced during his Seventies. Even though roughed up by the punks, Rod carries on undeterred with the Stax-style orchestral romanticism of "(If Loving You Is Wrong) I Don't Want To Be Right" and hits the mark like an old lion on the acoustic rainbow of "I Was Only Joking."

Spring 1978. After the release of Foot Loose, Rod meets American model and actress Alana Hamilton at a party thrown in Los Angeles by Playboy magazine. Tall, blonde and with a bewitching smile, Alana immediately declares her love for country & western music. After their first dates, the two become a steady couple in Los Angeles, the city that has by now adopted Stewart as one of its most famous and wealthiest performers.

Between one night of love and the next, Rod has started listening to Chic and is particularly fond of the latest single from the Stones, "Miss You." In his head there's an increasingly danceable buzz that's leading him toward a completely new direction.

Blondes Have More Fun lands like a thunderbolt on the record market at the end of 1978, splitting in two not only the world's charts but also all those critics and listeners who still see Rod Stewart as a rock icon. "Da Ya Think I'm Sexy?" is the track that shakes the sonic planet, getting millions of asses moving, from Australia to the States. The trouble is that, to everyone, Stewart is still a soul storyteller: he can't possibly have changed direction so abruptly. Rod, however, has realized that the new direction is disco music, just like many of his peers, such as Jagger, Bowie and Queen. But while the Thin White Duke will get there only a few years later – he's still in the thick of his Berlin period – Stewart has nothing to lose and throws himself into the funky-disco groove that will sell him millions of copies.

It's a shame, though, that Rod doesn't dare go even further and put together a record entirely devoted to disco music. "Dirty Weekend," in fact, goes back to rock and roll, while "Blondes (Have More Fun)" dusts off a John Lee Hooker-style boogie riff. The killer groove of "Da Ya Think I'm Sexy?" gives way to the Jamaican rhythm of "Attractive Female Wanted" and is almost replicated in "Standin' In The Shadows Of Love," with a heavier dose of guitars. While "Ain't Love A Bitch" is another soul-pop ballad, "Scarred And Scared" closes the record with a mournful harmonica straight from the green lands of Ireland. All things considered, if the dance single is the perfect fusion of rock and disco music, the rest of the album doesn't follow the same blueprint, ending up simply a collection of good songs, nothing more.

After the release of Blondes Have More Fun, Rod Stewart is on top of the world, carried by the new single that brings in truckloads of money as well as scornful criticism from old-school rockers. Only Madonna, with "Like A Virgin," will manage, more than six years later, to sell so many millions of copies for Warner Bros. And yet, fans of Gasoline Alley are disappointed and accuse Rod of having definitively sold out to the music business. Brazilian musician Jorge Ben Jor is disappointed too, since the melody of the chorus of "Da Ya Think I'm Sexy" is dangerously similar to that of his 1972 track, "Taj Mahal." Stewart will hand over part of the royalties, thinking that, deep down, that hugely successful single has become something of a curse.

Cursed or not, "Da Ya Think I'm Sexy" is the crown jewel of the world tour that kicks off in Manchester in December 1978. Two years after fleeing to Los Angeles to escape the taxman. English critics haven't warmed at all to the latest album – very American in its basic sound – and Rod fears his own homeland has by now abandoned him. Nothing could be further from the truth, because the English dates are a triumph.

Foolish Behaviour: the '80s

I'll be dead before I turn forty.

Early 1979. Alana is pregnant, but Rod doesn't take it well. It's not that he's against having a family, quite the opposite. Stewart is at the peak of his success, and he's gripped by panic. The two argue fiercely, before Rod embarks on an Australian tour in February, where the tabloids nail him for an alleged flirtation with former Miss World Belinda Green. Alana joins him in Japan, where peace breaks out and a rather unromantic marriage arrangement is sealed to best manage the arrival of a child. Kimberly Alana Stewart is born in August, shattering Rod's dreams of having a boy. In fact, Sean Stewart would let out his first cry a little over a year later, in September 1980.

Late 1980. Once again on Warner, the new album Foolish Behaviour comes out, the first of the newborn decade and, above all, the long-awaited follow-up to the worldwide success of "Da Ya Think I'm Sexy?". Stewart's work is, however, mediocre, because on one hand there's no continuity with the dancefloor atmospheres, and on the other it doesn't offer memorable songs in the vein of his old rock and roll sound. The feeling is that Rod's compositional talent has grown flabby behind a life of high society, beautiful women, expensive paintings and cocaine dust. Opened by the boogie hoedown "Better Off Dead" - written with his new bandmate, ex-Vanilla Fudge drummer Carmine Appice - Foolish Behaviour is a flavourless record, though flanked by decent ingredients like the T-Rex-style riff of the title track. Rod, of course, insists on the soft-ballad format ("Say It Ain't True" or "Somebody Special"), but this time without any real spark.

Much more inspired is the following Tonight I'm Yours, produced by Stewart himself with his new guitarist Jim Cregan, ex-Family. The album comes out at the end of 1981 and will sell over 10 million copies worldwide, buoyed also by favourable reviews for its mix of classic rock, pop and new wave sounds. Stewart nails the "harder" tracks, like the unleashed rock and roll whirl "Tora, Tora, Tora (Out With The Boys)" and the synthesized take on late-period Stones, "Jealous".

But if the album is so successful, it's because it contains two tracks that are perfect both for the mainstream dancefloor crowd and for snobbier listeners hunting for new Devo-style sounds. Embellished by Mark Knopfler's guitar, "Young Turks" is indeed a small masterpiece of synth groove and unforgettable eighties-pop harmonies. Even more schizoid is the obsessive rhythm of "Tonight I'm Yours (Don't Hurt Me)", which interprets in Stewart's own (always melodic) way the "new wave" that had arrived in the United States towards the end of the Seventies.

October 1982. While Rod is busy rehearsing new songs at his luxurious villa on Carolwood Drive, someone knocks at the door. Actually, it's three people: a photojournalist from the Sunday People, a middle-aged woman named Evelyn, and an 18-year-old girl named Sarah. Alana knows exactly who that girl is and asks Rod not to answer the front door. Better to call a lawyer instead, since there's no way a photojournalist should be present too. Rod hasn't forgotten Sarah. Suddenly the face of his first love, Susannah Boffey, comes back to him, along with that of the baby given up for adoption so he wouldn't have to take on fatherhood at 19.

Sarah's appearance won't be a major problem for Stewart - the two will remain on good terms, once the nosy press has been dealt with - but it represents yet another blow for Alana, who by now sees every last shred of the marriage unravelling. Rod is constantly travelling the world and spends his free time among friends, football matches and mega-parties. The harshest truth is that Stewart himself is carrying on a relationship with Texan model Kelly Emberg, with whom he'll have a new daughter, Ruby, three years after divorcing Alana in 1984.

From "Da Ya Think I'm Sexy?" to "Young Turks", Stewart has sold millions of records, at the peak of a global fame that takes him around the world on a massive tour in 1982, from which the sprawling Absolutely Live is drawn. Across four sides and nearly an hour and a half of music, the album is a showcase of Rod's grandeur, and above all proof of just how deeply his music had by then lodged itself in the minds of millions of people. The gem of the album is the wild version of "Stay With Me" featuring two exceptional backing singers, Kim Carnes and Tina Turner.

After breaking with manager Billy Gaff, Stewart continues his recording streak into the 80s. In 1983 Body Wishes comes out, immediately notable for its kitschy Elvis Presley-style cover. The album is more than mediocre, livened up only by a handful of tracks such as the pop-blues dance number "Dancin' Alone" and the title track, a soft-rock ballad with just the right dose of synthesizers.

Even worse is the following Camouflage, released at the start of summer 1984, which sees the return of Jeff Beck on guitar for three tracks, "Infatuation", "Can We Still Be Friends" and "Bad For You". Even though Beck tries to lend his rock services, the album drowns in a sea of soft-pop synthesizers, leaving the whole record completely flat and without variation on its theme.

Backed by celebrated Canadian producer Robert Alan Ezrin, Rod tries again two years later, releasing Every Beat Of My Heart, dedicated to his parents Bob and Elsie. The album is a real show of force - from the guitars of Steve Cropper and Nils Lofgren to the keyboards of Nicky Hopkins - but it fails to win over music critics, who point out that by now Stewart's music is repeating itself like an endless loop. A sort of recording bulimia leading to endless helpings of commercial soft-pop like "Another Heartache" and "Love Touch", included in the soundtrack of Ivan Reitman's film "Legal Eagles", starring Robert Redford. It's no coincidence that one of the record's most heartfelt tracks is the soul-gospel rendition of the Beatles' "In My Life". And that speaks volumes about Stewart's compositional powers, five years on from the last success of "Tonight I'm Yours".

Summer 1986. After the release of the mediocre Every Beat Of My Heart, Stewart embarks on the biggest European tour of his career, well aware of the still-enormous commercial success of his songs. Probably also aware of the poor quality of work he'd been putting out in recent years, Rod decides to pull himself back together artistically with a little help from trusted friends. Into the studio come Andy Taylor (Duran Duran), Bernard Edwards and Tony Thompson (Chic), who in the meantime had found new musical life with the supergroup The Power Station. There's no clear-cut direction, but the chemistry comes together spontaneously, flowing into Out Of Order, released in late spring 1988. The new work is decidedly more successful than the previous three, well built thanks to the contribution of Andy Taylor, who co-writes with Stewart the Springsteen-esque rock and roll of "Lost In You" and the effective riff of the synthesized boogie "Dynamite". Rod splits the royalties with his idol Bob Dylan on the ballad "Forever Young" and revisits the blues standard "Nobody Knows You When You're Down And Out" in a funk key.

There's no shortage of the now-unshakeable soft-pop fillers ("My Heart Can't Tell You No" and "Crazy About Her"), but at least the production with Taylor and Edwards creates a punchy, well-structured effect. Closing things out is the sinuous bass groove of "Almost Illegal", which helps push Out Of Order to double platinum, one of Rod's biggest commercial successes of the 80s.

The decade closes with the release of several compilations, with special mention going to the mammoth Storyteller - The Complete Anthology: 1964-1990, which recaps Rod The Mod's voracious career across four discs and a full 65 songs. It starts with the country-jazz version of "Good Morning Little Schoolgirl" and runs all the way to the last single of 1989, a punchy pop cover of Tom Waits's "Downtown Train". The first disc of the anthology stretches as far as the early recorded output of the Faces, including a few tracks not yet featured on official albums, such as the beat number "Can I Get A Witness?", the Sam Cooke cover "Shake", and the orchestral blues of "Little Miss Understood". The second disc runs up to Smiler, including the country ballad "What's Made Milwaukee Famous (Has Made A Loser Out Of Me)", the soul of "Oh! No Not My Baby" and the funky number "You Can Make Me Dance, Sing Or Anything". Disc three, meanwhile, features the sultry cover of "To Love Somebody" with Booker T. & the M.G.'s and the version of the Beatles' "Get Back" that's part symphonic, part amphetamine rush.

Steroids

One night, on stage in Sheffield, I genuinely thought I was actually in the kitchen with my mother. Because the steroids had eaten away my stomach.

Summer 1990. After a triumphant string of shows in South America as part of the Out Of Order Tour, Stewart meets New Zealand model Rachel Hunter, who's making waves with her stunning looks on the covers of Sports Illustrated. Rod isn't remotely fazed by the obvious age gap — she's 25, he's 45 — and launches an all-out courtship, having dozens of red roses delivered to her agency's office in New York. Just as he's about to seal the deal, on his birthday in September, Stewart gets a call from his mother bearing the saddest of news: his father, Bob, has died in his sleep at the age of 86. Rod flies to England with Rachel, and the tears flow freely, but grief ends up cementing their bond: the two marry on December 15, 1990, in Beverly Hills, and go on to have Renee (1992) and Liam (1994).

Also attending Stewart's wedding is Warner Bros. boss Rob Dickins, who strongly urges him to get back in the studio with new material. The result is Vagabond Heart, released in March 1991, marking the return to production duties of ex-Chic member Bernard Edwards. The album is "a Gasoline Alley in the swankier neighborhoods of Los Angeles," proof of just how much Stewart is aiming to bridge his old and new selves. Particularly successful are the more mature ballads, "No Holding Back" and "If Only", while the rockier moments — "Rebel Heart", "Moment Of Glory" and the irresistible Springsteen-esque march "Go Out Dancing", which sounds like it fell straight out of "Born In The Usa" — win over both for vocal swagger and compositional maturity. The covers are also handled well, from the Stones-flavored "It Takes Two" (with his friend Tina Turner) to the elegant soft-pop rendition of "Broken Arrow" (Robbie Robertson).

After the release of Vagabond Heart — over a million copies sold in the United States — Stewart sets off on yet another world tour, keeping him on the road for nearly a year. Unlike the record, the Vagabond Heart Tour doesn't meet with the same success, because Rod's voice starts acting up, worn down by the endless run of dates but above all by his increasingly heavy use of cocaine and steroids.

In June 1991, in the middle of the European leg, Stewart is forced to cancel several dates, especially the German ones, where the crowds really don't take it well. Visibly bloated from a cocktail of steroids, antibiotics and vitamins, Rod completely collapses during a live show in Sheffield. The medication does nothing for his throat, instead triggering hallucinations — while singing, in place of the audience he sees a vision of his mother in the kitchen of his old house — and a serious internal bleed in his stomach. He's carried off to his limousine, where a doctor performs an emergency blood transfusion. The Vagabond Heart tour limps to the finish thanks to the use of a device known as an in-ear monitor, which lets him keep better control of his voice.

At the end of the Vagabond Heart Tour, Stewart decides to enjoy his gorgeous wife and a life more devoted to family warmth. In 1993 comes Lead Vocalist, an odd record, half compilation — it opens with the old blues number "I Ain't Superstitious" with Jeff Beck — and half a set of new singles, all covers. From Stevie Nicks comes the eighties-pop of "Stand Back", while the orchestral version of "Ruby Tuesday" is a spectacular misfire, topped only by the pointless wedding march "Shotgun Wedding". Things fare decidedly better with the Chicago blues of "First I Look At The Purse" (Smokey Robinson) and with the gem "Tom Traubert's Blues", once again lifted from the songbook of Tom Waits.

At the start of 1993, Rod is invited by the famous television network MTV to record a live set for its equally famous Unplugged format, already put to hugely successful use by artists like Eric Clapton and Paul McCartney. It's no coincidence: since its first broadcast in the summer of 1981, MTV has kept songs like "Da Ya Think I'm Sexy?" and "Sailing" in heavy rotation. Stewart, a natural creature of the stage, suddenly gets cold feet: playing seated and acoustic in front of a small, almost pub-like crowd. So the moment is right to call back his old friend Ronnie Wood, who helps Rod put together a new acoustic arrangement of his greatest hits over three weeks of rehearsals in Los Angeles. The MTV live set is recorded on February 5 at Universal Studios and released by Warner in May under the unusual title Unplugged... And Seated.

Even though Wood doesn't carry quite the same mythic aura as Clapton, the acoustic performance for MTV amounts to a kind of resurrection for Stewart, who manages to breathe new life into now-dated songs like "Cut Across Shorty" and the British ballad "Handbags And Gladrags". While the MTV Unplugged format itself seems tailor-made for rock's elder statesmen — in the strictly age-related sense — Stewart delivers a genuinely impressive vocal performance, arguably one of his best since the late '70s. Even if the show occasionally slips into the usual over-sweetness — "Tonight's The Night" or the Van Morrison cover, "Have I Told You Lately" — Rod pulls off the smart move of digging deep into his '70s catalogue, from the raucous "Every Picture Tells A Story" to the crystalline "Mandolin Wind", which instantly rekindles the chemistry with Wood.

The return of his lifelong friend brings him back to the dusty roads of the blues ("Highgate Shuffle") before dusting off, in acoustic form, the Faces hit "Stay With Me". Stewart's voice suddenly sounds set free, released from the symphonic solemnity of "People Get Ready" and the folk lament "The First Cut Is The Deepest". In the end, Rod's show is a triumph, managing to combine the oldest (and wildest) '50s rhythms ("Having A Party") with the folk of twenty years later ("Gasoline Alley") and even push forward into the '80s hit "Forever Young". After some difficult years, a redemption with full honors, even within a format seemingly built for rock's old guard.

Unplugged... And Seated is a bombshell on the US record market, selling over 3 million copies. The album keeps Stewart on tour for the following two years, culminating in a New Year's Eve spectacle in 1994, when he performs on Copacabana beach in Rio in front of over 3.5 million spectators, earning him a spot in the World Guinness Record for the largest audience ever at a concert. Inducted by Jeff Beck, that same year he enters the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Cover Man

I don't like writing songs.

May 1995. After an unusually long recording hiatus, Stewart returns with the album A Spanner In The Works, four years on from his last record of original material, Vagabond Heart. In truth, there's little to nothing original left in him. Rod openly admits he no longer feels like a real songwriter, but rather an acclaimed performer who has now reached full maturity. After the MTV acoustic performance — where he at least rediscovered his friend Wood and his old '70s verve — the new record feels lukewarm, like a mirror held up for a middle-aged man having fun singing other people's songs. The heartfelt, moving version of "Sweetheart Like You" (Dylan) works more for the vocal performance than for the arrangement, which is certainly punchier on "Hang On St. Christopher", again from Waits's songbook. With the pop-rock of "Leave Virginia Alone" (Tom Petty), there are precious few other sparks across the record, which slips by without disgrace, but also without any real peaks of originality (at least) in terms of sound, despite the near-endless list of musicians involved in the studio.

This new performer's mindset runs rampant on the follow-up, If We Fall In Love Tonight, produced by Arnold Stiefel, chairman and CEO of the talent-management and TV-production agency bearing his name. The album is entirely devoted to a single format, the soft-pop ballad, polished with the kind of mastering effects you'd expect from a TV talent show. The title track, for instance, is a strong contender for one of the worst things Rod has ever recorded, followed by the syrupy, Disney-like "For The First Time". Perhaps conceived to melt the softer hearts of middle-aged American listeners, the album is redeemed only by the cover of Carole King's "So Far Away" and the collaboration with Sting and Bryan Adams on "All For Love". Beyond that, you could hardly even call it a proper album — more like an over-production engineered from the ground up to break the hearts of listeners with little taste for the finer art of songwriting.

The last record before parting ways with Warner Bros. is When We Were The New Boys, released in 1998, featuring a decidedly sharper choice of covers. Rod finds his lost bite again on the Brit-riff "Cigarettes And Alcohol" (Noel Gallagher) and moves listeners with the new acoustic version of the old Faces classic "Ooh La La", rewritten right after the death of his friend-and-rival Ronnie Lane, who in his final years had also accused him of stealing the main melody of "Mandolin Wind". Stewart finally seems to be looking toward more contemporary artists, as on the supersonic hard-boogie of "Rocks" (Primal Scream) or the folk lament "Secret Heart" (Ron Sexsmith). On first listen, the whole move might seem like a gamble: reclaiming his old pub rocker spirit after so many years away. Instead, Rod holds his own like the proverbial old lion and delivers a terrific performance on the caustic "Hotel Chambermaid" (Graham Parker), proving to everyone he can still feel right at home with harder or more alternative material, from "Shelly My Love" (Nick Lowe) to the country ballad "What Do You Want Me to Do?" (Mike Scott).

May 2000. Stewart walks through the doors of Cedars-Sinai in Los Angeles for his usual routine medical check-up. This time, despite still playing football every weekend at the age of 55, the wait for the results drags on longer than usual. He's diagnosed with thyroid cancer, luckily operable quickly and without chemotherapy, which would have cost him his beloved blond hair. The real problem is that Rod must absolutely refrain from singing for a period ranging from three to six months. Unable to do much of anything else with his life, Stewart decides to hire a vocal coach to begin strengthening exercises for his voice after the operation. With stoic calm and total dedication, he returns to singing. Excellent news after a rough patch: in 1999, Rachel had filed for divorce. But Rod seems to have infinite marital lives, and that same year he meets Penny Lancaster, another tall blonde model, twenty-seven years old.

In 2001 came Human, his first album for the new label Atlantic Records, actually a sister label of the Warner Music Group. Throughout his career, Stewart has always managed to keep pace with new musical trends, from disco to Britpop. With Human, the new wave is contemporary soul, that Babyface-style sound which certainly makes fewer demands on his vocal cords after his thyroid surgery. The result, however, is disastrous, a pointless wallpaper of drum machines with vocal harmonies somewhere between En Vogue and the very kind of ballad Babyface made a hit in the States. From the title track to the new single "I Can't Deny It", the songs blur into one another with no real distinction, in an attempt to make an artist who seems bound for rock's attic feel young again.

The Great American Songbook

I think I need to make a record made entirely of classics, those wonderful American songs.

Over dinner with his manager, Stewart confesses: "I think I need to make a record of classics." His manager nearly chokes. "Yes, come on. An album of standards, those wonderful American songs. Cole Porter, Irving Berlin, Rodgers and Hart. The songs I grew up with, the stuff I listened to while I was still on my father's knee." But Arnold Stiefel is far from convinced: "Can I be honest with you? I think you should shelve that idea, for a decade or two at least."

That particular dinner took place in 1983. Rod heeds Arnold's advice, for at least two decades. But while back then there was still plenty of ground to cover musically, after the total flop of Human the memory of that old desire takes shape. Because Rod is utterly convinced he's finished as a songwriter, and after selling millions of records, Human was an alarming disaster by his standards. His latest producer, Trevor Horn, advises him to retreat to a cottage in the countryside and try playing solo with an acoustic guitar. But Rod Stewart is no Johnny Cash or Neil Young, and the very idea makes him shudder.

The spark is lit when he meets record producer Richard Perry, who loves old American songs just as much as he does. Perry encourages him. Thus is born It Had To Be You: The Great American Songbook, released on J Records (Sony Music) in October 2002. The idea behind the album is actually brilliant: revitalize old American pop songs with the involvement of one of modern rock's most booming voices. Backed by Clive Davis - the man behind Santana's triumphant return to the world's pop-rock stage - Stewart pours his heart into it, given his recent surgery and the horrendous job he'd done with Human. The problem lies in the choice of songs, as well as in pop-jazz arrangements that basically leave the listener unable to tell one track from another. Rod is certainly no Sinatra, and despite giving it his all, he fails to produce a memorable record.

Needless to say, the operation is a commercial success: the album will sell 3 million copies in the United States and will be followed, just a year later, by As Time Goes By: The Great American Songbook, Volume II, which follows an identical format to its predecessor, aside from the duet with Cher, "Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered", and the one with Queen Latifah on the title track.

Shielded by commercial success - in 2002 he passes the 100-million mark in worldwide album sales - Stewart can afford to press on with Stardust: The Great American Songbook, Volume III, which features duets with Eric Clapton ("Blue Moon"), Stevie Wonder ("What A Wonderful World") and Dolly Parton ("Baby, It's Cold Outside"). The album wins a Grammy Award in 2004, but it says nothing about Rod's artistic evolution, as he carries on in his guise as an ageing cocktail-bar crooner. The project continues the following year with Thanks For The Memory: The Great American Songbook, Volume IV, featuring Elton John and Diana Ross.

In October 2006 came Still the Same…Great Rock Classics Of Our Time, which continues along the covers path but marks a return to rock and pop genres after four consecutive albums of star-spangled traditional standards. From the opening country-pop version of "Have You Ever Seen The Rain?" it's clear that Rod The Mod is, this time, operating in his comfort zone - certainly not with the vocal punch of old, but at least with a mood that feels more like his own. Stewart genuinely feels this return to basics, from the ballad "I'll Stand By You" to the country-rock of "Day After Day". Even though there's still that whiff of karaoke record about it, Still The Same is a decent slice of entertainment, complete with a tear-jerking version of "Father And Son" and the downtempo guitar strumming of "Lay Down Sally".

After the release of yet another all-covers album, Stewart is inducted into the UK Music Hall of Fame, alongside Led Zeppelin and Brian Wilson. Now perched atop the Mount Olympus of global pop celebrity, Rod carries on undeterred in his glittering karaoke-man garb, releasing in 2009 Soulbook, an album devoted entirely to soul and to the legendary Motown label. From the funky version of "Wonderful World" to the duet featuring Stevie Wonder's harmonica on "My Cherie Amour", Soulbook is a record that follows the traditional Motor City sound rather slavishly, carried throughout by Stewart's melodic crooner voice, as on "You Make Me Feel Brand New" with Mary J. Blige.

The gigantic project of reviving American traditional pop continues in 2010 with Fly Me To The Moon… The Great American Songbook Volume V, which neither adds nor subtracts anything from the other four chapters of the series.

In March 2011, the Heart & Soul Tour kicks off in Fort Lauderdale, starring Stewart and Stevie Nicks across two legs running until August 2012 between Canada and the United States. The tour sells out major North American arenas, raking in seven-figure grosses. In summer 2011, Rod signs a two-year deal as resident artist at the Colosseum at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas, drawing millions of spectators with his greatest hits show.

By this point we're talking about a mainstream music behemoth, a Midas capable of turning everything he sings into gold-plated trinkets. In June 2012 he signs a record deal with Universal, releasing in October the Christmas standards album Merry Christmas Baby on its subsidiary label Verve. Produced by Grammy hit-machine David Foster, the album includes several chart-smashing duets (Michael Bublé, CeeLo Green, Mary J. Blige) and sells an outrageous 2.6 million copies, becoming the year's seventh best-selling album.

Time: A Return to Songwriting

After twenty dark years, writing my story gave me back that drive to write original music again.

In spring 2013 came the release of Time, which after more than ten years of covers and mainstream karaoke hits marked Rod Stewart's return to writing original songs. Produced with composer and keyboardist Kevin Savigar, the album only partly revives his career as a songwriter, not least because Stewart himself had to call on several co-writers credited on each track. While the folk ditty "Live The Life" and the Stones-like groove of "Finest Woman" seem to recapture the glories of his early days, other songs on Time work better as driving music, such as the radio-friendly pop-rock of "Can't Stop Me Now" and "Beautiful Morning". While yet another dip into the Tom Waits songbook strikes an emotional chord ("Picture In A Frame"), numbers like the Irish jig "Make Love To Me Tonight" or the soft-R&B "Sexual Religion" are hardly shining examples of originality.

In the end, though, a gem does emerge: "Time", a gutsy soul-rock ballad written with his new guitarist Emerson Swinford. Naturally, the album climbs the charts worldwide, becoming the seventh best-seller of the entire year in England. At least, this time, with original songs.

The commercial success of Time spurs Rod to continue working with his new producer Kevin Savigar. Two years later comes Another Country, which finds Stewart grappling with a mix of genres in an attempt to relaunch his songwriting streak. The opening is convincing, with the Celtic melody of "Love Is" and the Stones-style boogie-soul of "Please". Rod's voice also seems to have found the right edge again, but it's a shame the album subsequently slips into repetition and drifts toward sounds he's rarely if ever tackled, like the beach reggae of "Love And Be Loved".

The artistic partnership with Kevin Savigar produces one final album, Blood Red Roses, which sounds fairly identical to its predecessor: from the Celtic jig of the title track to the Irish-flavored version of "Rollin' & Tumblin'". The album knocks its way to the top of the UK charts, reaching number one for the first time in almost 50 years since Every Picture Tells A Story. After selling millions of copies across the globe, it's Rod The Mod's revenge on home turf.

Three years later comes The Tears Of Hercules (2021), graced by the moving "Touchline", the closing track dedicated to his father Robert, who passed away back in 1990. Produced in collaboration with Emerson Swinford and trusty Kevin Savigar (together they co-wrote most of the tracks, nine of the twelve being brand new), the album nonetheless allows for no gloomy pauses; on the contrary, the rhythms are as jovial and danceable as ever, set to lyrics dealing mostly with sex and relationships, always his favorite playing field, given that — needless to say — he's had hundreds of women. One of the many is "Gabriella", which recalls a wild night in the tropics with a nineteen-year-old girl, while the breezy, carefree "One More Time" deals with the bizarre relationship between a seasoned celtic-lover and his ex.

The figure of the wandering seducer also returns in the piano-driven title track "Tears Of Hercules", a reworking of a 2004 original by Canadian songwriters Marc Jordan and Stephan Moccio, but real love, after so much drifting from one bed to another, was finally given to him by his wife Penny, so the tender "I Can't Imagine" is entirely for her.

For the rest, the album swings rapidly from the red-light dance number "Kookooaramabama" (which combines the cyber-electro keyboards of Sigue Sigue Sputnik's "Love Missile" with the refrain of "I Want Your Sex") to the glam guitar riffs of "Born To Boogie", a tribute to an old drinking buddy (subtitled "A Tribute To Marc Bolan", the lyrics quote several major T-Rex songs over the riff of "Bang A Gong"). The voice is still the same scratchy, gritty one from his Jeff Beck Group and Faces days: setting aside a few easy clichés, the acoustic ballad "Hold On" and the doo-wop "Precious Memories" confirm that the man can still strike the right chords before settling into retirement, perhaps on the sun-drenched beaches of Mexico with an "All My Days" set to cha-cha and piña colada rhythms. Finally, there's room for two more covers, Johnny Cash's "These Are My People" and John Ellison's "Some Kind Of Wonderful".

In a recent interview, Rod Stewart debunked a charming urban legend according to which the secret behind his heartthrob mane lies in the use of mayonnaise — "otherwise you know what it smells like...": although the ingredients often come across as poorly blended and uneven, on the whole even this thirty-first album doesn't smell rotten at all — just watch the expiration date.

Contributions by Giuseppe D'Amato ("The Tears Of Hercules")

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