Written by Rich Rogers
“ROD: THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY.” Rod Stewart. 2012. Three Rivers Press. Trade Paperback. 364 pages. $16.
In October 1989, Rod Stewart released a four-CD set that was a history/retrospective of his career, titled “Storyteller.”It’s an apt title because, whether it be via song–he speaks of his songs as narratives–or the printed word, the man tells great stories.
He starts out, as proper, with his birth on Jan. 10, 1945, in the waning days of World War II, in London. Born to a Scot and a Brit, he was the fifth child; 10 years younger than his closest older sibling. The family joke eventually became, “Roddy was Dad’s slipup. But, as Dad’s slipups go, a fairly lucrative one.” (page 5)
As a young man he was an indifferent student, failing one important test that got him shipped off to the same school that produced Ray Davies of the Kinks (they weren’t contemporaries). He did well enough at sports to become captain of the school’s soccer and cricket teams.
Eventually, he found a home through a couple guitars, and the music of his older brother. The music is ironic in two ways: His brother has always been the better singer, and a terrifying moment in school where he had to sing in front of the entire class. Be that as it may, by his late teens he was busking on the streets, which led to him being discovered by Long John Bailey, and everything grew from there.
Along the way, he developed a taste for fashion, something he picked up from Bailey; “You sang about poverty, you may actually have actually been poor, but you never dressed like anything less than a million dollars: That was the deal.” (page 49) Fancy, fast cars — Lamborghinis and Rolls-Royces, to be specific — big, expensive houses, paintings, and furniture, and leggy blonde models.
All of which has been played out in the press over the years. But at least here, we get to hear his side of the story. And more.
He explains where his songs come from. “My lyrics often drew on experiences in my past. The experiences would frequently end up very altered . . . but personal experiences were often the basis of them. . . . it could feel raw exposing what I had written to people the first time. . . . I have more often than not had the studio cleared of everyone except the engineer–the producer at a push. It’s the only way I can get around the self-consciousness.” (page 125)
At the end of several chapters, he digresses on various subjects: His hair, cars, his love of model railroads, Rod Stewart look-a-likes, being an art collector, and several other subjects, probably the best one being on tips for being a parent. It’s gut-bustingly funny. The digressions are delightful, and work much better than what Clarence Clemons did in “Big Man,” with his grey-page Legends sections.
Stewart is a charmer, telling his own story–stupid infidelities included–with a warm, friendly voice, a huge dose of self-deprecation, and a sharp wit throughout;“The Rolling Stones, whom I had peered at curiously in smoky pub backgrounds and then supported at the London Palladium, had risen up and marched off in search of global domination.” (page 119). “It seems the stroppy, faux-Marxist teenager who posed with a copy of the ‘Daily Worker’ was a royalist in the end.” (page 362)
This is easily the best rock autobiography I’ve read, actually substituting my previous favorite, Pat Benatar’s “Between a Rock and a Hard Place.” Whenever Rod decides to finally hang up the microphone, he could start another career as an author.
