Blog Posts by Barney Hoskyns

Van Halen's David Lee Roth always did give great copy. This 1984 Mick Brown interview with the OTT frontman was conducted as the quintessential LA hard-rock virtuosos blossomed into the biggest band in America. It was published in the London Sunday Times——Barney Hoskyns, Editorial Director, Rock's Backpages

It is another perfect day in paradise, and David Lee Roth has decided to go for a drive down Hollywood Boulevard.

There is a certain style involved in this. Roth drives a pristine red and white 1951 Mercury, the size of the small bungalows one sees beside azure swimming pools in the more expensive Beverly Hills hotels. Every extrusion has been recessed into the body of the car, leaving its lines unbroken. Its chrome gleams in the warm midday sun. Its suspension has been lowered so that it hovers four inches above the ground, in the manner of the low riders to be found in the barrios of East Los Angeles. "Ethnic minorities love this car", he says.

Roth has dressed for the drive. He

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Former Move man Roy Wood was a Phil-Spector-influenced pop genius, and his band Wizzard's "I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day" proved it. Pipped to the UK No. 1 post in December 1973 by Slade's markedly inferior "Merry Xmas Everybody", Wood and chums relived the making of the track for Q's Johnny Black in January 1996——Barney Hoskyns, Editorial Director, Rock's Backpages

Mike Burney (sax): I'd been doing really boring big band gigs on the ballroom circuit, so when Roy offered me a job in Wizzard I was just knocked out. I used to say to him, "Roy, being in this band, it's like Christmas every day." And, as far as I know, Roy picked up on that as a song title.

Roy Wood (former Move man, head Wizzard): I decided to make a Christmas single because they'd been unfashionable for years. We thought it would be worth trying a real rock'n'roll Christmas song.

Steve Brown (tape op): Very little was achieved in daylight. In fact, he taught me to play guitar during the afternoons. But he

Richard Williams was a fly-on-the-wall Melody Maker journalist when John Lennon made one of the great Christmas records with producer Phil Spector in New York. Nearly 20 years later, he relived the experience in this wonderful piece——Barney Hoskyns, Editorial Director, Rock's Backpages

Up on the 17th floor of the St Regis Hotel in New York City, John Lennon is learning to type.

P...I...M...P, he types. I AM A PIMP.

"It's great," he says, "Yoko's teaching me." John is in his bedroom, surrounded by the detritus of creation: guitars, books, notepads, nylon-tipped pens, and... a box full of Elvis Presley singles.

"I asked someone to get all his old singles for me," he says, now down on his hands and knees, opening the box and spilling the bright red RCA labels over the floor.

The next 10 minutes are spent sorting them out. 'My Baby Left Me', 'Hound Dog', 'One Night' and the old Sun classics are in one pile, while crap like 'Bossa Nova Baby' and 'Are You Lonesome Tonight?' go on another.

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Striking a blow against the perennial ageism of pop culture, Steven R. Rosen polled the Rock's Backpages writers to determine the best albums of the year by music's senior citizens. Read on for the RBP Top 10 and for individual lists from 50 of our most respected contributors. (Some of them are under 50!)——Barney Hoskyns, Editorial Director, Rock's Backpages

In an effort to show the world — or at least its readers — that rock music continues, and often even improves, when its practitioners reach and pass 50, Rock's Backpages this year sponsors a poll of Best Albums by Older Musicians. In the case of groups or collaborations, an album counts if a significant member was 50 or older. Any kind of pop music was eligible, with an unstated understanding that at this point rock's influence can be felt in virtually all other musical styles.

The prompt was that — though there are exceptions — our consumerist culture (especially commercial radio) sells and celebrates new work by younger artists

Howard Tate's 1972 album on Atlantic

The great soul singer Howard Tate has died at age 72. After decades in obscurity, Howard Tate Rediscovered (2003) reunited him with songwriter/producer/arranger Jerry Ragovoy, and we feature the full unedited version of Andy Schwartz's liner notes for that album——Barney Hoskyns, Editorial Director, Rock's Backpages

On the night of July 21, 2001, in a subterranean Manhattan nightclub called the Village Underground, a packed house buzzed with anticipation. As the lights went down and the Uptown Horns band kicked off the first song of the set, a short, stout, nattily dressed man stepped to the microphone. And with the first notes of that first song, Howard Tate reclaimed his rightful place in American music.

We looked at Howard and Howard looked at us, and it was hard to say who was the more shocked and surprised to see the other. Just a few short years before, neither would have guessed that this moment would ever come to pass. But he who once was lost, now was found. And we, who once

Sumlin (left) with the Wolf Man

We commemorate the passing of Hubert Sumlin —Howlin' Wolf's guitarist for nearly 20 years and an immeasurable influence on everyone from Eric Clapton to Robbie Robertson — by reprising Jim Esposito's fly-on-the-wall gem from the Gainesville Sun, originally published on 8 September 1974——Barney Hoskyns, Editorial Director, Rock's Backpages

It's 9.05pm, and backstage at the Howlin' Wolf concert people are getting restless. The eight o'clock show hasn't started yet. In a crowded little room in the bowels of Gainesville's Great Southern Music Hall, several ranking members of Sisa Productions, who are promoting the concert, are huddled in conference.

"We gotta start the show."

"The Wolf ain't even here yet."

"He oughta be here any minute."

The group shoves Randy Preisner, decked out nattily in black tie and lace shirt, on to the stage with strict orders not to return until he introduces Leroy Prophet, the opening act. Randy advances to the microphone with the swaggering stage presence of

cafb_1Rob Steen and I share the conviction that Rickie Lee Jones' 1981 sophomore album Pirates is one of the greatest records ever made; her debut wasn't too shabby either. Rob watched Jones perform both of them last week in London, then penned this impassioned encomium——Barney Hoskyns, Editorial Director, Rock's Backpages

First, a health warning: if you are prone to cringe, foam or rage at reviews that put emotion first and last, and make no attempt whatsoever at objective appraisal, look away now.

Allmans at Knebworth and Todd in Victoria/Joni and Paulie and Townshend at Wembley/Bruce at the NEC, Beach Boys in ol' DC/These are a few of my favourite things./Laura in Islington, Stipey at Dingwalls/Man at the Roundhouse, Squeeze at the Rainbow/Earl's Court hosting the divine Bobby Z/They're a few more of my favourite things...

There ain't 'arf been some lucky bastards, as Ian Dury almost put it, and I'm the first to confess I've been a luckier bastard than most. With the exception of Miles

2dubltsIn which Keef holds up the price of Smirnoff shares, little Marlon holds up his Dad, Anita Pallenberg holds up the interview, and CHRIS WELCH holds his own. From the pages of Melody Maker, published in January 1979—Barney Hoskyns, Editorial Director, Rock's Backpages

UP AT THE RITZ Hotel in Piccadilly, the air of 19th century opulence and grandeur extends to the elevators, which are panelled in polished wood. On the surface of the lift that carried me to the fourth floor, someone had scratched "Rolling MOSS!"

It was a petty piece of vandalism which hinted at the dark conspiracies that still seem to surround the Rolling Stones. Who, on this freezing January night, would know that one of the last folk heroes of rock'n'roll was in residence? Who would inscribe strange messages for him — friend or foe?

Outside the double doors of Keith's suite, one could hear the familiar sound of a rock band in occupation of expensive territory: phones ringing, a tape machine relaying insidious reggae,