There are certain people whose intrinsic cultural worth is beyond measure. In Ireland we have Christy Moore, in America Willie Nelson. In the UK, whether they know it or not, they have David Hepworth. He may not make music himself, but the insight and passion he brings to other people’s is artistry itself.
His latest book – Hope I Get Old Before I Die, Why Rockstars Never Retire- is the latest in an illustrious group of books in which he makes sense of entire decades of music in a way that is never anything short of wildly entertaining and deeply informative.
I came to it nervously. Frankly his 2016 book – 1971 Never a Dull Moment: Rock’s Golden Year – was one of the best music books I have ever read. I quote from it frequently. I bore people about how FM radio, female singer-songwriters, and cassette players in cars changed everything.
My suspicions that he couldn’t possibly top that book were eased greatly by his Instagram posts. Hepworth has of late taken to posting little shortform videos in which he says a few words about a classic album. It’s a format much copied, but all others should just stop.
As . Hepworth reminisces he appears to be overtaken by a wave of genuine emotion, He comes to life recalling how bands had to make the last track on side one of a vinyl album a good one so that the listener was motivated to turn the record over. A requirement we’d otherwise forget ever existed.
He talks of one Jackson Browne album on which a couple are arguing and how the albums ends with a door slamming and a car driving away. But are they both in the car? Has love won out or is it over? Browne doesn’t tell you and Hepworth leaves it hanging in the air. It is delicious.
So, increasingly of the view that Hepworth is himself a treasure, I waded in and thank God I did. It is another gem, with anecdotes that will keep you smiling long into the coldest winter’s night. Music is full of wonder, but my word is it full of chancers too.
The broad-brush strokes are fascinating: Live Aid in 1985 was a watershed event in music in the same way the Premier League in 1992 was for football. Live Aid was a wholesome, family friendly event. People noticed that and wanted more.
Prior to that gigs, like football matches, had been frequently quite male occasions and had a reputation for violence. If you could make a safer, family friendly event as Live Aid had been, with food offerings and merchandise, it would be a game changer.
That game changer came via the Rolling Stones Steel Wheels in 1989. A Canadian promoter called Michael Cohl had had the idea of making an offer to the Stones that would cover not just the concert, but sponsorships, merchandising, Radio, TV, and film rights.
Famously he attended the meeting with a cheque in his pocket for twice what the existing promoter, Bill Graham, was offering. He also cheekily chose to wear a leather jacket with Def Leppard on the back of it.
When he entered the room, Mick looked at Keith, pointed at the jacket and said, “That’s the kind of stuff I’m talking about.” It became the then most successful rock tour in history. The Stones made more than they had made in their entire career to date.
It opened the door for bands like The Who, who said they would never tour again, to never stop touring again.
The anecdotes are fast and furious. Billy Joel being able to helicopter home from his 150 gigs at Madison Square Gardens and be on his lawn sipping a cold drink while the venue was still emptying; The Who’s John Entwistle, on his last night on earth, folding his trousers, taking out his hearing aid and getting into bed.
Hepworth identifies three ages in the Rock Star life cycle. The first is when you can do no wrong. The second, as the new kids on the block arrive, is when you can do no right. Martin Fry from ABC, doing gigs where he sings over a ghetto blaster exemplifies that.
But the third, if you can just hold on, is when your audience, kids grown and money to spare, want to validate their teenage music choices. They have money, they love you, they just want the old songs. Why would anyone stop?
