Rod Stewart: Time


THERE has been an awful lot said and written about Time.
After making a living for the last 10 years with albums of cover versions under the Great American Songbook banner (think Michael Bublé with added gravitas) and wasting the previous decade recording long players nobody but the most devoted Rodophile would ever want to listen to twice, Time is the return of the real Rod, we have been told.
He is said to have rediscovered his songwriting muse while writing last year’s bestselling autobiography, and found himself writing songs in the middle of the night for the first time ever.
This is without question a Good Thing. It is little short of a crime that an entire generation has grown up thinking of Stewart as some kind of cabaret embarrassment, apparently unaware of the man’s stellar 1970s output. The multiple mentions of classic albums like Every Picture Tells a Story, Gasoline Alley and An Old Raincoat Won’t Ever Let You Down in reviews and interviews to promote Time have put paid to that.
Time is not in quite the same league as any of those, but it is a cause for celebration.
The sound of one of Britain’s great white soul voices rediscovering its joie de vivre is apparent on the opener She Makes Me Happy, while the likes of single It’s Over and stand-out Brighton Beach show he can still sing songs of heartbreak better than most.


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