Britt Ekland (just out of shot)
Poring over The Times yesterday, I found The Rodfather adorning the front cover of their glossy Saturday magazine; not looking too dissimilar from the above Radio Times shoot, I guess both snaps must have been taken at the height of his mid 70s pomp; i.e. when Rod looked every inch the sultry babe magnet who'd found himself a rock and roll band.
Despite not being musically relevant for sometime, his 1993 Unplugged set was a masterclass in how to deliver a back catalogue; a feather cut swan song, if you will. The wilderness years were only escaped by his foray into the classic American crooner songbook - an insult to any self respecting Faces fan and can only be seen for the money grubbing exercise his accountant no doubt told him it would be. I'm guessing that Rod, in his newly published memoirs, probably doesn't see it that way; leggy leggy blondes and train sets will probably feature more heavily than Steampacket or those early John Peel sessions.
But I'm not bitter. We'll always have Python Lee Jackson: