Rossi’s lifetime of rock ‘n’ roll songs and stories
“If you’ve got no purpose, the drive in me really gets frustrated,” Rossi says. “I start to worry about living longer than I thought. I’ve got to get to 80, which is just down the road – about three and a bit years. That’s a f***ing worry.”
“You won’t forget this interview, will you?” Francis Rossi says ten minutes in, interrupting his own voluntary musings on the afterlife. Writing up that interview is an exercise is paring back the Status Quo frontman, who plays Leisureland in Salthill on Tuesday, April 14.
Over half an hour, he meanders through religion, AI, relativity, aging, drugs, sex and Quo, stopping only when interrupted by an energetic white terrier.
Now 76, Rossi is six decades on from founding Quo. He is the last surviving original member and has likely played his final show under the band’s enduring name.
Thankfully, a more intimate setup remains; in recent years, Rossi has been operating as a raconteur between songs in a series of one-man shows.
“I want to make people laugh. It’s a good feeling, you know,” he says. “I do enjoy telling the stories and just waffling on really. I tend to overrun a little. In the other gigs, you can be fined for overrunning which is kind of weird. In this one, they’re only too glad that you overrun.
I want to make people laugh. It’s a good feeling, you know
“I did say in 2022 or ’23, damn I wish I’d done this earlier. But I’m a firm believer that we do get to where we’re supposed to be.”
The format was inspired by Rossi’s 2019 autobiography, I Talk Too Much. It has reinvigorated him as a performer, throwing him into smaller capacity venues and though the music is acoustic now, he says it retains a “certain raunchiness”.
“Dare I say myself, I’m really quite good,” Rossi says. “I get very enthused about it and very excited about it. Although it’s acoustic, there is a certain raunchiness to it.”
Galway is one stop on a mini-tour around Ireland for Rossi in April, with visits to Dublin, Waterford, Limerick and Kerry all planned. It is some familiar ground for him, having previously spent time living in the country.
“I lived in County Clare for a while, in Dromoland Castle. I remember walking around there and feeling, for once, it was very good, because there was nothing. No sight of any buildings but the castle.
“Without getting godly or spiritual, it is basically down to yourself and everything else. We’ve built all these structures to live in and harbour ourselves. That was very good for me.”
It can feel as though a conversation with Rossi works as a rehearsal for these gigs. He asks himself if he regrets anything, and admits that yes, of course he regrets “lots of things”. Drink and drugs come quickly to mind, but he is forever philosophical.
“I believe, if there is a god, fine I can go with that – I was brought up a Catholic,” he says. “But if there is, we’re all fine or we’re all not. There’s no sort of ‘you’ve been good or you’ve been bad’. We’re all fine or we aren’t. In the overall spiritual thing, we are all probably on a path, unless this is all happenstance.”
Over the years, Rossi has spoken about his endless quest for satisfaction. Having achieved so much, and spent so long chasing more, there is still no let up.
“It’s gotten worse, not better but I’ve come to terms with it in some respects,” he explains. “I’ve been used to it for at least 20 years.”
His annual schedule in recent times has meant wrapping up in November to come home for a period of vegetation.
Jigsaw puzzles and crosswords accompany naps in front of the television, but even this more relatable notion of mid-70s living can make way for songwriting, recording, interviews and more.
“If you’ve got no purpose, the drive in me really gets frustrated,” Rossi says. “I start to worry about living longer than I thought. I’ve got to get to 80, which is just down the road – about three and a bit years. That’s a f***ing worry.”