Rocker not afraid to tell it straight: Status Quo’s Francis Rossi talks ahead of Birmingham, Brierley Hill and Shrewsbury Shows

So Olly Murs is one-dimensional but nice – straight in with 57/100 – Ore Oduba is very pleasant but far too serious (54/100), All Saints are too busy to engage properly and won’t talk about controversial stuff (27/100) while Paloma Faith is seemingly from another planet (45/100).

Conversely, Peter Hook, from New Order, tells it like it is and leaves us scratching our head and worrying about libel laws (91/100), Alice Cooper is the nicest man this side of Mr Nice offering plenty of engaged chat and insight into a crazy life (86/100), the late Paul Daniels was bonkers and utterly charming (92/100) while James Martin is remarkably down to earth for a multi-millionaire cook who’s got luvvies floating around to cater for his every whim (82/100).

And then there’s Francis Rossi. Boom. The man famous for leading Status Quo for 51 remarkable years is a 24-carat gold interviewee. Honest, funny, engaging and happy for interviews to run over until they’re finished – rather than until the press officer intervenes and calls it a wrap – he’s the best of the best of the best.

Rossi has a habit of answering his phone as though he’s an old lady, making the interviewer think they’ve called the wrong number. He’s genuinely funny – an interview with Rossi is like spending time with a stand-up comic, a psychiatrist, an impersonator and a rock’n’roll star who’s walked the walk as well as talked the talk. He’s a mine of information, he knows more than he’s allowed to say and he’s one of the most amusing and entertaining raconteurs in showbusiness.

Lucky us, therefore, that Rossi’s taking his ribald chat on the road. He’ll be stepping out with award-winning rock writer and broadcaster Mick Wall for An Evening With this spring. It’s the first time Rossi has left the comfort of his Status Quo bandmates to sit on stage and chat. And though he’ll have an acoustic guitar with him, to strum along at various points of the proceedings, the evenings will ostensibly be about his 50+ years in rock’n’roll.

He’ll be meeting fans after the shows too – locally, he plays a sold-out gig at Shrewsbury’s Theatre Severn on March 29, Birmingham Town Hall on March 30 and Brierley Hill Civic Hall on April 6 – to sign copies of his new autobiography, I Talk Too Much. The book is an explosive read that lifts the lid on his relationship with his late bandmate Rick Parfitt, recalls the highs of opening Live Aid and examines an extraordinary life of sex’n’drugs’n’rock’n’roll.

Rossi is looking forward to the gigs. For a man who’s shifted 100 million records, he’s remarkably enthusiastic, keen to get to the next show, write the next hit and keep on making fans smile. He’s amazed that he’s still here.

“Everybody in the sixties and seventies was told that it wouldn’t last. Although we liked to protest that it might, there’s something about you when you’re younger – and I’m talking about the mid 1970s when I was 26 – we thought we’d be old at 30.

“If there’s a regret, it would only be that we didn’t do as well in the USA. But that’s largely because we decided to focus on staying at home and building it there rather than burning all our money by chasing glory in the States. At the time it seemed a sensible, wise move.”

Rossi is unlike most rock stars in that he doesn’t deal only in the glory. He’s as averse to PR-speak, to staying on-message as a vegan is to a decent steak. Rossi tells it like it is. He’s a warts and all kinda guy, someone who doesn’t pull his punches and can’t be doing with the normal bull that rock’n’rollers trot out.

“As with anyone that’s successful in business, for some reason people only notice the successes – never the failures. One of the things I remember after Bryan Adams had his huge hit was that he had five singles out after that that failed. But nobody talks about that. Nobody remembers what he’d have been going through when he tried to replicate it.

“It’s been the same for us. And as well as doing okay from time to time, you have to learn to deal with failure. We were unfashionable and we had failing albums and tours. Then we were coming back again.”

Things have changed. Back then, bands took the high road, slogged their guts out on the toilet circuit, sold a few albums, got given another chance and built things to last. Today, it’s wham, bam, thank you mam. Kids who are barely out of college are catapulted to the limelight by such shows as X Factor, only to realise they’re not cut out for fame as they spiral into depression, drugs, despair and a life of ‘remember when’.

“We’re into the ‘darling’ generation of X Factor – you’re so good darling – but they don’t realise that most of the time in showbusiness and acting the word you are most likely to hear is ‘no’. Can I have a deal? No. Will you pay for the records? No. They only see the yes. That’s where the old school acts are strong because we played the bar mitzvahs or weddings or any other gig we could get.

“I remember walking home one night when the Stones were on and weren’t selling too well. They were at a rubbish festival in Forest Hill. Everyone always assumes they’ve always done well – not a bit of it.”

One of the qualities – or, traits – that has kept Rossi at the top for so many years is that he’s unashamedly obsessed with his band. And while he recognises that’s not necessarily a good thing, it’s a condition that’s enabled him to stay at the top through six decades.

“I’m totally obsessed. All I’ve been able to see since I was 12 or 13, is this. I’m obsessed with it. It never gets put down, to a failing. I know the rest of the guys don’t look at it the same way, in this band and in the old band.

“A lot of people just want to do the nice bit. But I can’t put this down. I’m always thinking about where I’m going next, what I’ll do, what the set will be next year. I’m always trying to get a happy medium to keep the punters happy, which is impossible. The hardcore want the old old stuff that most don’t know, the general audience wants the stuff we’ve done for years and some of the others want to hear new ones. The band, sometimes when we’re doing the new stuff, can’t understand why the fans don’t love it as much as us. It’s a game that’s impossible to win – maybe that’s why I love it.”

Rossi has led a truly remarkable life. He put more than a million pounds worth of drugs up his nose, fought with the demon drink, had a number of relationships that fell apart under the weight of it all but, remarkably, came out on top. He’s a true survivor, an artist who’s written a bunch of songs that connect with millions. And that’s given him everything he always wanted – except for satisfaction.

“When we were 25-30, we’d have done anything to think we’d last to 30, 40, 50 or be the guy who is still doing a record. It’s all I ever wanted and I got it. I was in the studio the other day with the engineer and that’s what I love most of all. Then I finished at 4-5pm and went to work out with me trainer. After that, I went to eat. I’ve got a nice house and a beautiful family. I’ve got everything I ever wanted. But is it enough? No. Of course not. There are still things I want to do. The drive is still there to keep Quo going, to do a better show, to do more with the house. I still want the adulation, I love the solo, I love the band, I love that book and I love doing the talk. What is wrong with me?”

Rossi’s happiest moment of the day is when he gets up early, sits in his chair with two cups of coffee and puts his dog on his lap. After that, the madness starts. He no longer parties the way he once did, with the exception of one cigarette a day, he’s completely cleaned up his act. He plays his guitar every day, enjoys playing patience on his computer and relishes a hot water bottle when he goes to bed.

“The reason I love gigs so much is that after a gig, you feel you’ve reached this culmination. You feel as though you’ve done it. And then your mind stops doing that race because you feel as though you’ve finished something. Most people want to win the lottery and sit around and do nothing. I don’t want that. I need structure, I need to be hungry, I need to want this. But when I do get home after I’ve been on the road, let me tell you, it’s magic.

“We had a housekeeper who’d be here in the day and I’d go to this place upstairs on the landing and sit in my chair. I’d be so tired I’d just drift off. The housekeeper would start hovering around me and I wouldn’t have a clue. I’d just be gone.” Rossi’s gigs in Shrewsbury, Birmingham and Brierley Hill will touch all the big stuff; his life with Rick, opening the biggest gig of all time when his band played Live Aid, at Wembley Stadium; becoming almost as big as The Beatles and much, much more. He’ll talk about the hits and the highlights, the shakedowns and breakdowns. It will be funny and honest, truthful and rambunctious. And it will painfully avoid the sort of back-slapping that some of these evenings become.

Rossi is clear on that point. “We tend to think people are lovely because we like them and see them on TV, don’t we. Well, no, that’s not the truth. In most cases, it’s more truthful to say he’s really fantastic at writing songs or acting, but fundamentally, he’s an a***. PR machines make everyone look like they’re wonderful. But that’s not always the case. Then again, Jeff Lynne, from ELO, was one of the closest I ever got to having a hero. And I bumped into him a few times over the years and he’s just a regular human guy, a really sweet man.”

All of this, and more, will be discussed when Rossi takes the big seat and delivers honesty and wisdom, funny stories and revelations. “The talking tour will be different. I want to say stuff.

“I want to impart a bit of knowledge. It’s stuff people may be interested in. If I’m funny at all, it just happens. I can’t compete with a comedian, can’t do it. It’ll probably be a little non-PC and a little bit risqué. Who knows what’ll happen? I think I’ll have to fall over once or twice to find out.”