‘I was a self-centred, entitled little horror … arguably I still am’: cult psych rocker Robyn Hitchcock talks to Stewart Lee

Robyn Hitchcock: The Eternal Disruptor Finds Home in Nashville

I was a self centred entitled - At seventy-three years of age, Robyn Hitchcock continues to prove that he remains one of England's most enduring musical figures. His newest record, The Confuser, arrives as a testament to both his longevity and his evolving artistic journey. The opening track, "I Am This Thing," launches with an energetic powerpop quality that recalls the Beatles' finest moments. Hitchcock describes this initial song as a propulsive piece that sets the tone for the entire collection.

A Nashville Transformation

The album emerged from the creative energy of Nashville, where Hitchcock has established himself far beyond the realm of a wandering English dilettante. Working alongside a select group of session musicians in the city, he has crafted something authentic to his new surroundings. "Making it work in Nashville means I actually am a real musician songwriter in the real musician songwriter town," he explains with characteristic conviction. "And I think, 'OK, I actually did do this!'"

His connection to this American city stretches back decades. As a thirteen-year-old boarding school student, he first encountered Bob Dylan's Nashville recordings and felt an immediate pull toward the city. Sixty years later, that youthful dream has materialized. He now resides there with Emma Swift, his Australian singer-songwriter wife, and operates a boutique record label alongside her.

The Dead Man's Cock

The album's opening line—"I owe a lot to a dead man's cock"—invites multiple interpretations. The deceased figure is almost certainly Hitchcock's father, Raymond Hitchcock, a bohemian artist and satirical novelist. The "cock" could refer to Raymond himself, who co-created Robyn, or it might point to Percy, the titular hero of one of Raymond's novels. That novel was later adapted into a film featuring Hywel Bennett, with music provided by the Kinks.

During our conversation, a framed poster for the Italian dub of that film hangs prominently behind Hitchcock. "Yes," he confirms in his distinctive compressed voice, "the Italian version was called Il Complesso del Trapianto, The Complications of Transplants. And the poster shows Hywel Bennett looking down at an extremely high mound under his sheet in the presence of a scantily clad nurse."

Building on a Foundation

To Hitchcock's left sits another framed print—a rainbow-tinted silhouette of Bob Dylan dissolving into Duchampian shadows, created by Milton Glaser. These two images, positioned perfectly beside each other, encapsulate the influences that shaped his musical identity. His 2024 memoir, 1967, chronicles how the young Hitchcock absorbed essential musical tools within a single year. Drawing inspiration from Brian Eno, a slightly older beatnik figure, he absorbed the work of Syd Barrett, the Incredible String Band, the Beatles, and Dylan.

"Although my prime influence was Bob Dylan," Hitchcock reflects, "and Dylan showed me what I wanted to be, Syd Barrett showed me how I could be it. And I actually wound up sounding like John Lennon. To me, the Beatles are at the beginning and the end of everything."

He views his role not as an innovator but as a preserver of tradition. "My role has always just been to carry on a certain kind of music, which appeared in 66 and 67. My influences are all those old dead English blokes, basically."

The Last High-Functioning Bloke

When I suggest that he represents the last old dead English bloke who isn't actually deceased, Hitchcock laughs. "Well, I'm the last high-functioning one," he agrees. "I mean, there's Julian Cope and Andy Partridge of XTC, but they're out of commission for playing live. But you can go and see me."

He acknowledges that while he didn't invent his musical field, he has perpetuated it. "I wanted to maintain a tradition and do new work in that tradition. But the guys I worship were innovators. I'm the opposite. I'm sweeping up after them. It's like, 'Oh God, here comes Hitchcock with the broom.'"

Despite this self-deprecating humor, The Confuser reveals an artist still reaching for new territory. The Nashville musicians contribute a walking bass and cowbell groove to "My Dead Astronaut," while Kimberley Rew, his 1970s collaborator, adds luminous guitar work to "Breathless." "Building from the Ruins" delivers white funk energy, and "Monday for Me" offers a waltz-time meditation on the working week.

Hitchcock's peculiar vision once seemed awkwardly positioned for his punk-era debut with the Soft Boys, Cambridge's raucous band. Yet that same combination of pop classicism and intellectual ostentation has defined his career. Now, in his sixth decade of songwriting, he remains very much alive—both as an artist and as a living bridge to the musical era he helped preserve.