The next name causes another surprised arching of my overworked eyebrows. PAUL McCARTNEY it says, clear as day. The case of this Liverpudlian Croesus had, I thought, long been closed.
According to the NME Ministry of Rock'n'Roll Truth, and it's quite specific, John Lennon was the genius in The Beatles, wrote all the decent songs, and died a legend, the legend. Macca, we all know, is an astute businessman, proud owner of several small republics and a lifelong pedlar of sugar-coated nursery rhymes.
Defend yourself McAloon or, better still, defend old Mr Thumbs Up.
"I'll try. I like the man's innocence. Of all The Beatles he was the most innocent. After the split he formed a group with his girlfriend, for God's sake ! It was exactly what he'd donde with The Beatles - started a group with his mates !"
It's worth mentioning at this juncture that Wendy Smith, Paddy's girlfriend, is an integral part of Prefab Sprout, contributing, live at least, backing vocals and inexpert tambourine. Just thought I'd mention it. (Feel free - Ed) Back to Mac on Mac.
"You may say that he should still be aiming to fulfill the desires of 20 year olds but I wonder what us 'young lions' will be like when we're 40 ... "
That's hardly the point. He hasn't made a good record in over a decade.
A long, rather strained silence is torn by a whisper.
"But I still feel this enormous loyalty ... "
Blind, misplaced loyalty.
"Yeah, but along with Dylan, he and his mate, Johnny Boy drew the blueprint for that we all do, they invented it. I know respect's not very hip in pop but ... well, I do feel a lot of respect."
He's whispering again. Quietly, we move on ... 

JIM WEBB - ESPECIALLY ISAAC HAYES'VERSION OF 'BY THE THIME I GET TO PHOENIX'
Now this is more like it. At the height of his powers, Webb was the best paid songwriter on history. His songs lent themselves to treatments that regarded the kitchen sink as the basic ingredient, and Hayes'reptilian schlepp through 'Phoenix' is a performance of the most flaulently grotesque self-importance imaginable.
It's an affront to civilised taste and, of course, a hell of a record.
What attracts you to a man like Webb, perceived in many quarters as a creator of cheap cornball psychodramas ?
"There's a touch of pathos about him, of sadness certainly. He had all those masive hits ('MacArthur Park', 'Wichita Lineman', 'Galveston' and 'Phoenix') before he was 21. But then, he saw people like James Taylor and somehow his own simple, brilliant talent wasn't enough for him.
"So this fabolous writer, adored from Burt Bacharach to Bing Crosby, goes touring with a four-piece rock band in search of some mysterious solo status. I find it incomprehensible in a man of his scope but he actually hankered after spurious singer / songwriter success.
"He sacrificed his talent in his desperation to be hip. Unbelievable and tragic."

Another silence clangs into place like a cell door. My eyes move down The List, from Webb to another American basket-case.
STEPHEM SONDHEIM is a former teenage genius, a current grade one nutty boy, and the recurring bete noir of the American musical.
Best known here for 'Send In The Clowns' and box-office-safe complilations shows of his songs like 'Side By Side By Sondheim', his work is wilfully intelectual and uncompromisingly intelligent. But more than once it has committed the mortal commercial sin of failing to generate the greenies.
Sondheim's another un-rock'n'roll choice.
"Yeah, but like everybody else I've mentioned he's fundamentally enjoyable. All the philosophising, intellectualising and pretension comes after; these people are fun.
"I first noticed him on TV, being interviewed by another clever dick, Andre Previn. Previn introduced him as 'the greatest writer of the 20th century', fact! Sondheim didn't bat an eyelid.
"Look, his mother was a close friend of Hammerstein, and he spent his youth with Hammerstein and Richard Rodgers. He's got fantastically strong roots and if he'd chosen to go off in an American, sentimental Oklahoma direction he could've been excused. But he didn't ...
"The big deal is this. What he's best at, and what interests him, is ambiguity. Ambiguity in relationships, in places, in people ... oh hell, it's hard to explain ... people should just hear 'Sorry/Grateful'from 'Company' ... I intend to cover it."

On and on. The List bears the legend MARVIN GAYE IN GENERAL and that at least gives my flagging eyebrows a rest. We've already talked about the power of soul music to communicate without recourse to conventional, poetic language, to cut straight to the heart through the agony or joy or passion or sorrow implied in the flicker of an extraordinary voice.
Marvin Gaye was definitively possessed of one such voice but, in combination of gifts seldom stuffed into one body, one psyche, he could write brilliant songs too.
Gaye was a maverick (given the endless turnoil of his life, I suppose he could hardly have been otherwise) but, when his alchemy clicked ('What´s going on', 'Let's get it on' and 'Midnight Love') he made fabolous records, the best.
"I got into him after his death really. I find him inmensely enviable in that he did everything in an un-selfconscious way. He created Art without making it seem obvious that he was doing it. An astonishing trick really ..."

The bottom line, the last words, look suspiciously like an afterthought, a concession to rock, to noise. THE CLASH it says, a band who touch the fragile universe of the Sprouts nowhere as far I can see.
The Clash ?
"Y'see ? Not everything I like is necessarily classic or melodic. I like The Rolling Stones (when they're good), I love Led Zeppelin, and I like The Clash singles. I bought their first LP but wasn't particularly interested. However, a song like 'The Call Up' is gorgeous, especially that line about 'wheatfields over Kiev'. Those words, and that half-hearted voice ... oooh ..."
"There's a lightness of touch there, and they're good songs. The Clash prove that good songs need not be quiet."

There are no women writers on this list.
The bluntness of Paddy McAloon's response to this innocent and obvious observation shocks me.
"I don't rate women writers. There are no good ones."
Stunned hack's brain stumbles into action. Play for time.
Why not ?
"I don't really know ... there's great women singers."
The mist is clearing. Hit him with a biggie.
Joni Mitchell ?
A frown. "I quite like a little of "The hissing of Summer Lawns" but I dislike all that sort autobiographical tone that hangs 'round her."
Carole King ?
"Oh yeah, sorry, right. That's a big injustice. I'm sorry, she's a great pop writer."
His previous certainty is crumbling. Chuck in another tune.
Chrissie Hynde.
"Yeah, right, great singles. God yes, 'Talk of the Town' and 'Back On the Chain gang' are really fine. Unfortunately Joni Mitchell was the model for 'women in rock'. I'd much rather see more Chryssie Hyndes than Mitchells; more terse, concise things."
Point made, Danny, no need to wallop him round the head with Ellie Greenwich or Patti Smith or ... "

Another glaring thing. With the possible exception of 'What's going on', none of your faves have much political content, there's a conspicuos absence of that pop staple, polemic.
You'd think I'd put a long-dead fish under his nose.
"It drives me crackers."
Oh come on, how can you deny, say, 'Shipbuilding'.
"Oh hell, I've tried to prepare myself for this line of questioning before ... I'm not afraid of making statements."
So who's driving you crackers then ? Paul Weller ?
Not specifically him but, yes, that sort of writing. Those sentiments, often admirable, could be put in an article, or a broadsheet."
But nobody reads broadsheets, whereas millions listen to The Style Council.
"I'm desperate not to be seen to be fudging issues; obviously some things are right and some things are wrong. But not everything's black and white, as so many records suggest.
"Those slogans songs are dangerous. Pop music like that reinforces in 17 and 18 years olds a way of thinking that's wrong, a black and white, blinkered way. I worry about that, and the fact that you can take the money and run. I'm not apolitical but I'm cynical about the whole politics-in-pop-music thing.
"That's why I appreciate the Geldof approach more that of The Redskins. Geldof deals with world as it is. I could've killed Jonathan King when he wrote that 'meritricious Bowie' stuff. Pop music for once tries to do something good - and, of course there's massive personal publicity to he had - and out crawl the old cynics ..."
He's away now, warming to his task, a picture of mental animation. A lot of the thinking he does about politics is obviously as clear as that which he does about songwriting. He needs telling but time is tight.
Having got his none-too-enamoured opinions of the fiendishly pervasive Lloyd Webber and our beloved RedSkins, I'm thisting to hear his thoughts on the writings of the wordsmiths (Morrissey and Mark E), Prince Michael of Wham!, Barry Manilow, The Boss, Fish, Paul Simon, The Bard of Barking, Scott Walker, Curtis Mayfield, Foetus ...
But even as I shape to mouth the questions, the door swings open and a faceless, panicky vouice mutters something about vans and amplifiers.
Paddy McAloon, lover of records, lover of songs, songwriter, has to go. Assorted penpushers with big reputations and heads to match breathe a collective sigh of relief.
But there'll be a next time ...

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