Speaking from his West London home in early March, Nick Lowe proffers that he’s “selecting what I’m going to wear on the tour,” cheekily adding, “I sort of forget how to tour. I turn into the bloke who just knows how to empty the washing machine and drive to the shops. Not the beloved entertainer. I find,” he furthers, “if you start off by dressing up as the ‘beloved entertainer,’ it helps to bring it on.”
Lowe’s dapper sartorial choices are but one of the many qualities that make him so revered. In addition to his seemingly endless bonhomie are spirited, clever and often urgent songs including “(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love, and Understanding” (a 1979 hit for Elvis Costello); Lowe’s biggest hit single, “Cruel to Be Kind”; along with gems like “I Knew The Bride (When She Used To Rock ‘N’ Roll),” not to mention one beloved 1980 album with Dave Edmunds and their band Rockpile. Production work with Stiff Records includes the Damned’s debut LP, Costello and the Pretenders.
Lowe, who turned 78 this week, has made 15 solo records, most recently 2024’s “Indoor Safari,” tracked with his longtime band Los Straitjackets. They played select dates in the States in 2025, while his first time stateside was a tour with Costello and Mink Deville, which landed at the Santa Monica Civic on May 30, 1978. Lowe recalls being mugged — twice — upon his first visit to L.A., in 1975, but holds no ill will toward the city. In fact, “many drinks were bought for me on the strength of that story ever since. No harm done at all!”
What are your memories of the first time you came to Los Angeles?
Nick Lowe: It was such a different time. I’m rather thrilled that you want to speak to me from the L.A. Times, because once, being a British entertainer going to Los Angeles was quite a big deal. The first time I came, I wasn’t actually performing. I came with a group called Dr. Feelgood. Their tour manager Jake Riviera was my manager, who went on to form Stiff Records.
My first memory was on the drive from the airport we see all those nodding donkey wells [the Baldwin Hills oil derricks visible from La Cienega]. We thought ‘this is absolutely unbelievable,’ and also that we were staying at the famous Hyatt House, “Riot House,” as it was known.
The first thing I noticed was a British group who weren’t known for being very beautiful, very handsome, and their roadies were definitely not. They were a step down even from the band. But we saw the roadies in the lobby of the hotel, surrounded by four or five of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in my life. What they were doing with these oafs, I do not know, but it was astonishing. The only thing that was more astonishing was that we went into the coffee shop of the Hyatt House, and sitting having a coffee at the bar — let me remember his name — a genuine film star… Lorne? In that thing about the cowboys with Hoss….
Not ‘Big Valley,’ not ‘Gunsmoke’….
One word, like was the name of their ranch, I think it began with B…”Bonanza”!
Ah, Lorne Greene.
The tops of our heads almost came off. The memories come flooding back. It was 1975.
The singer-songwriter almost rejected his 1979 hit “Cruel to Be Kind” hit until Columbia’s A&R man Gregg Geller persistently convinced him to record it.
(Bobby Fisher)
Of course, the Hyatt [now the Andaz West Hollywood] is closely associated with Led Zeppelin. I recently rewatched Robert Plant sing with Rockpile at the Concerts for the People of Kampuchea in 1979. I’m wondering if you were a Zeppelin fan.
Robert Plant’s solo career is a little more to my taste. I never quite bought into Led Zeppelin. I love the group that Led Zeppelin were modeled on, the Jeff Beck Group with Rod Stewart singing with them. I love them. I saw them lots of times, but yeah, [Zeppelin] was all a little bit thumpy for me.
When I watched the “Cruel to be Kind” video on YouTube, which was partially shot at another iconic L.A. hotel, the Tropicana, it had 10 million views. I shouldn’t be surprised, but, wow!
That certainly surprises me.
The viewer comments were so beautiful, people talking about being in love for the first time, and the connection they have with the song, and the nostalgia.
That is fantastic, my goodness. It really is great little record. I wish I’d been more sort of … what can I say? When I signed to Columbia, Mr. Gregg Geller, who was the A&R man there, a great guy who I’m still friends with to this day, he signed me and Elvis Costello. Elvis was the big guy at the time, and I sort of came along as an addendum, because I was producing him and I had a few songs. When I signed to Columbia, I handed over everything I had, all my demos. And Mr. Geller listened to this song, which we hadn’t we had recorded properly. And he said, “I really think you should do this song ‘Cruel to be Kind.’”
I said, “Gregg, thanks, but I’m not into that stuff anymore.” I think I probably was talking about the song about the movie star who was eaten by her dog [“Marie Prevost”]. He is a lovely man, like a college professor, and every time I spoke to him, he’d just gently say, “Have you got around to recording this?”
I said, “No, no, no, no, no, but listen to this one.” He just put the pressure on me and eventually I realized he wasn’t going to give up. I went to the other guys in Rockpile one day, because we seemed make records all the time back then, and said, “Look, boys, I’m really sorry. We’ve got to do this song. Geller has spoken, and he really, really wants it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” And we did it, and I rather hurried it along. But he was convinced it was going to be a hit. So what do I know? He was right, and I was totally wrong. But when I hear it, I can remember, I did the vocal a couple of times, and was, “Will that do? Yeah, that’ll do” sort of thing. But for some reason [chuckles], whenever it comes on the radio, something about the sound of it is extremely timeless. Timeless is the only word, and of course, a lot of that is down to my old… what’s the word? Co-worker?
Colleague?
Yes, thank you, my colleague Dave Edmunds. He, thank goodness, didn’t have the same attitude as I did. He really worked… it’s fantastic.
When I was considering the lyrics, I thought that in this day and age the concept of “cruel to be kind” would be pathologized, like being narcissistic or something.
Mind you, Shakespeare got there first. [“I must be cruel only to be kind.”]
Yes, when I saw Eddie Izzard do that line in “Hamlet” recently I thought of you. Were you a big reader as a child, or were your parents very literary minded?
I wasn’t a voracious reader. My folks would steer me toward books that they thought I’d go for. I remember my mom trying to get me to read a book called “The Collector” when I was quite young. By John Fowles, about a guy who collects butterflies, but his obsession with butterflies, which is kind of a strange thing anyway, causes him to take a girl off the street and sort of collect her.
That explains so much! I mean, “Marie Prevost,” “Little Hitler” and other quirky subject matter.
[“Marie Prevost”] is really a tragic story. But I suppose I was a quite unsentimental young man in many ways and I was always on the lookout for some material where I could a rattle the public’s cage a bit. It’s what I wanted to do. What can I say? You know, I shouldn’t have done it, but I did.
Do you really believe you shouldn’t have written it?
Well… I never play the song. I get people asking me to do it, but I’m sort of embarrassed a bit to do some of that stuff. It’s quite embarrassing, in a way, to still being doing this at my age. I have very mixed feelings about it, because I’m extremely grateful that I’ve made a living and haven’t had to humiliate myself too much in order to do it.
Nick Lowe performs with Los Straitjackets
(Dave Brolan)
I’ve seen no humiliation.
Well, everyone in show business has to humiliate themselves sometimes. As you get older, I’ve managed to take steps to mitigate that process somewhat. But I had no idea I’d still be doing this at the age I am. There’s some things that are fantastic about it, because in many ways, you’re much better than you were when you were a kid. When I listen to my old records, which is quite rarely, very rarely, actually… But occasionally they’ll play one on the radio, and I think, “Oh, God, why did I do that? That’s awful, that bit.” And I can tell that it’s because I wasn’t a very good songwriter.
And yet, that’s the reason why people always prefer people’s early recordings. In general, they always prefer early records because they’re filled with that youthful sort of impatience. When you’re older, it’s there taunting you, saying, “Well, there’s a good idea. And you ballsed that up, mate.” So you’re always trying to recapture that youthful thing, but with the wisdom that comes along with the age. And no one quite does — well, some people do definitely manage to do it. But that’s what I’m always trying to do, trying to trick myself into doing something that’s surprising. And sometimes you do, and sometimes you don’t. Because the problem is that the better you get, the more sort of blander it gets. The little triumphs you’ve got along the way, you’re not satisfied with that anymore.
Your solo debut, “Jesus of Cool,” came out in the UK in 1978. But before the U.S. release it was renamed “Pure Pop for Now People,” and with a different track listing.
“We can’t have an album titled ‘Jesus of Cool’! Are you mad?” [chuckles] We thought that was a dream come true when they decided to do that. In the UK, they used to ban records. They’d make a big deal if they thought there was something risqué about them, and they immediately went to the top of the charts. Immediately. If you were banned by the BBC it was the best thing you could have. We thought it would be something else to talk about.
On that record, you have a ditty called “Rollers Show.” Did you know Bay City Rollers guys when you wrote that… or afterwards?
No, I didn’t. I never got to meet them, and I wish I had, because I wrote another song which had a little pop at a teenage sensation at the time, and I didn’t mean anything by it. Other people got far more excited by it than I did. But I felt bad about it. I had a go at Rick Astley [in the 1990 song “All Men Are Liars”]. Not exactly a savage attack. But especially as I got older, I’ve become rather attached to him, you know. And it’s not particularly funny what I said, but in the days when I used to do the song [live] I’d see people nudging each other like “he’s gonna say it!” But I would have liked to have met him and say I’m an admirer.
Do you have regrets about people you’ve called out in songs or given a bit of a hard time to?
Yeah, I do really. [chuckles] Well, it was all the rage then to have a little go at people that you weren’t supposed to. Also, it was debunking the lie that just because we’re all in the music business, we all like each other. Of course, that’s not really true at all. I get on pretty well with everybody, but it was sort of what people went in for then, but I certainly do rather regret it. [But] I don’t toss and turn at night.
This story originally appeared on LA Times
