Rod Stewart Songs: Why the Rasp Still Rules After 60 Years

Rod Stewart shouldn't really work. If you look at the trajectory on paper, it's a mess. He started as a scruffy mod, became a folk-rock pioneer, pivoted to disco playboy, and then somehow ended up as a tuxedo-clad crooner for your grandmother. But here we are in 2026, and the guy is still selling out arenas. Honestly, it’s that voice. That glorious, sand-and-glue rasp that makes even a mediocre song sound like a life-or-death confession.

Most people think they know the songs of Rod Stewart. You’ve heard "Maggie May" at every wedding you've ever attended. You’ve probably hummed "Da Ya Think I’m Sexy?" while feeling slightly guilty about it. But if you actually dig into his catalog—past the spiky hair and the leopard print—you find a songwriter who was, at his peak, as good as Dylan or Joni Mitchell.

No, seriously.

The Folk-Rock Blueprint: Beyond Maggie May

In 1971, "Maggie May" was actually a B-side. Can you imagine? Some executive at Mercury Records thought a mandolin-heavy story about a young guy losing his virginity to an older woman was just filler. It ended up hitting number one in the US and UK simultaneously, a feat that basically invented the blueprint for 70s rock.

But "Maggie May" isn't even the best track on Every Picture Tells a Story. If you want to hear Rod at his most raw, you listen to "Mandolin Wind." It’s a quiet, devastatingly beautiful song about a couple surviving a brutal winter on a farm. It feels lived-in. When he sings about the "coldest winter in almost fourteen years," you actually believe he was there, shivering in a thin coat.

Rod was a master of the "weary young man" persona. He sounded like he’d lived three lifetimes by the time he was 25. He wasn't just singing; he was storytelling.

• You Wear It Well (1972): A spiritual successor to Maggie, but kinder. It’s a letter to an ex, full of specific, heartbreaking details like "a little coffee stain."
• Gasoline Alley (1970): This is the quintessential early Rod. It’s loose, acoustic, and smells like a London pub at 2 AM.
• Handbags and Gladrags (1969): Long before The Office used the Stereophonics' version, Rod's take was the definitive one. It’s a cynical, soulful warning about the vapidity of fashion.

The Mid-70s Pivot and the "Sell-Out" Myth

Critics turned on Rod Stewart hard around 1975. He moved to the US, became a tax exile, and started wearing silk suits. The music got glossier. "Sailing" became a massive hit in the UK, but the rock purists hated it. They called it "stadium mush."

Kinda unfair, isn't it?

Take "The Killing of Georgie (Part I and II)" from 1976. This wasn't some vapid pop song. It was a six-minute narrative about the murder of a gay friend in New York. In 1976, that was incredibly brave. It reached the Top 10 because the melody was infectious, but the lyrics were a gut punch. He was using his massive platform to talk about things most rock stars were still ignoring.

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And then there’s the disco elephant in the room.

That Disco Song

In 1978, "Da Ya Think I'm Sexy?" happened. It sold four million copies and ruined his reputation with the "serious" music press for decades. But if you listen to it now, without the 70s baggage? It’s a brilliantly produced piece of pop. Rod always said it was meant to be a spoof of the disco scene, a story about two nervous people at a club. Plus, he donated all the royalties to UNICEF. It’s hard to stay mad at a guy who gives millions to charity because he wrote a catchy riff.

The 80s: Synthesizers and Surprise Hits

The 80s were a weird time for everyone, but Rod Stewart leaned into the neon. A lot of people dismiss this era as "The Mullet Years," but there’s some genuine gold hidden in those synth-heavy productions.

"Young Turks" (1981) is a legitimate masterpiece. It’s got that driving, nervous energy that perfectly captures the "runaway" theme. It’s one of the few songs from that era that doesn't feel dated, despite the heavy drum machines. Then you have "Downtown Train" in 1989.

Now, Tom Waits wrote the original, and Waits fans will tell you Rod "ruined" it. They're wrong. Rod didn't ruin it; he translated it. He took a gritty, avant-garde sketch and turned it into a soaring anthem of longing. That’s a specific skill. Interpreting a song is just as much an art as writing one, and Rod might be the greatest song interpreter in rock history.

What People Get Wrong About the Later Years

Around the early 2000s, Rod started the Great American Songbook series. He stopped writing and started singing Cole Porter and George Gershwin. To the rock crowd, it looked like surrender.

But here’s the thing: it saved his career.

He sold millions of records to a demographic that had stopped buying music. He proved that his voice—that raspy, imperfect instrument—could handle "They Can't Take That Away From Me" just as well as "Hot Legs." It wasn't a sell-out; it was a pivot to longevity.

More recently, he’s returned to songwriting. Albums like Time (2013) and Blood Red Roses (2018) showed he still had stories to tell. "Brighton Beach," a track from 2013, is as poignant as anything he wrote in the 70s. It’s an old man looking back at his teenage self with a mix of affection and regret.

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Why the Songs Still Matter

We live in an era of Autotune and perfect vocal takes. Rod Stewart is the antithesis of that. His best songs are messy. They have out-of-tune mandolins, background chatter, and a lead singer who sounds like he’s been shouting over a lawnmower for three hours.

That’s why people still listen. It feels human.

Actionable Next Steps for the Aspiring Listener

If you’ve only ever heard the radio hits, you’re missing the real Rod Stewart. Here is how you should actually dive into his catalog to understand the hype:

1. Start with "Every Picture Tells a Story" (The Album): Don't just play the title track. Listen to the whole thing front to back. It’s the definitive folk-rock record of the early 70s.
2. Find the Faces Tracks: Rod was the frontman for the Faces before he went full solo. Songs like "Stay With Me" and "Ooh La La" have a ramshackle, "drinking with friends" energy that his solo stuff sometimes lacks.
3. Check out the Tom Waits Covers: Compare Rod’s "Downtown Train" or "Tom Traubert's Blues" to the originals. It’s a masterclass in how to adapt a song’s DNA for a different audience.
4. Listen to "The Killing of Georgie": Read the lyrics while you do. It’ll change how you view his "playboy" persona of the mid-70s.
5. Watch a Live Performance: Even at 80, the man’s stage presence is a lesson in charisma. Look for the Unplugged... and Seated (1993) session with Ronnie Wood for the most intimate version of his hits.