For Bryan Ferry, the first Roxy Music album wasn’t just a debut—it was a laboratory. “It was the first record any of us had made,” he said, looking back at the 1972 release that split open British rock like a glitter bomb. “We were in the studio for the first time, relishing it, trying all kinds of things stylistically, collaging it all together. You can sense how much we were enjoying the process.”
The results sounded like nothing else at the time: glam art-pop, lounge croon, and sci-fi noise fighting for space on the same LP. Ferry called it “the guts of youth.” Everyone else called it the future. Four years later, punk bands were holding it up as scripture. “By then I was in Los Angeles, preparing Another Time, Another Place,” he said. “I’d moved on musically. But it was interesting hearing the punk explosion because it wasn’t that far removed from our early stuff. Only four years earlier, yet it seemed a generation away.”
Even the album’s throwaway quotes turned into artifacts. Ferry once lifted Bogart’s “Here’s looking at you, kid” for a lyric, only to realize how much heavier it reads 40 years on. “A lot of water’s gone under the bridge since then, but I still enjoy performing those songs,” he said. His younger bandmates bring their own spark, while Ferry views the material through older eyes. “Nothing changes that much.”
That didn’t stop him from re-recording early tracks when he wasn’t satisfied with the mixes. “I did a cover of ‘Let’s Stick Together,’ and when that became a hit the label wanted an album. So I revisited some of the first and second album songs,” he said. “To me it felt normal—I was a jazz fan. My heroes like Charlie Parker would record the same tune many times throughout their careers. Why shouldn’t I?”
Asked about working with his old Roxy cohorts, Ferry didn’t hesitate. “I’d love to do some more with Eno. We only did two albums together and stopped on a high note. He’s such an interesting character, such fun to work with.” As for new music, he was cagey. “I’m experimenting. Rehearsing an acoustic show in Switzerland, in an art museum. That’s a new thing for me. Next time we speak, I’ll have something ready.”
He was less evasive about mortality, a subject impossible to dodge when so many of his peers—Bowie among them—had begun to vanish. “It’s a sharp reminder we’re just passing through,” he said quietly. “It makes you anxious to make the most of your time, to be productive, to be the best person you can. Your eye’s drawn to the obituary pages. It’s quite shocking.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he added the real blow: “My poor old dog Bobby died last week. Seventeen years. Beautiful dog, had a very good innings.”
Even in grief, Ferry sounded like Ferry—stoic, stylish, slightly detached, but never without warmth. Half a century on from Roxy Music’s debut, he still treats it all as a musical adventure.
Listen to the interview above and then check out "Virginia Plain" below!
