Roger McGuinn: Shepherds Bush Empire, London

A BLACK EXECUTIVE chair sits in the middle of an empty stage in a in a puddle of swirling, blobby, cod-psychedelic lights. It’s as if they’re holding Mastermind at a village church-hall rave, and your specialist subject is: venerable, revered musicians and what’s to be done with them once they’ve lost their bands, their touch or their relevance but not their desire to get onstage?