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The Steve Winwood Chronicles

Sylvie Simmons, Creem, July 1988

HE SEEMS QUITE MONK-LIKE – steady stare, fish-pale complexion and a faraway look that, if I'd brought a compass, I could guarantee went in the direction of Gloucestershire, where he's got a farm, a wife, a baby girl and a recording studio. This, after all, is the man credited by the NME Book of Rock as having invented "getting it together in the country" as a concept for adult musicians. Right now we're in the restaurant of an uncomfortably plush London hotel, interior-designed in black and peacock and subdued lighting by some actress – I seem to recall reading in some Sunday supplement – who married money. Steve Winwood has all his own hair. He has a bird-like expression, and he's sensibly dressed. If he could manage to give away even less about himself, no doubt he would. Steve Winwood would rather be ritualistically disemboweled than give a quote. Like a native who won't have his picture taken for fear of fading his soul, he sits there, already too pale, muttering monosyllables in monotones.

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