Walter Trout is killing time in a modest hotel room in Solihull, ahead of tomorrow’s show in Warwick. He’s itching to play and ready to talk. He jokes about Zoom’s failings - “I feel like I’m in a bad acid trip” - cursing the technology, while offering up stories with the human warmth and passion of a man who has survived more than most, and come out fighting.
Now 74, he is certainly not coasting on past glories. If anything, he’s more driven than ever – fuelled by a sense that time is both precious and urgent. “I never expected to make it this far,” he says, recalling the addictions that nearly killed him in his twenties, and the liver failure that nearly took him a decade ago. “I’m like a cat. I’m on my third or fourth or fifth chance here. And with each one I get more involved in wanting to be an artist, wanting to say something that means something to somebody.”
