His old band broke up almost 40 years ago, but one of the most famous rock ’n’ roll drummers of all time has no plans to hang up his sticks. Instead, Ringo Starr is releasing his best album in years, Liverpool 8. Richly melodic, eminently hummable, and draped with lyrics alternately nostalgic and deadpan, the new album is, to Starr, “just twelve more songs about peace and love” — but he also says that “this record deserves to sell a billion copies.”

You turned sixty-seven this past summer. How does it feel to be still creating pop music?
I am a pop icon. I’m still in the game. It’s what I do. People are like, “What? You’re still making music?” Yes, because that’s what I am — I’m a musician. I still like the concept of making records, hanging out with other musicians, writing with other musicians, playing.

You’ve been making music and playing in bands for more than five decades. How has your intent as an artist changed through the years?
Well, I’m still trying to say “peace and love” again, twelve ways. [Laughs.] It’s looking at yourself, it’s looking at what’s going on, it’s the emotion of hanging out with other people. My [new] CD is directed to a “peace and love” mode. There’s a lot of love on my records. That’s where I’m at right now.

I understand it was your stepfather, Harry, who really encouraged your love for music.
He introduced me to a lot of music that, as a lad, I [otherwise] wouldn’t have listened to. I was listening to the music of the day and he would say, “Have you heard this?” And it was Sarah Vaughan. “Have you heard this?” It was Glenn Miller. It was Billy Eckstine. It was Billy Daniels. So he introduced me to a broader range of music. And my children listen to a broad range of music, from Ray Charles, of course, to Hank Snow, Lightning Hopkins, Beethoven — a bit of that, not much. [Laughs.]

At what point did you know music was something you had to do?
Well, I knew I wanted to be a musician at thirteen. I actually knew, this is what I want to be, and I knew I wanted to be a drummer. I didn’t want to be a pianist or a guitarist; I wanted to be a drummer. That was with me from thirteen until I could get a drum kit at home and then play with good people, and then play with even better people.

You were frequently ill as a child. Did that have anything to do with fostering your creativity?
I had this experience in the hospital. They brought in these percussive instruments and said, “When we point to the green dot, hit the tambourine. When we point to the yellow dot, hit the drum.” And they gave me a drum. And they came again the next week, and I wouldn’t play unless I had the drum. That’s how it started. This was like the defining moment for me. They gave me a little drum and that was it.

How do you think the music industry has changed, and what do the changes mean to you as an artist?
I think it’s always changing. People say there’re no bands now. Well, there’re lots of bands out there. Some make it. Some don’t. I don’t think that will ever end. There are manufactured bands. There are boy bands. There are girl bands. There are dance bands…bands that are just put together.

I think the bit people forget is that being in a band means you have to know each other. And you get to know each other coming up from free gigs, clubs, theaters, traveling around the country in a van together. It’s the only way I know. It’s the only way I can talk about it. That shows, I feel, in The Beatles’ music. We could be fighting, but as soon as anyone did the count-in, we did our best. “Ah, you bastard, you bastard…,” [then] two, three, four, boom, wacka, boom, wacka…. And we did it. That’s how it is.

You’ve written a number of memorable songs and played on some of the best pop songs of all time. What does it take to make a great pop song?
Luck. [Laughs.] Perseverance. Desire. It’s called “pop,” but it’s such a minute part actually of what The Beatles were. We were “the pop group,” but I think we were a lot deeper than that. Because pop has the connotation of fluffy in a way, and [like] it’s just there for the summer and then it’s going to go. I think we proved that wrong.

Do you always write with a project in mind, or because you have to write? I write whenever God lets me, really. I’m sitting at a piano or holding a guitar, playing very limited stuff — I play C on the piano and E on the guitar. And it all has to unfold. I can be strumming on a Tuesday, and nothing. Strumming away Friday and [sings] “Every time I see your…” Oh! [Laughs.] Suddenly, it happens. But it has to all be happening together. I can’t write just the words. I’m not Bernie Taupin. And I can’t have the words and then write just the melody, because I’m not Elton. It all has to happen at the same time.

Looking back at all the songs you’ve been a part of, is there one that really stands out?
With The Beatles’ songs, so many of them are up there. They’re still out there, like new. But when it comes to my songs, I think “Photograph” is one of the finest I wrote. I wrote it in Spain on the guitar, with my three chords and my words. I came back to London and gave it to George Harrison, who put in the other ten chords. I wasn’t very good at finishing songs. And George was always trying to put Krishna into the songs. [Laughs.] That’s how we were. We were young.

Tell us about the genesis of the song “Liverpool 8.”
Liverpool is where I lived, as everybody knows, but my area was Liverpool 8. So if you sent a letter to me, you’d go, “Ringo, Liverpool 8.” I was paying homage to where I came from. I was with [record producer and Eurythmics co-founder] Dave Stewart, and we were talking about doing a song, a mini-autobiography. So I said, “Well, I can see that…I was a sailor first….” That’s all you need. Okay, it’s F, it’s E, whatever it is. I just did lines: I was a sailor first…I worked in the factory…I was with Rory and then the Beatles…and we ended up in Shea…. It’s my story. And then the end refrain is, Liverpool I left you, but I never let you down. It just happened. We probably wrote it within an hour. When it flows, it flows. That’s the deal. This one did because I knew my life. I didn’t have to struggle, [thinking] “Well, what did I do, where was I, what happened?” I know me. It was easy. It’s a thumbs-up for Liverpool, really.

The Beatles stopped touring in the summer of 1966, but you’ve been touring fairly regularly since 1989.
There’s nothing better for me than playing live. There’s still nothing better than that. I came from the clubs. I may have ended up in stadiums, and maybe I’m sort of heading my way back to the clubs. [Laughs.] But it’s the playing — playing with people. If you don’t play, you won’t ever understand it. It’s magic. Sometimes a live gig with an audience is a spiritual moment where you’re all together.

How did the All-Starr Band come about, and what’s it like working with so many outstanding players?
When I was invited to do the first All-Starr, I thought, “Well, okay. How do I do it?” How I did it was to call up a lot of people I knew. So we got Billy Preston, Dr. John, Joe Walsh, Levon Helm, all these people. I thought, “This is great, because I’ll get to play their songs.” Whoever you are, I’m playing with you. It fulfills my need as the performer — from being front stage with “Yellow Submarine” and “Photograph,” to just playing drums with all these incredible musicians.

We do have a rule in the All-Starrs that you have to have a hit from the ’60s, ’70s, ’80s, or ’90s, because that’s all we are. We are the 1-800 live band. [Laughs.] We’re out there for you!

You once said, “I’d like to end up sort of unforgettable.”
I am. It’s come true.

ACTING NATURALLY

When Beatlemania hit the U.S. in 1964, reporters across the nation were eager to speak to the Fab Four. But journalists expecting shallow pop idols were surprised at the Liverpudlians’ droll deliveries and quick repartee. In fact, the press often walked away never having gotten a “real” answer to their queries — especially if Ringo was the one giving the reply.

Are you a mod or a rocker?
I’m a mocker.

What did you think when your airliner’s engine began smoking as you landed today?
Beatles, women, and children first!

Why is it that you get more fan mail than the others?
I suppose it’s because more people write me.

What do you think of Beethoven?
I love him. Especially his poems.

What started your practice of wearing four rings at once?
Six got to be too heavy.

What is the biggest threat to your careers, the atom bomb or dandruff?
The atom bomb. We’ve already got dandruff.

Who would The Beatles like to meet more than anyone else?
The real Santa Claus.

When are you going to retire?
In about ten minutes.

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J. Rentilly writes about music, film, literature, and culture for a variety of media outlets.