Rhonda Lee Reali travels back in time – to the lateish 1970s and early 80s, to be precise – via a chat with seasoned folk-rock wordsmith Al Stewart, and then a visit to review his full-band show at Cardiff’s New Theatre.

If you were hanging about in late 1976 or early ‘77, you would have heard these lyrics coming out of the radio:

On a morning from a Bogart movie
In a country where they turn back time
You go strolling through the crowd like Peter Lorre
Contemplating a crime

Music was a mixed bag in that era. Disco was already on the airwaves but wouldn’t step out fully until Saturday Night Fever, and even though the Ramones’ first album came out in 1976, punk wouldn’t explode until out spewed the Sex Pistols. Abba, Bowie, The Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, Kiss, Queen and Stevie Wonder ruled – and Al Stewart’s single Year Of The Cat caught my ear immediately.

We film buffs knew the references alluded to Casablanca, and though the setting was unnamed, it was probably Morocco or another country in North Africa. A tourist becomes enamoured with an exotic woman smelling of “incense and patchouli” and decides instead to abandon his journey and stay with her for the time being. The song took off worldwide, and the album of the same name reached number 5 in the US, being certified platinum there (as was its follow-up Time Passages) and gold in the UK.

This wasn’t a one-off from Stewart: his songs take you through time, retelling historical events and taking you close-up to famous names. The military and wars, world leaders, academics and even Nostradamus and Merlin are subjects conjured up. “I’m a big reader,” he told me during an interview from his US home in mid-October; “historical novels, autobiographies and biographies, for example. I also love watching films.”

Because of his prolific storytelling, was he a curious and/or precocious child? “No, not particularly,” says Stewart, 77. (I find that hard to believe but take his word for it.) He didn’t want to be a teacher, a historian or book author – rather, a musician and singer. “I got caught up in the skiffle craze, Lonnie Donegan and all,” he says. The singer-songwriter waxes lyrical about skiffle, a folk style that originated in the US among African-Americans; US GI’s brought over swing and jazz records during World War II, and sailors and other workers on ships, especially out of Liverpool, continued to do so after.

Skiffle had a revival here in the 50s, with Lonnie Donegan a leading proponent, and was performed on both manufactured and improvised instruments. Stewart learned guitar around this point: “By the time I was 13, I was telling my classmates I was going to be a recording artist.”

The folk-rocker, born in Scotland, came down to London when he was 19, traded in his electric guitar for an acoustic one, and got into the folk scene: a part of his life he recounted in Post-World War II Blues. I mention that his song In Brooklyn has tinges of Simon & Garfunkel, to my ears.

“Could be. I shared a flat with Paul Simon in London in the 60s, and I’m sure I was influenced by him. In fact, I told club owners that I would do his songs and play for half-price pay!” he laughs.

Does he still get fans who analyse his songs and pick them apart piece by piece? “Yes, I do, but it doesn’t annoy me.” A resident of California for 45 years, one of the reasons that brought him there was wine, and even though he doesn’t own a vineyard like some in the business (although he could have), he’s no amateur. “I really love my wine and am not just a dilettante!”

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Al Stewart, New Theatre, Cardiff, Sun 30 Oct

When first encountering Al Stewart in 1980 at NYC’s legendary The Bottom Line during his 24 Carrots Tour, I was a college reporter, and he was riding high on the successes of his Year Of The Cat and Time Passages LPs. Sadly, The Bottom Line is no more, but I’m still slogging along – and Stewart is still going strong.

Chicagoan support act the Empty Pockets, also Stewart’s backing band, played a selection of songs from their newest album Outside Spectrum, including A Bird Does Not Sing and the jazzy That Gun, and covered Fairport Convention’s Meet On The Ledge. The Americana/rock-blues quartet – Josh Solomon (guitar/vocals), Erika Brett (keyboard/vocals), Nate Bellon (bass/vocals) and Adam Balasco (drums) – brought a fresh perspective and delightful harmonies, especially Brett, who soared like a young Joan Baez.

Attending an Al Stewart concert, you enter a time machine whirling not only from century to century but continent to continent. The night’s journey started with Sirens Of Titan, inspired by Kurt Vonnegut’s book of the same name; Stewart claimed he didn’t know what either were about, but the tune was magical. On and on he guided us, from the early 20th century with Scott and Shackleton to Antarctica, the French Revolution, roaming the Palace Of Versailles to ancient Greece (Helen And Cassandra). We were sailing along a touch rockier on The Dark And The Rolling Sea and crossed into Spanish territory and even Rhodesia (On The Border, Solomon shining on Spanish guitar).

Stewart’s sense of humour entertained during song intros, delivered dryly (“I wanted to be the Elvis of classical music”), lampooning figures from Charles de Gaulle to warring Spartans and Trojans – and himself, hinting of spurned advances. Standing solo with guitar, he recalls his earlier days with Clifton In The Rain; back with the band, completed by Marc Macisso on flute and sax, a moving One Stage Before feels apt in this theatre. The crowd of course wanted to hear the musician’s biggest hits, Time Passages and Year Of The Cat, and wishes were granted. Even though Stewart can’t always hit those top notes nowadays, his voice is still instantly recognisable and melodious, and his enunciation perfect.

When the curtain came down after a rollicking encore of Modern Times, Al Stewart had showcased only a fraction of work from his 55-year-plus career, but we’d seen a master craftsman who doesn’t write throwaway songs. He paints pictures with his lyrics, unspooling like reels of films, filling our minds with stories of long-ago and the not-so-distant past.

words RHONDA LEE REALI