I'm often asked 'Who's your favourite rock star?' That's as easy to answer as 'Who's the best person you've ever interviewed?' Where do you start? Many stand out, for all the wrong reasons. But 'best'! You'll get more out of me by asking who was the worst (Richard Gere in Philadelphia, but let's park him.)

I've banged on for decades about John Entwistle, whose fifteenth anniversary fast approaches; about Jim Diamond, almost two years gone; about Steve Harley who has promised to sing 'Make Me Smile (Come Up and See Me)' at my funeral, and who asks me every time I see him if I've got a date; about the artists to whom I have devoted years and about a million and a half words: David Bowie, Freddie Mercury, Marc Bolan.

What about Rick Wakeman? He is is hardly ever perceived, as a 'rock star', let alone a Grumpy Old one. But he is one. 'Rock star' less in the sense of international hell-raiser, rebel-rouser, ground-breaker, heart-breaker, risk-taker, music-maker, though he has long been all these. Watching him last night at Canterbury's Marlowe Theatre, absorbing his anecdotes (a few of which I knew by heart), I found myself floored.

He'd never claim this, but Rick created the electronic symphonic album concept back in 1972, with 'The Six Wives of Henry VIII'. Having studied classical piano from the age of four, inspired by his father who also played, Rick made it to the Royal College of Music but became sidetracked by rock and pop. He sessioned for many, including David Bowie, Cat Stevens and T. Rex. In 1970 he joined the Strawbs for sixteen months, and replaced Tony Kaye in Yes a year later. He metamorphosed into a keyboard wizard, embellishing the band's at times flatulent sound with flair, technique and classical influence. By 1974 he was out on his own, following up 'Six Wives' with further solo albums. 'Journey to the Centre of the Earth', with its vast stage interpretation, was a huge success. 'The Myths and Legends of King Arthur' was on ice at the Empire Pool, Wembley, with a forty-five-piece orchestra and a forty-eight-piece choir. It made a ton of money but left him skint. Hardly surprising when you consider the payroll. On with the solo recording, while rejoining Yes for three more years until the turn of the Eighties, when his luck changed. Health, women, money, the usual. It was not until '1984', for Charisma (when we first met) that Rick was back on the yellow brick road. I adored him in 'Listzomania'. Fleet Street coined 'Baroque and Roll'. He was double-handedly responsible for bringing keyboards to the fore in rock. But where's the knighthood? Shabby.

The 'Piano Portraits' album is a collection of favourite pieces, several of which he created the piano parts to. It was inspired by his live performances on Simon Mayo's BBC Radio 2 show last year in tribute to Bowie. Such was the demand that the recordings were released, with all profits to Macmillan Cancer Support. This inspired the album, which led to the tour, which now segues into twenty more UK dates; back on the road with Yes; the band's upcoming fiftieth anniversary; Rick's fifty years in rock. 'After which,' he swore blind last night, 'I'm gonna jack it all in.' Right.