THE LATE
not flatlining. just flat.
Robert
A guitarist who sings baritone, with a bass player’s ear and 40 songs I’d stake an evening on. I spent three or four nights a week for twenty years, rooted and muted at the back of the stage. The music was never mine. Now it is. Out in front is frightening. Nowhere to hide. I love it.
about
I took the long way home
As a kid, I sang the basslines, never the melodies. Nobody noticed, me included. I was 24 before I saw an electric bass guitar close up. I didn’t know what it was for. I held it. The Universe went click. I borrowed it. I couldn’t tune it. But I did know where the notes were for Walking on the Moon by The Police. I phoned the local radio station, asked them to play it so I could tune the bass. The announcer fell about and complied. I had no amp. I learned bass unplugged, playing along to Dire Straits records on my battery-operated record player. No bass to speak of. But oh how I felt it. And how the right note felt under my finger. To me, it was simple. I knew the next note before it came. Not its name but where it lived on the neck. Predictive mathematics. A background job. Build the floor. Hold the energy. Now I had purpose. And before long, an amp. And angry neighbours. Soon I was in demand. Bands, gigs, festivals, TV. Rock, pop (ugh), jazz, indie, Irish. But it wasn’t fun. I had no theory. No training. I was terrified of being found out. I could sing. I didn’t dare. Not even harmony. Too busy being cool and perfect to care about the song. Just relentless precision. Coming out front with an acoustic reverses all of it. My instinct runs backwards. Unlearning twenty years of it is slower and harder work than the learning ever was. Now it’s music. Not logic. Late as I may be, this is the most fun I’ve had in music. I hope it shows. I hope it’s contagious.
on the name
late starter - pre 24. radio, knitting needles on a cake tin. late to the party - 24. bass. self-taught. turns out I could. and did. Late in the day - 45. fed up with bass and band politics. gifted a guitar I couldn’t play. I was rubbish but persevered. late in the game - 60. technology ended the rigid, analogue chaos of my songbook. the music escaped. as did i. Late developer - 67. started solo acoustic gigging. Late (obituary) - TBA. might die on stage a few times first though.
five out of six are just true. The name’s not a joke. and I’m not flat
listen
In rotation
The Beatles, Billy Joel, Van Morrison, Cat Stevens, Oasis, some classic rock, some folk and a few crowd pleasers are in there because I like them too. Forty songs I’d play tonight. Another hundred in the book, working their way up. Some drop out and come back. I don’t count one in until it earns its spot on the setlist. The actual set depends on the evening.
samples from the setlist
Dirty Old Town
Come as You Are
Sweet Caroline
Ain’t No Sunshine
Boat on the River
Brown Eyed Girl
All Around My Hat
You May Be Right
book an evening
Small rooms. On purpose.
One guitar, one voice, a band in a box. This isn’t a gigging act chasing stages. It’s built for rooms most acts treat as a warm-up: living rooms, folk clubs, back rooms of pubs, a corner of a coffee shop — anywhere up to 60 people can hear a lyric land. And want to. If you run a space like that, or you’d like to turn your front room into one for an evening, this is exactly the size of thing I do. A house concert, if you like. I’m dry, occasionally dark. I’m well prepared. I turn up on time.
the room
the set
Intimate, seated. No power needed, no PA wars.
We’ll work it out together. You know the room.
the deal
There’s a fee. Good cause? I’m in. Talk to me.
method
Under the covers
the requests
Not on the night. Ask early. More below.
contact
© 2026 The Late Robert. All rites reserved.
thelaterobert.co.uk
Get in touch
thelaterobert@outlook.com
Thank you. Robert Sutherland Stroud, Gloucestershire
Most things start as an idea, not a date in the diary. If you’ve got details, send them. If you’ve only got the thought, send that.
Fa the r & Son – Cat Ste ven s
-
2/4
66 bpm
3:40
-
Control X - Acoustic - 2 RED (IN 1 - CH2A) Tablet Vol +11 from 0 2 bar co unt in G6 shap e IN TRO on s tring 6 - let t he h armo nics do t he w ork G6 G6 G6 G6 G6/ C 3 /0 2/3 3 /0 1/ 0 3 /0 du m d um d um dum du m - da da da da - dah X 3 G6 G6 G6 G6 G6/ C Lig ht s trum - vo cal poig nant Verse G D /F# C Am7 Lyrics withheld G Em Am Am7 D Feel free to sing it yourself G D /F# C Am7 or better still, G Em Am Am Am7 D let’s sing it together. Chorus
You’ve got this far. May as well listen.
A typical page from my songbook.
What can I say. I’m a data nerd.
Dear Diary
And I Love Her
Importance of Being Idle
Paddy McGinty’s Goat
“We English may not like music, but we absolutely love the noise it makes.” Sir Thomas Beecham-ish. He wasn’t wrong.
Got a song in mind? Send it in with the booking. Some I’ll learn. Some I’ll talk you out of. Either way, not on the night. I’m meticulous, not psychic.
or skip straight to booking
or skip straight to booking
or skip straight to booking
or skip straight to booking or skip straight to booking or skip straight to booking
→
Picture coming soon. I got too carried away with the words.
Picture coming soon. I got too carried away with the words.
hear something
hear something
hear something
If it’s for a good cause (my call), even better. I’m not in this for the money, so no fee. Fundraiser, hospice or back-room do: I’ll gently rattle their teeth, you rattle the bucket.
My songbook is lovingly curated into a spreadsheet that would arouse an accountant. Every song is chosen, charted and re-keyed until it fits the guitar and the voice. That gets it into the book. Practice and my say-so get it onto the setlist. I’m meticulous. The right key, where the bass sits, how the groove breathes. I mightn’t hit the notes on the CD, but I’ll hit the ones that work. Some songs call for a band behind them. Others need room to breathe. That’s my call, and when it’s the band, every part is mine, recorded and mastered in my home studio. The point is the song. Not my ego — that was the old job. Not perfection. Definitely not technology. The song, its story and the telling of it. Most of the work is grinding, unglamorous preparation you’ll never hear. The best of it is the room. There are always a few songs everyone knows and the lift is real. But a whole night of them is somebody else’s gig. In the end, it’s just me up there. And hopefully, you.
Three now, nine more incoming
THE LATE
not flatlining. just flat.
Robert
A guitarist who sings baritone, with a bass player’s ear and 40 songs I’d stake an evening on. I spent three or four nights a week for twenty years, rooted and muted at the back of the stage. The music was never mine. Now it is. Out in front is frightening. Nowhere to hide. I love it.
or skip straight to booking
→
the late robert
about
I took the long way home
As a kid, I sang the basslines, never the melodies. Nobody noticed, me included. I was 24 before I saw an electric bass guitar close up. I didn’t know what it was for. I held it. The Universe went click. I borrowed it. I couldn’t tune it. But I did know where the notes were for Walking on the Moon by The Police. I phoned the local radio station, asked them to play it so I could tune the bass. The announcer fell about and complied. I had no amp. I learned bass unplugged, playing along to Dire Straits records on my battery-operated record player. No bass to speak of. But oh how I felt it. And how the right note felt under my finger. To me, it was simple. I knew the next note before it came. Not its name but where it lived on the neck. Predictive mathematics. A background job. Build the floor. Hold the energy. Now I had purpose. And before long, an amp. And angry neighbours. Soon I was in demand. Bands, gigs, festivals, TV. Rock, pop (ugh), jazz, indie, Irish. But it wasn’t fun. I had no theory. No training. I was terrified of being found out. I could sing. I didn’t dare. Not even harmony. Too busy being cool and perfect to care about the song. Just relentless precision. Coming out front with an acoustic reverses all of it. My instinct runs backwards. Unlearning twenty years of it is slower and harder work than the learning ever was. Now it’s music. Not logic. Late as I may be, this is the most fun I’ve had in music. I hope it shows. I hope it’s contagious.
on the name
late starter - pre 24. radio, knitting needles on a cake tin. late to the party - 24. bass. self-taught. turns out I could. and did. Late in the day - 45. fed up with bass and band politics. gifted a guitar I couldn’t play. I was rubbish but persevered. late in the game - 60. technology ended the rigid, analogue chaos of my songbook. the music escaped. as did i. Late developer - 67. started solo acoustic gigging. Late (obituary) - TBA. might die on stage a few times first though.
five out of six are just true. The name’s not a joke. and I’m not flat
listen
In rotation
The Beatles, Billy Joel, Van Morrison, Cat Stevens, Oasis, some classic rock, some folk. A few crowd pleasers are in there because I like them too. Forty songs I’d play tonight. Another hundred in the book, working their way up. Some drop out and come back. I don’t count one in until it earns its spot on the setlist. The actual set depends on the evening.
You’ve got this far. May as well listen.
samples from the setlist
Dirty Old Town
Come as You Are
Sweet Caroline
Ain’t No Sunshine
Boat on the River
Brown Eyed Girl
All Around My Hat
You May Be Right
Dear Diary
And I Love Her
Importance of Being Idle
method
My songbook is lovingly curated into a spreadsheet that would arouse an accountant. Every song is chosen, charted and re-keyed until it fits the guitar and the voice. That gets it into the book. Practice and my say-so get it onto the setlist. I’m meticulous. The right key, where the bass sits, how the groove breathes. I mightn’t hit the notes on the CD, but I’ll hit the ones that work. Some songs call for a band behind them. Others need room to breathe. That’s my call, and when it’s the band, every part is mine, recorded and mastered in my home studio. The point is the song. Not my ego — that was the old job. Not perfection. Definitely not technology. The song, its story and the telling of it. Most of the work is grinding, unglamorous preparation you’ll never hear. The best of it is the room. There are always a few songs everyone knows and the lift is real. But a whole night of them is somebody else’s gig. In the end, it’s just me up there. And hopefully, you.
What can I say. I’m a data nerd.
Fa the r & Son – Cat Ste ven s
-
2/4
66 bpm
3:40
-
Control X - Acoustic - 2 RED (IN 1 - CH2A) Tablet Vol +11 from 0 2 bar co unt in G6 shap e IN TRO on s tring 6 - let t he h armo nics do t he w ork G6 G6 G6 G6 G6/ C 3 /0 2/3 3 /0 1/ 0 3 /0 du m d um d um dum du m - da da da da - dah X 3 G6 G6 G6 G6 G6/ C Lig ht s trum - vo cal poig nant Verse G D /F# C Am7 Lyrics withheld G Em Am Am7 D Feel free to sing it yourself G D /F# C Am7 or better still, G Em Am Am Am7 D let’s sing it together. Chorus
A typical page from my songbook.
book an evening
Small rooms. On purpose.
One guitar, one voice, a band in a box. This isn’t a gigging act chasing stages. It’s built for rooms most acts treat as a warm-up: living rooms, folk clubs, back rooms of pubs, a corner of a coffee shop — anywhere up to 60 people can hear a lyric land. And want to. If you run a space like that, or you’d like to turn your front room into one for an evening, this is exactly the size of thing I do. A house concert, if you like. I’m dry, occasionally dark. I’m well prepared. I turn up on time.
Under the covers
the room
Intimate, seated. No power needed, no PA wars.
the set
We’ll work it out together. You know the room.
the requests
Not on the night. Ask early. More below.
the deal
There’s a fee. Good cause? I’m in. Talk to me.
contact
Get in touch
thelaterobert@outlook.com
Thank you. Robert Sutherland Stroud, Gloucestershire
Most things start as an idea, not a date in the diary. If you’ve got details, send them. If you’ve only got the thought, send that.
© 2026 The Late Robert. All rites reserved.
thelaterobert.co.uk
Paddy McGinty’s Goat
about
hear something
“We English may not like music, but we absolutely love the noise it makes.” Sir Thomas Beecham-ish. He wasn’t wrong.
Got a song in mind? Send it in with the booking. Some I’ll learn. Some I’ll talk you out of. Either way, not on the night. I’m meticulous, not psychic.
Picture coming soon. I got too carried away with the words.
Picture coming soon. I got too carried away with the words.
If it’s for a good cause (my call), even better. I’m not in this for the money, so no fee. Fundraiser, hospice or back-room do: I’ll gently rattle their teeth, you rattle the bucket.
Three now, nine more incoming
the late robert