‘Gimme a bell pal’: How a Grammy award-winning artist was spooked by a lowly journalist 

One of the great myths in music journalism is that writers and artists are pals. There is neither the budget nor interest from either side to pop through to a Tofu Vegan or into Bar Italia to hammer out gossip and great features. There is no longer the funding, be it for culture journalism or for musicians off-stage, to do so. It’s a shame to some, a delight to others. Fact is, if you can get an enjoyable chat with someone in the industry, that’s half the battle. In the three (proper) years spent running Cult Following, we’ve hosted conversations with great musicians and great people. Mark Webber from Pulp, Richard Hawley, and Irwin Sparkles from The Hoosiers all spring to mind. And yet the one that stands out most of all, odd it may be, is when Grammy award-winning artist Zak Starkey dropped me a message on Instagram.  

This was some time before interviewing his father, Richard Starkey. Much like his son, he played drums in a big band. Unlike his son, he earned his spot there through hard work. Ringo Starr may have found his way into The Beatles as Pete Best’s replacement, but it’s not like he was the son of a man friendly with whatever the equivalent of Keith Moon would’ve been in the early 1960s. Freddie Marsden, probably. Despite having the ace up my sleeve of saying I’ve interviewed one of The Beatles, the best story in this industry so far is the time Starkey messaged me and asked for a phone call. “Gimme a bell pal,” is not a message anyone would want to receive, not least from a man who had drummed with The Who, Oasis, and his father’s All-Star Band. The man had been on the same stage as some of Toto. A lofty claim to fame.  

But what did a hungover journalist do to gauge the wrath of one of nepotism’s finest? He pointed out that very fact. In a feature posted to Cult Following back in 2024, I broke down how the lofty expectations levelled at The Beatles’ kids were unfair. The point made throughout is that James McCartney, Dhani Harrison, Julian Lennon, and Sean Ono Lennon were unfavourably compared to their fathers and the discographies they hold. The person who got off lightest of all was Starkey, because at the time he hadn’t, and still has not, released a solo album. His position in music history is, at best, harmless. He’s a proven veteran of the drumkit but, it must be observed, he has been handed his good fortune on a silver platter that many would view as unfair. Trained by Moon and replacing The Who drummer on tepid reunion tours, and with a father whose sway in the music industry is clear, Starkey’s music career seemed inevitable, rather than earned.  

Despite that positioning, he has proven himself to be a detestable character. A poisoned chalice, Grammy or not. He was around for the worst parts of The Who before being booted out of the band by Roger Daltrey ahead of the group’s third round of farewell shows, clung to Oasis in their dying days as the musical equivalent of a limpet, trying to buff out his CV on a name brand post-critical high, and recently backed disgraced Kasabian frontman, Tom Meighan, at a benefit do for The Stone Roses’ bassist, Mani. That last turn highlights how Starkey is now trying to embed himself in the Manchester music scene, be it at tribute gigs or in the so-called supergroup, Mantra of the Cosmos. It speaks to the quality of work Starkey has been releasing post-The Who split. Aside from messaging me a photograph of two Grammy Awards (both for the Got to Be Tough project), he has been linking up with underwhelming musical has-beens and vaguely famous faces who at least earned their spot in the industry.  

July 25, 2024, may go down as the funniest day of my career. Waking up feeling rather sheepish, myself having provided a glorious rendition of Girls and Boys on karaoke the night prior, after several bottles of wine. I’d slept on the floor that evening, and woke up on the couch just in time to see a message request from Starkey. There’s something called hangxiety, that crushing feeling you’ve done something wrong while in the blind spirit of consumption. Not so. Starkey had in fact, been replying to a feature I’d published so many days before his message that I’d forgotten about writing it. News travels fast, after all. It’d performed rather poorly at the time, so the fact it got back to the Beatle child I’d been nicest about is fascinating. Here’s what I wrote at the time:  

“Sean Ono Lennon, Julian Lennon, James McCartney and Dhani Harrison. The four are resigned to repeating the footsteps of their fathers and remain overshadowed as they do. Zak Starkey had the good sense to become The Who’s drummer in 1996. His links there are equally as questionable as the wannabe songwriters from the other three Beatles.” 

Back to sleep I went, and I awoke to a summary of Starkey’s efforts as a musician. “Nepotism schism.” To this day, I have no idea what that means. I’m assuming it’s to imply that, despite nepotism, he has gone on to become a famous and recognisable name in the music industry. He did, after all, opt not to take on the Starr moniker of his father and is instead proud to use his birth name. But how far did it really get Starkey?  

He ended up in Mantra of the Cosmos, a miserable who’s who of Manchester music industry personnel kept alive by the belief that Shaun Ryder and Noel Gallagher are our musical messiahs. Starkey has the luxury, one would assume, of coasting off those Grammy wins and the bands he was once a member. He’s never been around for any important moments of rock history. Andy Nicholson at least left Arctic Monkeys after aiding the band with their earth-shattering debut. What has Starkey, really, done? 

His most recent works include Endless Wire, an underwhelming and grief-stricken album by The Who and their final studio album, Who, an even lower send-up of their greatest hits. With Oasis he featured on the abysmal Dig Out Your Soul and the underwhelming mess of Don’t Believe the Truth. For his time in post-Three Lions The Lightning Seeds, he featured on Tilt. That’s way back in 1999. His most notable appearances this century have been for two bands in their dying days. Starkey claimed to have turned down an Oasis reunion tour offer in the same skin-crawling manner that Pete Best appeared on Twitter and offered to open for Paul McCartney at the Co-op Live Arena in 2024.  

More recently, Starkey launched Zak Starkey… Who? Who, indeed. Had his work been up to scratch, then Daltrey would not have booted him out of the band ahead of an important showcase, and Oasis would have sought out his expertise at a time when they weren’t just coasting off their hits and publicised bust-ups. Starkey has always been on the fringe of fame, rather than the focus of it, because his work isn’t good enough to leave an impression. As a producer? That’s a different story, but is hardly the one he shares with his followers. Starkey imposes himself as a rock and roll legend because he has ridden on the same bus as the bona fide heroes. I’ve spoken with Chris Frantz and Tina Weymouth, it doesn’t make me a member of Talking Heads.