When it comes to superlatives, Richard Thompson has earned some pretty good ones over his 50-plus year career in music.

Rolling Stone magazine named him one of the top 20 guitarists of all time, and for years, he’s been acclaimed as one of the world’s greatest living songwriters, receiving lifetime achievement awards on both sides of the Atlantic. A better testament is the long list of artists who have recorded or covered his songs, including: Elvis Costello, Bob Dylan, Bonnie Raitt, R.E.M., Sleater Kinney, Bob Mould, David Byrne, Los Lobos, Dinosaur Jr., Emmylou Harris, Del McCoury, Tom Jones, and many others.

Born and raised in the Notting Hill district of West London, Thompson pretty much helped invent British folk rock as a teenaged guitarist with the band Fairport Convention. He left that influential group to go solo in the early 1970s, which led to a decade-long partnership and some classic, critically adored albums with his then wife Linda Thompson.

For the past three decades, he’s embraced Sufism while continuing to write brilliant new music as a solo artist, regularly touring the world and mesmerizing audiences whether playing electric with a band, or in the solo acoustic setting, where he’s a reliably witty storyteller. He’ll be providing the latter in Richmond for a special solo show at the intimate Tin Pan venue on Sunday, Feb. 26.

Thompson’s diverse body of work now includes over 40 albums, Grammy nominations, as well as film soundtracks, including music from Werner Herzog’s documentary, “Grizzly Man.” In 2011, he received the Order of the British Empire from Queen Elizabeth II at Buckingham Palace, even though the songwriter has lived in America for several decades. He now resides in the leafy suburbs of New Jersey with his partner, fellow musician Zara Phillips.

Style Weekly caught up with Thompson recently to see what he’s been up to since he last played Richmond before the pandemic, and to talk about his 2021 memoir, “Beeswing: Losing My Way and Finding My Voice: 1967-1975.” Also, within the interview, you’ll find a link to a special recent radio show from WTJU in Charlottesville that featured Thompson’s longtime former sound man, Simon Tassano, playing rare live cuts for the station’s fundraising drive.

Style Weekly: Have you been steadily writing throughout the pandemic?

Richard Thompson: Yes, I released two EPs, six tracks each, that we’ve now consolidated into a CD if people want to buy it in one lump. And I wrote the next band album, which we’ve now recorded. There’s rumors of a vinyl shortage, which takes me back to 1974, but hopefully, it won’t hold things up. We were hoping for a spring release but it’s probably going to be summer and hopefully, we’ll get the band out touring later this year. It’s all new stuff … we got David Mansfield playing fiddle on a few things.

I believe the Richmond show at the Tin Pan is solo, is Zara Phillips coming with you to that gig?

I’m hoping she will come to that one. She has other things in her life, she’s a writer and actress as well, but I think she’s clear for those shows. So hopefully, she’ll come down to sing some harmonies.

Here’s a new song, “Tinker’s Rhapsody,” from his 2021 EP, “Serpent’s Tears.”

I was reading a recent concert review of a show you did in Jersey, which said you talked a little about Jeff Beck, since he recently passed.

Yeah, I met him once briefly at a Fender guitar dinner in London, but it was so in passing. Most of my memories of Jeff were when I was in school, maybe 15 years old, and I would go to the Marquee Club in London to see the Yardbirds, who played, I think it was, every Friday. It was exciting stuff. They had Eric Clapton, then Jeff came in. I knew a bit about the blues and R&B at that point because I had been buying Muddy Waters records and stuff. But I appreciated the Yardbirds. They were trying to do something a bit different. I guess more … almost psychedelic.

Kind of like that song they were doing in the Antonioni film, “Blow-Up”? I think it was “Stroll On” …

[Laughs] Yeah, the stuff in “Blow-Up” is very staged. They very self-consciously destroy their equipment in the style of The Who. The Yardbirds never did that, it was kind of a cliché at the time that the film picked up on. It’s strange, I saw that film last year and I was really disappointed, because I remembered it being better than it actually was. It felt very dated as a film … anyway, Jeff Beck I think of as a very pioneering and very interesting guitar player, and we’ll miss him … [Yes] and David Crosby too, I never played with him, but met him a couple times. Really liked him, he was a nice man. He had a reputation for being destructive and destroying bands in the process, but I thought he was charming.

I was told earlier today that Simon Tassano, your longtime, former sound guy, who now lives in Charlottesville, is hosting a show on WTJU where he will be playing rare live stuff of yours (You can still stream the entire show under Simon’s Stash of Richard Thompson here).

That’s absolutely true and I fully cooperated in the process. Simon had a bunch of live tapes, board tapes really, from shows going back 20 years. We looked at the request shows that I’ve done, where I’m pulling songs out of a hat [from the audience] and responding to that. We put together about an hour’s worth of material; a lot of it is from the 2005-2010 period. But there’s interesting stuff there. I’m doing covers of “War (What is it Good For?),” “Parchman Farm,” the Mose Allison song. A bunch of really strange stuff. So hopefully that will pique people’s interest. [The show] was all pre-recorded … I’m happy to be part of a fundraiser for the station.

Since I’m calling from Virginia, home state of great country artists like Patsy Cline, June Carter Cash, Ralph Stanley, even Gene Vincent – I thought I’d ask how much your guitar playing was influenced by country and rockabilly?

Ooooh. Well, I have no idea, really. But I was a big fan of early rock and roll, so Gene Vincent was definitely on the radar. I had a big sister, she was five years older than me, and I was hearing her Jerry Lee Lewis and Gene Vincent records through the bedroom wall pretty much, from a very young age. It was great to hear that stuff. That was all really influential, if not the actual style, the spirit of early rock and roll. Patsy Cline is someone I found later, probably when my old band Fairport Convention was starting out in the mid-‘60s, we were into country music. Very few people were at the time. We loved Hank Williams and we certainly heard Patsy Cline.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on a few individual songs from the past. Listening to a Fairport song like “Book Song” from 1969’s “What We Did On Our Holidays,” it reminds me of the “Sweetheart”-era Byrds, or that California country sound, though I think you’re playing sitar.

Oh good, well we loved the Byrds because we really loved folk music. We learned a lot growing up in London around the folk clubs. That was something we felt very close to. The Byrds were doing songs like “Wild Mountain Thyme” a British song, and “The Bells of Rhymney” which was Welsh song. So we did feel a close connection, and probably that was one of our inspirations for starting a band really, the Byrds and the Loving Spoonful, bands like that.

I also heard that you were very into Richard and Mimi Farina’s music back then. My friend’s space rock band in Northern California used to cover their song, “Bold Marauder.” Remember that one?

Great, such a great song. Wonderful song. Richard was a very underrated component of the early folk scene. Had he lived longer, he might’ve been much more of a household name, as much as Leonard Cohen or someone. I think he was a serious rival to Bob Dylan at one point. [For those interested, their relationship is explored in the book “Positively 4th Street” by David Hadju.]

Speaking of Dylan, I love Fairport’s cover of “Percy’s Song,” his tune featured in the D.A. Pennebaker documentary, “Don’t Look Back,” when Joan Baez sings it while Bob pecks on an old typewriter. Though I think your version is superior to the original.

Thanks … Yeah, I think that’s one of the best Dylan interpretations that we ever did – and I think Bob liked it as well.

Another song of your former singer Sandy Denny’s that I’ve always liked was “Bushes and Briars.” I’m pretty sure you played on that recording from 1971, do you recall much about that tune? Was it based on the traditional English folk song?

Sandy wrote it, I think. It sounds very traditional but then again a lot of her stuff does. I think I played electric guitar on it. Sandy’s playing guitar. I’m trying to think what that one was about … Sandy could be obscure in her lyrics, and even if you asked, she didn’t always tell you what a song was about, so …

Do you have a favorite album of hers?

Albums, I don’t know. Individual tracks, there are things I really like. “John The Gun” [by Fotheringay] I really like, “Stranger to Himself” I think is a great song … the whole of “The Northstar Grassman [And the Ravens]” has just wonderful songs on there.

Regarding your recent book (“Beeswing”), one of my favorite moments was during an early tour of the U.S. when you accidentally ran into Buck Owens and the Buckaroos. That was pretty funny, can you relate that story?

Well, we were in the Detroit airport, I think we were changing planes and we had time to get some breakfast. We were a bunch of hippies with long hair and buckskin jackets, God knows what else. We were sitting there in our booth and we start hearing all these insults coming from the next booth. “Goddamn hippies!” “Longhairs.” “Hello, girlies,” you know that kind of stuff. And so I sort of sneak a look around the booth and there are these guys in Stetsons and cowboy boots, the full gear. They were all kind of in uniform, dressed the same. And I thought, “Well, that’s interesting. I recognize these guys, I’ve got their albums at home. It’s Buck Owens and the Buckaroos.”

It’s a strange thing to be insulted by people you admire [laughs].

And so when we got up to leave, I made an excuse to the other guys in my band, said, “I have to use the bathroom,” you know, “I’ll see you at the gate.” And I got a pen and paper and went back and said “Mr. Owens, I’m a big fan of yours from the U.K. I’ve got your records. Could I have your signature please?” [Laughs] And you know – he looked very confused. And I knew the names of all of them [sitting at the table] Don Rich, Tom Brumley. I really confused them. I mean, really confused them. They were very discombobulated, yes.

And you write in the book that Buck Owens said, “You seem like a nice kid … but you’d do a lot better with a haircut and some decent clothes.” [Laughs]. And you walked away after reminding him of that old American saying: “You can’t judge a book by its cover.”

Yes, I did, that’s right. That was very pretentious of me.

Congrats on the book, it’s a fascinating read. I didn’t know about a lot of the early tragedy involving the band [a van crash claimed the lives of Fairport drummer Martin Lamble and Thompson’s American girlfriend, Jeannie Franklyn, in 1969]. You get a sense of why the lyrics to these lovely songs are sometimes very dark … Scott Timberg, a Los Angeles author and journalist and your friend, was a motivating force in getting you to write about these early years. Sadly, he committed suicide before the book was published.

He was a staff writer at the L.A. Times for a long time and was quite happy there, earning a living doing what he loves: writing about music and the arts around the L.A. area. He was a very good journalist, and I think it broke his heart to be fired by the L.A. Times when they started laying people off. I think he was a bit lost from that point onwards.

I found out later really, after he died, that he had been suffering from depression. I had no idea, whatsoever. It was a massive shock to me. Threw me off for months, actually, I couldn’t write anything for months … [The way the book began] we started taping, I would talk into a machine and he’d write it up. And I told him, “Scott, this isn’t working, I’m losing whatever my voice is, it’s not coming across. So let me write it, then you come in at the end and edit it then.” But it was really Scott’s idea to do the book in the first place and I’m eternally grateful for that. And I’m sorry that it was a tragic conclusion for him.

I’m sure Scott would’ve been disgusted by the news lately about ChatGPT, the artificial intelligence takeover on its way to save money for big corporations. It can write, or approximate, pretty much any kind of content – school essays, journalism, songs — whatever is needed. Someone recently had it write a song in the style of Nick Cave, and his response was, “This song sucks. It’s a grotesque mockery of what it means to be human.”

It’s pointless. There’s absolutely no point to it whatsoever. What’s the point of having robots painting pictures and composing music? It’s utterly pointless. Computers don’t have a soul. To synthesize feeling is a bit like being a sociopath. Your computer is a sociopath, or psychopath, really. It learns its feelings from someone else … Humans need to be doing this kind of stuff. There’s a big scandal in the UK right now, strikes on the railway system because they want to lay people off and automate the railways more and more. Let’s employ people for heaven’s sake. Charge an extra dollar or something. In the end it’s safer and people have jobs.

Agreed. At any rate, I’m sorry for the loss of your friend … This book stops in the mid-1970s. Do you have plans for a follow-up?

Well, I’m writing bits and pieces. If I do something else, I think it’s going to be more episodic, more short pieces stuck together; thematically linked, shorter things from different moments in music. Hopefully that will be interesting.

“What’s the point of having robots painting pictures and composing music? It’s utterly pointless. Computers don’t have a soul. To synthesize feeling is a bit like being a sociopath. Your computer is a sociopath, or psychopath, really. It learns its feelings from someone else.” — Richard Thompson

Do you ever keep in touch with veteran producer Joe Boyd? He’s done so many great records. Is he still around?

Yeah! Well, I saw Joe just a couple months ago in London, where he lives. I went to his house, which is full of vinyl and CDs and memorabilia. He has amazing pictures and great stories about music. He’s doing a new book about world music that is going to be very interesting … What’s his secret? I think just having ears, you know? John Hammond Sr. had ears and I think Joe had the same thing. He recognized innovation and talent at an early stage. And not everyone has that ability. The really great A&R people can do that. They say, “Okay, I’ve got a hunch about this, I think it’s going to be good.”

There was a golden period at Warner Brothers records when they had Van Dyke Parks, Ry Cooder, Bonnie Raitt, Randy Newman, and all these people who weren’t making them any money. But because they were making enough from pop records, they said, “We’ve got a feeling about these artists, we’re going to keep them on. If we lose money it doesn’t matter, we’ll make it back over here.” At a certain point, record companies really lost that ability or art, of going with their hunches, and started going with computer algorithms and other things. So it’s changed …

In London in the mid-to-late ‘60s, Joe was the only person really who had ears and could hear the potential for the Incredible String Band, Pink Floyd, The Move, Fairport, John Martyn, Sandy [Denny] … No one else would’ve treated them the same way, with the same respect. Other producers would’ve tried to turn Fairport into a pop band and wouldn’t have really seen what was interesting about us.

That’s interesting … I read that initially, you weren’t crazy about singing. But I think over the years, your vocals have developed a nice tone and depth and are unmistakably yours. How did you develop into the singer you are today?

Well, I don’t think I am a great singer. I’m OK singing my own stuff. I’ve gotten better over the years just by doing it. I wish when I was 16 someone had said, “OK, you, singing lessons.” That would’ve been really helpful to develop pitch and tone and all those things back in the 60s and 70s. It wasn’t just a matter of confidence, it was really practice. I didn’t think of myself as a singer. But if I’d really concentrated a bit more, and been more forward looking, I would’ve trained and got better earlier. When I listen to my voice on earlier records now, it just sounds thin, not enough tone there, really. It took me until the late ‘70s to think, “OK, I can sing a bit now.”

From Thompson’s 2003 live album, “1,000 Years of Popular Music:”

But your guitar playing, as always, is wonderful — everything about it, tasteful, elegant finger-picking, traditional sounding but still modern with great touchstones. I was listening to your most recent live recording from Hawaii. Seems like you always manage to get this amazing bass response that pairs well with your vocals.

Yeah, if it’s a live recording its all down to the pickup and what it goes through. I’ve got two different kinds of pickups – a magnetic pickup and a little condenser microphone inside the guitar – and I blend those two signals and those go through a tube preamp, which is very important for getting the warmth and the depth. So it’s down to expensive preamps, really.

I think most anyone who has seen you in the live solo setting knows that you have that rare ability to make time stop, or to hold an entire room under the song’s spell. As an audience member, what helps you get to that important space in live performance?

Probably, if it’s reasonably quiet and you hear yourself well. You’re relying on fallback from the stage – and every venue that will sound different. Some nights it sounds horrible. If it sounds good, that really helps you to think you’re playing and singing well, gives you good feedback so you can relax into the music. But the main thing is concentration. Even if it’s noisy, if there’s a bar going on in the background or something, you just have to shut out everything. You shut out the audience, your own thoughts, you just get as inside the music as you can. The nights you really succeed at doing that, those are the good nights, the nights where the music flows and expresses well.

Some nights you can have hellish distractions and never get to that point. A great example of that is playing acoustic on a multistage festival and the band next to you is louder than you are –you can’t even hear what key you’re playing in. You kind of get through it, you bluff through it, maybe the audience doesn’t even know. But there are different levels of distractions. If it sounds good onstage, that’s a real help – and if the audience is quiet during the songs that helps as well.

Do you find the meaning of your songs changes over the years as you play them live? Or do you still try to recall the original intent behind them?

Well, there are some songs where you think, I should do this song a bit because people love it. To me, I’ve forgotten the feeling I had originally about the song. Something like “Meet on the Ledge,” which I wrote very early in 1968, I’ve kind of forgotten the feeling that went into that song, but people ask me to sing these songs. I can’t be a curmudgeon and say, well I refuse to do it. It’s easy to just sing the song and find new meaning in it. With a song like that, I really have to look at it and say, “Okay, I see this, and this, and this.” You have to put new emotion into it, sometimes. Other songs are different every night. If it’s a song you’ve sung a couple hundred times, every time it seems to be different. So it’s always a new interpretation. I think if it isn’t, then you have to stop singing the song. You have to say, I’ve lost whatever this song means, and you drop it.

I guess a good example of someone who is still constantly retooling their own songs is Bob Dylan – I saw him a few years ago in Petersburg and he played one of his better, modern-era songs, “Not Dark Yet,” and you could barely recognize it. Do you still listen to Bob’s stuff?

Yeah I do, yeah. He’s done some impressive stuff the last few years. But I think in his case, it’s so radically [altered], you lose the song, or the tune anyways, which I kind of miss. I’m not sure I want to go that far – as far as Bob.

Richard Thompson performs on Sunday, Feb. 26 at the Tin Pan at 7 p.m. Tickets are $85. Update: The event is now sold out.