Is rock and roll the new reading? Is 90 the new 20? Questions that beggar more of a ‘eh?’ than a ‘yes’ but both answered by some of music’s most elder(ly)statesmen.

The news that Bob Dylan has been awarded a Nobel Prize for Literature caused controversy and excitement among just about everyone – except the nasally-challenged one himself. We have to avert our eyes and ears to Dylan’s record of late – some Frank Sinatra cover versions, a woeful Xmas album – and accept the fact the honour from the Swedish committee is more of a Lifetime Achievement award. However, the singing legend seemingly showed little interest when approached to receive the gong, ignoring the calls from the committee, who deemed him “impolite and arrogant” as he even removed mention of the award from his website.

To be fair, his Bobness might have been a more likely candidate for the peace prize during the 1960s for his undoubted trailblazing lyricism (as opposed to his singing) aligned to the Vietnam peace movement.

But those who questioned the decidedly left-field choice for a prize usually given to, well, authors, shouldn’t be too surprised, given Henry Kissinger got a Peace Prize while Gandhi didn’t. Although given the awards are about salving the conscience of the people who invented dynamite, we can perhaps expect the morally bankrupt Donald Trump to get the nod next time round.

To avoid such disputes in future it might make sense to introduce a category specifically for music, but the hapless organisers would probably give it to Simon Cowell.

Dylan’s recent career trajectory seems to be at odds with other poets, who seem to improve with age. Mind you, Dr John Cooper Clarke has just made an album of crooning ‘standards’ with old mucker Hugh Cornwell from The Stranglers. Ironically JCC seems to have cut down on the actual prose since being awarded a doctorate back in 2013 – putting him in good company alongside Wilko Johnston, who also gained a new lease of life following his cancer ‘cure’. Honoured at the same ceremony was Suzi Quatro, who in vanishing into Dictionary Corner may similarly have come to terms with her own mortality.

In less cheery news, Leonard Cohen recently announced that he was “ready to die”. Fortunately, the world’s most morose songwriter may have simply been getting into character for his next release. The Canadian doom-monger plans to “stick around until 120,” adding “I’ve always been into self-dramatisation.”

Another set of pensioners refusing to swap bourbon for Werthers Originals are the Rolling Stones – although their new album, recorded in the space of three days, is a set of blues classics. To be fair, the band’s whole schtick was pinched from the likes of Willie Dixon and Howlin’ Wolf so in a way it’s nice they’ll pay tribute to these musical pioneers – and more importantly, cough up those long-overdue royalties.

But despite Keith Richards owing a massive debt to him, there’s no Chuck Berry on the Stones album – meaning that the 90-year-old has been forced to get his own album out instead. And he’s even written new material for it – truly a man who can still teach those septuagenarian whippersnappers a thing or two.