“Things are much, much better for me now,” says Steve Miller in his light Texan drawl.

Miller sips coffee and doesn’t smoke. Record company promo men hover in the background. The bluesrock sounds of Miller’s new album, Book Of Dreams, plays through a cheap hi-fi set up in this hotel room laid aside for a bout of interviews.

After all, the ball has to be kept rolling.

For, as Miller himself is perfectly aware, the San Francisco (Miller might have been born in Dallas, but his music is definitely West Coast San Francisco) singer-guitarist is now, after years of critical acclaim and cult status but only moderate commercial success, the apple of his record company’s eye with a triple platinum album and three hit singles Stateside behind him in the past year.

Says Miller:

“These days I’m in a position of power with Capitol. I can go in and talk to anybody at anytime about any sum of money, any kind of promo campaign I want.”

Big shot.

• “I’m the greatest guy in the world,” he adds with the realistic proviso, “until I stop selling records.”

He continues: