With many rock-star memoirs, readers are left with the feeling that -- fame, fortune and other pleasures aside -- the price of music-world success is just too high. Whether it's Gregg Allman or Keith Richards, those gold records seem to be delivered with an equal number of drug-fueled, near-death experiences.

In contrast stands Rod: The Autobiography (Crown Archetype, $27), out Tuesday, singer Rod Stewart's recounting of a life that seems to be one endless romp from hit song to hot date, with a few stylish Italian sports cars and expensive pieces of Pre-Raphaelite art thrown in for good measure. Blondes (Have More Fun), indeed.

"Well, it's not a drug- and sex-fueled book, it's more humorous," says Stewart, 67, in his trademark boudoir-ready rasp. "On the whole, it was a year of revelations (writing the book), and I was really knocked out by my recall, because I do like me a good drink. But, no, it wasn't emotionally tough to do this."

The book spans Stewart's poor son-of-a-plumber upbringing in north London through his success first as a member of the Jeff Beck Group and The Faces and later as a solo act. His output has never slowed, whether hitting the charts with Great American Songbook classics or hoping to score new yuletide hits with his upcoming Merry Christmas, Baby album, out Oct. 30.

Throughout this near half-century run, there were mostly ups (including the almost accidental success of Maggie May, which Stewart nearly left off his seminal 1971 solo album, Every Picture Tells A Story) and nary a down (unless you count his various relationships and marriages to a litany of blond beauties remotely as an emotional bummer).

Stewart credits his good fortune to a great upbringing. "I had a remarkable (post-war) childhood, in that we didn't have two pennies to rub together, but we were absolutely clan-like in the way we stood up for each other," he says, noting that he felt the book had to be written now because his siblings are in their early 80s. "I only got support from my brothers. They were the ones who bought me my first guitar. That puts a lump in my throat."

Known in the '60s as Rod the Mod for his then-outlandish style of dress and his soon-to-be-famous fountain-like coif, Stewart admits that he "felt like a round peg trying to fit into a square hole in those days. The music business really didn't know what to do with me, I didn't fit in at all, this white kid sounding like a black soul singer. But that meant I had a lovely long apprenticeship, from when I was 19 until I really hit it big with Maggie May at age 26."

That huge single, which Stewart writes is loosely based on a fling he had with an older woman at a British jazz festival, was not destined for greatness because "in the early '70s all pop songs had that catchy bit in the middle, they used to call it the 'payday' part," he says with a laugh. "But Maggie May didn't have it, it just rambled on like a river. Who knew? It wasn't until an American DJ in the Midwest started playing it a lot that things changed."

Another interesting bit in Rod is Stewart's reflection on the Jeff Beck Group's seminal masterpiece Truth (1968), whose blues-meets-rock sound presaged Led Zeppelin's mighty debut romp a year later. Truth even contains a song that Zep made famous, You Shook Me.

"Well, we're all friends now and we've done all right for ourselves, but there was some bad feeling for a while," says Stewart. "Jimmy Page definitely built Zep (based) on us. There were four of us, and there were four of them. We'd be playing gigs and we'd see Jimmy and (Led Zeppelin manager) Peter Grant turn up at our show. And soon there's Robert and the rest of the lads. So, yeah ..."

Speaking of Beck, Stewart regrets that an often-rumored studio reunion with his old mate has yet to happen; the two swapped demo tapes last year, but neither was enthusiastic about the other's songs. Beck then went radio silent, Stewart writes, and didn't reply to a Christmas 2011 e-mail. "I guess that's just the way it is for the moment," he sighs.

Whatever the animosity, Stewart clearly has been living too good a life to hold grudges.

Besides a mammoth palace in England (he has a regulation soccer field in his backyard, which the lifelong fan uses to stay fit and hold practice sessions for top teams), he's got a primary beach home in Los Angeles (with a mini soccer field the size of a basketball court). There also are countless pieces of priceless art (his main competitor in this field is art fiend and composer Andrew Lloyd Webber) and a solid array of fancy cars (he's partial to Ferraris and Lamborghinis). And let's not forget the love of eight children as well as girlfriends and wives past and present, including Alana Hamilton, Kelly Emberg, Rachel Hunter and current wife Penny Lancaster.

The only flame that won't return his calls is Britt Ekland. "Well, she can't stand me, so I just decided to take the high road in my book," he says. "No reason to do otherwise."

For Stewart, the regrets department seems closed. Unless you count selling a prized Lamborghini Miura SV a few years back for a paltry $9,000, when today that rare model will fetch more than a million dollars. "My kids were all railing on me, 'Why did you sell that car, Dad!' " says Stewart. "But, hey, they come, they go. I don't know anything about how cars work, and I don't want to. I just love the lines of them. They're exotic and fast, and I've known women with both those qualities."

With the plethora of rocker bios out this fall, does Stewart plan to set aside some time to read Mod-scene staple Pete Townshend's Who I Am or fellow model train -railroad fanatic Neil Young's Waging Heavy Peace?

Stewart can't stifle a guffaw. "Oh, heavens, no," says the man who has not just survived but thrived in an era of rock excess. "I'd rather read old back copies of Model Railroader magazine."

USA Today