Ian Gillan: The Autobiography of Deep Purple’s Singer Read online

  To Rock ’n’ Roll!

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  WHO TO BLAME

  MY CO-WRITER

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  DISCOGRAPHY

  PLATES

  COPYRIGHT

  WHO TO BLAME

  Bron (B, also known as Bumble) and Grace Gillan; Janet, daughters Nicola and Lucy plus the five grandchildren, Matt Aubury (crucial computer advice – many thanks!); Simon (Super-Mec) Clapp; Robert Mazzilli; Fulden Underwood; the Miltons at The Fortescue (Salcombe); Rick and Cheryl at The Creeks End Inn (Kingsbridge); Peter Ehlers at The Thirsty Whale at Altemonte Springs (Florida); the Board of Directors, The Penzance Club Ltd (Paddington Station); Ernie (Goodbye is all she wrote) Birse, Katya Dutton; Richard Hughes and Janet Reeves (Portugal) – very special; Questrn ‘P’ Kober, Al Dutton; Phil Banfield; Lois James; Adam Parfitt and Charly Helyar at John Blake Publishing Limited; Colin Hart; Charlie Lewis; Geoff Aspel; Manjeet Khangura (Electric Echo); BMG Records; Graham (Squiffy) Underwood; Kudos Business Systems (Salcombe); Family G. Doyle – The King of Prussia (Kingsbridge); AI Walls (loan of LP!); Doug McKenzie; Tony Tacon; Gloria Bristow; George Bodnar; Barry Plummer; Chris Hill; Robert Lundgren; Chris Charlsworth; King Print (Kingsbridge); Julian Calverley; Simon Fowler; Dave Botha of Action West (Kingsbridge), Simon Robinson (and Ann) for Darker Than Blue and RPM Records Limited (Sheffield) – also for the discography. Finally, to every single promoter who ever put his neck out for me!

  MY CO-WRITER

  The ‘Incredible Bard’, David Cohen, thinks this book is straight off the ‘do-da’. He says things like that! I called him at home one evening, and his wife, Janet, answered the phone. As I was talking to her, I heard barking in the background.

  ‘Didn’t know you had a dog, Janet.’

  ‘It’s David,’ she said. ‘He’s barking at a letter from the bank manager.’

  My kinda guy!

  Married to Janet, and with daughters Nicola and Lucy, plus the five grandchildren, David has been involved with a number of projects in the creative industries, including with several musicians. In the ‘early days’ he managed two successful shows at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, he then helped Amazon River adventurer Alan Holman get his record-breaking kayak journey published by Hodder and Stoughton, before conceiving of and co-writing The Buskers: A History of Street Entertainment (with Ben Greenwood), which David & Charles published in 1981. It turned out that this project dovetailed with David’s political interest in the challenges that face inner cities, and community central area futures, and he became a frequent guest on national and local radio, as well as lecturing on his different projects. He also went on to create a successful writing workshop for HM Prison Service and lifer groups, where he encouraged his ‘charges’ to put pen to paper and be legally creative; while using his very short play, Don’t Be Late, to demonstrate that ‘anyone can get the public’s attention, if they really want to!’

  ‘Don’t Be Late is one of the highlights of my career to date,’ he’ll explain to anyone who cares to listen, referring to a dramatic work that lasted fifty-three seconds and was performed thirty-two times in a single evening of theatre, whilst allowing the audience to see one show in simultaneous performance on television through a TV stage prop. ‘Indeed, I think it was this joyful experience that caused Ian to invite me to work with him on his life story.’

  With the new manuscript complete, David’s ongoing plans include finishing a musical play based on his first novel, The Fields of Thyme, which was successfully self-published in 2013 by Neaptide Projects (Salcombe) Ltd.

  PROLOGUE

  Maybe it’s possible to resist the temptation, the beginning of my time on earth being such a long time ago – in fact 19 August 1945, to be precise. By then two-fifths of my future life had already been born, which left just Roger Glover and Ian Paice to turn up. And I refer of course to Deep Purple, that enigmatic rock band I have always loved in torment. Jon Lord (keyboards; sadly, he died in July 2012), Roger Glover (bass), and Ian Paice (drums) are essentially moderate people with good hearts and only the normal amount of wickedness. Over the years, they have hovered somewhere near the fulcrum of a musical seesaw, while Ritchie Blackmore (guitar) and I (vocals) have danced precariously along the musical extremities.

  I use that as an ongoing statement, because, although Ritchie left the band after the Helsinki show on 17 November 1993, following a much publicised incident at the Birmingham NEC a few days before, he will never be forgotten – never! He is vitally important to the whole spirit of Deep Purple – whilst it might also surprise some readers to know that I have no bad feelings towards him at all. I used to room with him in the early days, and over many turbulent years – some exquisite, and some not so – I learned to love and admire his supreme musicianship and stage presence; plus, I had some great times with him on many occasions.

  Of course, Ritchie’s perception of me may well be different, because he’s on the record as saying that ‘one of these days, when we’re on the road, I’m going to attack Ian Gillan in a back alley. He’s bigger than me and probably a better fighter, so I’ll have to do it with a few friends.’ Then he’s cunningly added, ‘Because it’ll be dark, he won’t know I’m also there’! Well I’d prefer to think he was just being dramatic, but it was certainly all wrong during the period when I rejoined the band at the Red Rooster Studio in Munich in 1992, for The Battle Rages On, and where I learned early on that Ritchie had told Anders Tengner he’d wanted to bring somebody different in. However, the better news was that the others had voted him down, although he was no less encouraging when we met to look at the material I’d inherited from the band and its outgoing singer, Joe Lynn Turner, whose lyrics I’d already replaced, with Roger’s involvement, at a studio in Cookham, Berkshire. One of the songs was ‘Time to Kill’, and everybody liked what I’d put down, except the guitar player, which meant our reunion of the classic Deep Purple line-up looked a bit fragile, from Day One!

  Remember, I’d not seen Ritchie for a few years, and so I thought it would be a great chance to bury our volatile history and start afresh. He walked into the studio, said ‘Hi’, and we shook hands. After a couple of minutes of small talk, I said, ‘So what is it you don’t like about ‘Time to Kill’? Is it the lyrics, is it the tune? I can change a bit here and there if you like?’

  Ritchie said, ‘I don’t like the words, I don’t like the tune and I don’t like the title! I mean, the world kill doesn’t exactly fit that chord, does it? There was then a pause, after which he added, ‘To be honest, I’d rather you use the words that Joe wrote!’

  I think Ritchie feels the same way about ‘Woman from Tokyo’, but, then, he claims his favourite artists are Abba and Neil Diamond, so it’s perhaps not surprising that we’ve exchanged blank looks from time to time.

  Consider your position, position your defence

  Why don’t you let me ask you is it mere coincidence

  Feeding speculators on a downhill gravy train

  Like vultures ripping out the eyes to reach the dying brain.

  Listen to the wind – a silent scream

  Tearing at your broken heart

  L
ike a forgotten dream

  My writing of ‘Time to Kill’ remained as I offered it, but the album and tour were a constant struggle, with the band dipping into terminal velocity as we headed for the buffers. Even so, Ritchie’s leaving in the manner he would choose was definitely critical, and we had to decide whether we could carry on.

  We talked about various options and ideas, but it was Mr Udo (a Japanese promoter) who suggested Joe Satriani as a replacement, and so we called him to see if he was interested and available; if he might just be up for it? We all understood it could never be a permanent thing, just a means to save us from drowning. And, soon after we’d sent him a tape from the Stuttgart show, he arrived in Japan, a perfect gentleman, a perfect professional and a consummate player. We told him we’d booked a couple of days for rehearsal, and he just walked in and played immaculately. First time!

  We looked through the studio window to see Mr Udo, Colin Hart (our tour manager) and the crew holding up cards. It was like marking an ice-skating competition, and the figures were all 9. 9, and higher! It was a breeze – he was making it so easy for everyone. And then came the moment to play ‘Smoke on the Water’, and somebody said, ‘Oh, we don’t need to do that, do we?’

  ‘I’d like to do it!’ Joe replied.

  ‘OK, then,’ we said, which provoked the glorious response, ‘Gee, I never thought I’d get to play “Smoke on the Water” with Deep Purple!’ And, after that, Joe came straight on stage with us for the first show at Nagoya. He looked brilliant, played brilliantly, and the rest of the tour through Japan was simply bliss! In fact he agreed to stay on for the European tour the following June, and we occasionally made overtures to him about staying on some more – perhaps permanently? However, Joe had always been very open about the fact that he had his own band, and all too quickly the time came for him to return to his projects. He’d filled a gap, which allowed us to continue, regain our confidence and realise there was life after Ritchie. And so it was time to sit down and look for a permanent replacement.

  We took a poll as to who wanted whom, and the American musician, Steve Morse featured on everybody’s list. We approached him, and, after we’d talked through our situation and ambitions, it was clear he was interested, which left us to ask if there were any questions he had for us. ‘Just one: is there any dress code?’

  Steve still had some gigs to honour with his band, the Dixie Dregs, but he met up with us all in Mexico City during November to rehearse and play a few warm-up dates. So what’s then to say? Well, suffice that the gods had decided to smile on us again, as we realised beyond any shadow of doubt that, as with Joe Satriani before, we’d got lucky a second time! Steve became the permanent guitar player of Deep Purple at the end of 1994.

  CHAPTER 1

  I suppose my first real memory has to be the arrival of my sister, Pauline, on 26 July 1948, and she came as a welcome surprise, such that the future promised so much more than the run-of-the-mill-toys I was messing around with as a three-year-old. However, the early excitement of her joining the family soon began to pale, and, as she progressed to toddlerhood, she became something of a disappointment, for which read that I sometimes needed to have stern words with her. It was always meant well, and intended to help her to better survive in the real world one day.

  For example, there was the occasion when Mum left her unattended in her playpen for a while, and I took the moment to sneak up and give it a good shaking, while roaring at the poor little mite like a wild animal. Well she might not have appreciated it at the time, but I thought it worthwhile, although in later years Mum (or Audrey, as I now call her) would also remember things like that, and admit this was another of those occasions when the wrong youngster had been locked up!

  Still, I persevered with being a good brother, and as we grew that bit older, I’d try to encourage her to join me in some of my ‘projects’, even though she never understood my instructions, continued to cry when under pressure, and, frankly, turned out to be unemployable! And then came the moment when she started to bring her girlfriends home, an early occasion being around the time Granddad Watkins bought us this enormous tent – or so it seemed – and the two of us slowly put it together in the back garden. It was a moment of glorious bonding (as they call it these days) for us ‘men’, as he patiently showed me the art of constructing something worthwhile, while my mind ran riot with the prospect of a new base camp soon to be ready for great adventures in far-off jungles and exotic places. But, then, no sooner was it finished than Pauline and co. arrived to take over the tent and turn it into a hospital, so they could play doctors and nurses! Of course I refused to be ‘Dr Gillan’, but the time would come when I’d look back on the moment with, shall we say, a smile!

  Sweet child

  In time you’ll see the line

  The line that’s drawn between

  Good and bad

  All in all, my childhood wasn’t bad, so I can’t say that mine is a rags-to-riches story. However, it wasn’t a cosy life, either, in Hounslow, and there were many ups and downs to cope with, including when my parents all too frequently rowed, and later split up. My father, Bill, is dead now, but, despite all the problems he caused, I cannot think badly of him.

  Born in Govan, Glasgow, and from a large working-class family, he left school at thirteen and, with friends of similar backgrounds and attitudes, spent much of his youth in minor skulduggery and enterprise along the banks of the Clyde.

  One of the things they would do to earn a crust was to look for driftwood, which they would painstakingly collect and dry, before selling it to folk in the tenement buildings. It was a tough area with tough people, and you needed your wits about you to get by.

  Childhood memories are often confused, and exaggeration is always a tendency. However, what could not be overstated was Dad’s amazing accent. It was ‘Govanese’, and made Rab C. Nesbitt sound like Derek Nimmo. Brought later to southeast England, it must have caused problems, because it wasn’t until I was about fourteen that I ever began to understand a word he was saying! Growling and animated gestures, which the inexperienced or uneducated sometimes took as threats, often turned out to be expressions of endearment, and it must have surprised him sometimes to see us all running away, when he was only trying to be nice!

  Dad’s eccentricities and his contribution to family life were many and varied, ranging from inspirational to downright silly and irresponsible. So he was not the central figure in the family, or, when he was, it would often be for the wrong reason. However, the two of us got on quite well in the early years, and, as time moved on, he’d certainly be there for me when needed.

  Otherwise, there were many causes for friction between my parents, and one was Bill’s attitude towards religion, which was at best unorthodox, and therefore unhelpful in a house and community where we were supposed to be growing up with Christian values. However, his questioning and genuine curiosity about the ‘being’ and work of God was something I grew to respect until I also began to ask questions about the Almighty and His universe.

  I was born into confusion, my mother said to me

  When you become a man you’ll understand

  But it’s still a mystery.

  I must have been around ten years old when I first contemplated the magnitude and mental challenge of infinity; gazing into the blue sky with its sunshine, beyond which I was told all else is black, as it seemed that way on a clear night, when we’d see only the moon and stars in their different constellations. And so it came to be that answers to my questions always came back to ‘it’ going on for ever, which seemed crazy. I mean, even I could see that nothing in life went on for ever, because, although I was still a child, I took notice that for every room there would be walls and a door; and then, as I stood in the garden, the same would apply, except to substitute a gate for the door; then to the streets, which would also be variously enclosed. However, this was not the case with the sky, where I saw no walls or doors, only space, infinite space – and it made no
sense. And so I struggled with answers that were either crazy or made no sense, as in my vivid imagination I’d dream of ways to enclose all spaces, and all of space in space, within walls – contain every part, and especially the sky!

  But, having achieved this in my dreams, I’d wake up to confront the futility of defining space, and, more to the point, of trying to control and contain it. And, yes, I accept that ‘space’ really does go on for ever; it did when I was a child, and it would do so in my more mature years, one day to find expression in ‘Mr Universe’ on the Pye label with Roger Glover (1967), and later with the Ian Gillan Band, when a different song was released by Virgin in 1979.

  Questioning the concept of space, and asking about God, is no sin in my book, while I’ll never understand how we can ever (or even) try to justify mass destructions in His name. So, right now, I’m resigned to live my life on the basis that we’re all just a bubble in someone’s beer, and, hopefully, the future will offer me new inspiration!

  I greatly regret not having spent more time trying to appreciate Bill’s attitude to life, and what it was that made him reject so much. Unfortunately, many of his opinions, when they were understood in the first place, were considered unhelpful in a society where goodness and virtue were essential aspirations, and so it fell to Audrey to provide the backbone and basic fabric to home life.

  It may have helped that her background was nicer than Bill’s, but, whether that’s true or not, she was one of four children and, to digress a little, the eldest of them, ‘Aunty Joan’, would later play a helpful role in the early stages of my music career. She became Mrs Crewkerne through marriage to an American GI called Charlie, and, once back in the States, she’d become our first international fan when the band Episode Six took shape. Of course, she wrote to the fan club as ‘Joan’, which was a fine cover-up, and I know it impressed quite a few people at that important time of our development.