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

  His successor was John Kerrison, who turned out to be a character and a half! I mean, how else do you describe a drummer who, when pissed off with our leader, Graham, sets up his kit at the far end of the hall! It was all so eccentric, but still depressing, because we knew that, far away in London, the music business was so vibrant and full of creative juices. After all our labours, why were we stuck out in the sand dunes and dust, while the Moody Blues, the Who and all the rest of them were riding the waves of success back home? It wasn’t fun, it didn’t seem fair, and I found myself asking many questions, particularly as to whether my writing had progressed or regressed in the Middle East heat.

  Decide which way to turn

  Or fall, dispirited

  Against the wall

  Without an aim, a whim or will

  And lie there

  It was the end of a good effort, as we left Beirut for England, where, unlike with the Beatles, only our mums and dads were there to meet us. Bless them! The end was also approaching for the band, although Mick Underwood replaced John Kerrison, who later had a horrific accident, and now bravely ‘travels on wheels’. Still, Mick came to us with plenty of experience, having worked with Ritchie Blackmore in the Outlaws, as well as being in the early line-up of the Herd, while his connection with Ritchie would of course change my life a year or so down the line. In the meantime, and with Episode Six, suffice that he definitely brought a wonderful spark to the dying embers.

  Back in familiar home territory, we were still looked after by Gloria, whose ambition and enthusiasm remained undiminished. We joined the MGM label, where we made ‘Little One’ and ‘Wide Smiles’ (May 1968), and along the way got involved in another Bristow promotion, par excellence.

  We went along to this club, and there were Gloria and its honorary secretary, who looked like the dead girl from the movie Goldfinger. Both ‘ladies’ looked very sexy, the party was fantastic, and later on in the proceedings, we were ushered outside, to where this Mini Moke was parked up. As some – perhaps many – will remember, the Moke was a tiny buggy-type car that was very fashionable at the time, as well as being very ventilated and very cheap! But the surprise wasn’t just that, because, to our amazement, there sat our Sheila in the vehicle, wearing her very short miniskirt, while sitting alongside her were two lion cubs, representing the MGM corporate image!

  A similar stunt was ‘pulled’ (i. e. cancelled) at Bristol Zoo, but at least the occasion put the band on television, before we parted company with the label – correction: before they told us to leave – and we moved to Les Reed’s Chapter One Label, where we put out ‘Mozart v the Rest’, ‘Lucky Sunday’ and ‘Les Bicyclettes de Belsize’. With these new people, we also started to earn reasonable money, sometimes £200 a night, but then I met HEC – or should I say Deep Purple?

  CHAPTER 4

  It was Mick Underwood who unselfishly mentioned me to Ritchie Blackmore, when asked if he knew any good singers to replace Rod Evans in Deep Purple. With hindsight, of course, it was all a bit underhand, because neither Rod nor bass player Nick Simper, whom Roger would also replace in a different scenario, had any idea what was going on; and neither did the Purple management of John Coletta and Tony Edwards! So, while they were beavering away in the office at 25 Newman Street in London, trying to sort out problems and a viable future for the band, Ritchie, Jon and Ian were in America reshaping it for them, from a different perspective!

  John and Tony’s main problem centred on difficulties they were having with the Tetragrammaton record label, who owed them a lot of money, so, in terms of what their band were up to with me, perhaps they’d taken their eye off the ball, and the same must have been the case with Roger coming in to replace Nick. Of course the band ‘pre-us’ would become popularly known as Deep Purple Mk. 1, and in that set-up they had already made albums with Shades of Deep Purple (1968), The Book of Taliesyn and Deep Purple (both in 1969); plus, they’d charted well with singles, of which ‘Hush’ made No. 4 on the American Billboard Charts, and was followed by ‘Kentucky Woman’ and ‘Emmaretta’, which also did good business. However, the three ongoing members of the next Deep Purple were looking for a harder sound; and in Roger they not only saw a fine musician who could also write and sing, but someone who already knew the new singer well! So it was against this background that Ritchie and Jon initially came to see me at the Ivy Lodge Club in Woodford Green, Essex, after which I was asked if I’d meet with them to talk things over properly.

  From the first moment of my seeing them, the guys came across very strongly. I mean they looked so ‘rich’, so confident, so well dressed, including bouffant hair, which was in vogue at the time. By contrast, I felt so totally inadequate that I dreaded going to meet them, and prepared myself for it by borrowing the best of Roger’s clothes to go with some of mine; and then I bought ten cigarettes to help calm my nerves, and for offering in a gesture of friendship. I set off with just enough money to buy the cigarettes and get me home, while I also had a vile cold and carried a pocketful of soggy Kleenex tissues with me, so I could keep things under control as best as possible.

  Well, of course, my first impression of these guys had been right, and I quickly looked to impress by offering round the fags. ‘Anybody want one of these?’ I invited, as used and wet tissues tumbled out of my pocket in an almost coordinated movement of clumsy goodwill. With snot trickling down my throat and out of my nose, I bent down to pick up the nasty mess, as eyes looked on. It was a moment of abject misery, and I was later quoted as saying, ‘I felt smaller than an ant, dirtier than a piece of dog shit, and wishing to be more invisible than the smallest part of the universe!’

  However, they were great and helped me through the ordeal, as we talked rock ’n’ roll and great futures, before they offered me the job. So, with their singer position settled, they then asked if I knew any decent bass players, and I mentioned Roger. After some more chatting, during which I enthused about his decency, plus songwriting skills and potential as a musician, they asked me to see if he’d join as well, which, after a great deal of soul searching – it hurt Rog – he also went to meet them. In fact, his ‘interview’ was even more bizarre than mine had been, starting with the fact he’d not really taken to Jon and Ritchie when they’d come to see us play earlier, and then because he turned up wearing jeans that had been ‘perfect’ two years before! He also wore what looked like a tea cosy with arm holes, while his sandals didn’t sit well with the idea of playing in a ‘harder’-sounding band. However, although the complete package had him looking like someone held together with string, I said he looked very cool, and to my amazement they all thought the same! So they offered him the job as well – and he promptly turned it down!

  I spent hours with Roger over the next few days, agonising over the pros and cons, hearing him say it was bad enough my leaving Episode Six, and so forth, but, in the end he agreed, and phoned Jon to tell him. In fact, he called him at about 10 a.m., not realising that Jon didn’t rise until about two in the afternoon, and I gather the conversation went something like:

  ‘Jon, it’s Roger here.’

  ‘Yeah? So?’

  ‘It’s Roger Glover, the bass player!’

  Now remembering the meeting, and on hearing that Roger was ‘onside’ to join, Jon told him the decision was fine, but added that he’d be on trial for three months. He called it ‘probation’, which was a bit unexpected – even unusual – but, with everything about settled, we joined a clandestine studio session where we recorded ‘Hallelujah’, and generally settled in full time. Meanwhile the (still) unsuspecting Rod and Nick were completing dates with the band, while the now informed managers planned to call time on them, with their last date set for the Top Rank, Cardiff, on 4 July 1969.

  Although there was great upset at Episode Six – and I believe Gloria threatened legal action – from my point of view it was like walking through a revolving door into a brave new world. And it was fantastic!

  As for Deep Purple, well, as most of
you know, it was named after the title of a song Ritchie’s grandmother liked, and was first recorded by Bing Crosby, before Nino Tempo and April Stevens successfully revisited it in 1963. I’ve mentioned the Mk. 1 Deep Purple having had considerable experience, particularly in America, and that, unlike with my past, they had recorded quite considerably, ironically having been in the same studios at Marble Arch as we’d been rushed in and out of during our time with Episode Six.

  I was also aware that I was walking into a new situation, which had some business difficulties with Tetragrammaton in America (EMI in the UK). What I’ve not commented on is the fact that, through this company in its better times, I’d moved into a band where my new friends were already used to being treated with a lot more style and respect than I’d ever known. So, in addition to ‘record success’, they’d appeared on The David Frost Show, and played alongside bands such as the Byrds (London Roundhouse), as well as travelling Europe with the Small Faces, the Koobas and Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Titch. Still, it hadn’t always been hunky-dory for them, and like almost everyone else in the business, they’d known moments of downside, one of them being the occasion that Jack Barrie pulled strings to get them on the bill for the Sunbury Festival (later the Reading Festival), and was quoted afterwards as saying, ‘Deep Purple were booked to be the opening act on the Saturday afternoon, but, to add salt to my wounds, they died the proverbial death. My only defence in the bar later on was a simple, “Just wait and see – they’re a little before their time!”’ In fact, the band had been booed off stage, but these things have happened to most of us at one time or another, and it certainly didn’t stop them being looked after like stars, with limos to a party at the Playboy Club in the States, where they met Bill Cosby, and where (I’m told) Paicey behaved badly trying to organise something with Jackie DeShannon! They’d also supported Cream on their Farewell Tour, but were thrown out after San Diego. Still, it didn’t stop ‘the train’, and they partied with Jimi Hendrix, as well as playing with their heroes Vanilla Fudge at Edmonton. And so it became very obvious that I’d joined a band, the majority of whose lifestyles were a world apart from what I’d been used to; but, then, ‘It’s the future that matters, isn’t it?’ thought I!

  Aside from Roger, who then were my new stablemates, in whose hands the future rested? Well, apart from the success I’ve mentioned, they were very different from the rather well-behaved group I’d just left; but let me quickly add that where they’d arrived at for now clearly wasn’t enough for them; and, just as I’d drawn a red line on my past, so I knew I was with like minds, who’d drawn their own. So everything was now in place for the emergence of the ‘classic’ Deep Purple Mk. 2, in which we’d all share the same starting point and future.

  Aside from Ritchie’s musicianship, he now began to adopt a bigger image for his future by dressing in black, and wearing the pilgrim hat, which, of course, became a trademark for some years. He also capitalised on things he’d learned from people he’d performed with in previous bands, and this led to developing his innate ability to be dramatic, as he treated challenges of brinkmanship as a justified and worthy part of his performances, which would also be extended to offstage! So there was the occasion when he decided not to arrive at a David Frost television show until just half an hour before it went on air, and that meant roadie Mick Angus having to psych himself up to fill the slot somehow. Of course the guitarist did turn up, but he also made it very clear that, unlike the rest of the band, he wasn’t going to waste time hanging around for nothing! OK, then!

  Ritchie next started to play longer solos, into which he’d drop bits of ‘God Save the Queen’ or ‘White Christmas’, and of course, these quirky inclusions became part of the Deep Purple tradition, which remains to this very day. Add to this the ‘scars’, born out of working with the likes of Screaming Lord Sutch and the Savages, as well as backing the incredibly demanding Gene Vincent and Jerry Lee Lewis – and it’s not surprising that Mr Blackmore was already someone ‘very special’ to travel with!

  As for Paicey, well he was born north of Watford Gap in 1948, but, after the family moved south, I’m told he started playing drums aged around fifteen, before joining his dad’s dance band in the late fifties. A few years on (the mid-sixties), he joined the MI5, which changed to the Maze, and, along with Rod Evans of later Deep Purple Mk. 1, they signed to, and recorded for, Parlophone. They also joined the harsh but necessary European club circuit most of us had graduated to, and so he inevitably got to meet Ritchie – where else but at the Star Club in Hamburg, where all rock roads led to? Otherwise, some further insights into Paicey’s interesting persona will follow.

  Which leaves ‘Gentleman Jon Lord’, whose wisdom I first came to appreciate when I visited his flat, instantly to notice it was covered wall to wall with a music score and to later appreciate it would become Concerto for Group and Orchestra, about which more will be told. However, in those first moments, I have to say I was a bit surprised, given I’d just signed up to Deep Purple, but the situation was all fine and manageable by him, as he told me about his time at the Royal College of Music and the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art (RADA), from which great halls he not only emerged as a very fine musician, but as an artist with a developed stage presence and proud voice.

  However, as with so many of us in the business, how things often appeared on the surface was not always as might be expected beneath it, and so I’d learn how Jon had apparently struggled for years on peanuts – although with help from his mum – while outside of ‘classical’ he’d joined the Art Woods, who were with the Decca label. His influences were Jimmy Smith, Graham Bond and Bobby Timmins, while, with Deep Purple, he’d drive all his knowledge and talent through a fine command of the Hammond organ. Just watch how he makes that rock – literally!

  Together, these musicians behaved, shall we say, ‘robustly’, and played loudly, although, as America moved into the love-and-peace era, audiences were sometimes confused by what was going on. So, while the beautiful people behaved beautifully, at a UCLA graduation party Ritchie smashed the mirrored false ceiling above the stage, while Paicey played with his tongue sticking out. (Fact: he still does sometimes!)

  And so arrived that special night of 10 July 1969, when I fronted the band on that tiny stage at the Speakeasy in Margaret Street, London, and where I stood before my peers, professional musicians, family, friends – and girls! As soon as we started, the place just went wild, and I coasted through the show, the feeling of power indescribable. There was ‘Mandrake Root’ and whatever else (I almost forget), plus, I played congas for want of something to do during the instrumentals. And I cried – oh, I cried – because on that night I reflected on all the bands I’d travelled with, but left or dumped, including, in particular, the turmoil of transition from Episode Six to Deep Purple.

  On that tiny stage, all of those emotions touched me so deeply, because I’d enjoyed each and every band, but now it seemed that all these musicians, friends and relatives had been lined up along the path to this very moment in time, because this was it! And I salute and love each and every one of them.

  Earlier on, I’d made reference to the Stones as ‘terrible fellows’, and now with Deep Purple it came almost naturally for us to join them, as we quickly developed into a lethal cocktail of creativity and energy. Whatever the circumstances, when we were together, things would happen, and this would be the case for many years to come – on stage and off!

  A good way to find out more about new mates came about when I spent time relaxing with them, and the River Thames proved an ideal playground for this. So I’d discover that Ian Paice’s interest was in fishing, and Ritchie’s was to cause chaos in fast boats. Put the two together in a restricted and scenic space, and quite a few people could get upset – and did!

  It’s difficult to select a preferred example, but an early one started at Bushnell’s Boatyard, where we hired The Gay Joker. It was an old wooden boat tethered to the dock, and you could actually hear it gr
oan at the sight of two long-haired musicians approaching, accompanied by Bert Bushnell himself.

  Once we were aboard, the first job was to load in the various bits and pieces we’d brought along, which in my case took a few minutes. However, Paicey needed at least six journeys to and from the car, and, while he sorted himself out, I did the inventory with Mr Bushnell. After we’d concluded that business, it was impressed upon me that all damaged or missing items would have to be paid for, and I duly signed a contract to that effect. In fact, it was not a lot different from so many other pieces of paper I’d put my mark on over the years. The proprietor then took us through the rudiments of river cruising – or should I say he took me through them, since Paicey was still organising his worldly possessions? So I heard about the dos and don’ts of river etiquette, and ‘this is the steering wheel, and this thing here makes you go forwards or backwards’, at which point he took us to Boulters Lock. Satisfied with our confident approach to the adventure, he then leaped lightly ashore to leave me in control. Or was it ‘command’?

  Anyway, Paicey let go of the ropes and, as the lock gates opened, I selected forward gear, which put us on course for a gap that didn’t look quite wide enough. With flashbacks of times past with Barry Dass, but now as captain of the moment, I made my first major decision: if we can’t make it forward, let’s try sideways! With that strategy dangerously in place, the next action necessarily meant that I fall back on my ‘time to think’ position, aware that an increasing number of well-wishers were looking on, doubtless with different hopes and bets on the final outcome! And then, after a zero contribution so far, my first mate made his final connection to the massive stereo system he’d brought along, and, with ‘Shotgun’ raging out of the speakers, several things seemed to happen at once. The engine immediately found a surge of enthusiasm and purpose, which, assisted by crashing gears, put us into full and forward thrust; a holidaying commodore promptly fell overboard (nobody heard the splash), and J.G. Ballard ignored us; but, then, he was busy trying to land his light aircraft! As we planed towards more open water, I looked over my shoulder to see a tableau of frozen faces on the ‘shoreline’, while somewhere down river I could just pick out Bert Bushnell trudging back to his yard, head bowed and shaking, contract in hand! ‘Got the stereo going, then, Paicey,’ I yelled, as we crabbed and rammed our way into a bright future, and towards the first pub, where we’d check our position.