by Ian Gillan
Their own rules and logic would sometimes defy belief, as I would discover later when I owned the De Lane Lea Studios in Holborn, London. In fact, it was during the Ian Gillan Band days – making Clear Air Turbulence, that a German girl managed to work her way into the studio, and was gradually working her way through my band and the crew! An old mate of mine, Jonathan Crisp, turned up, and, as befitted a young and highly successful entrepreneur, he was extremely well dressed and elegant in the way businessmen can be. Well, he must have found the scene he walked into a bit of a culture shock, so, just to wind him up (he looked frightened to death), I shouted through the studio to the Fräulein that she should look after my friend when she had a moment. Her reply was vintage, and extremely indignant: ‘I most certainly vill not! He iss vearing a suit!’ Now that’s what I call a groupie – what style!
Incredible as it may seem, BJs are the ultimate sign of affection in rock ’n’ roll, because they’re far less emotional, you don’t end up getting married, and the whole thing is far less stressful. Sadly, for all concerned, the situation was stamped on by the women’s movement, whose cheerleaders chose to represent the whole of their sex (including the groupies) on such matters. As I recall, it was usually the larger-bodied females who made all the fuss, and I also remember getting a bit shirty about it at the time. It all seemed so unfair that, just when the time was right for me, certain people were putting a downer on a bit of consenting fun.
I accept the fact that rock ’n’ roll, and what can go on in it, horrifies some people, or might even put parents off letting their kids go to a show, but, to reassure them, let me say it doesn’t happen to entire audiences. Well, not every night!
Even when I’m crazy
On fire – naked
Just as nature intended
With no style that’s easily blended
You’ll always know where I’ll be found
I’m hanging somewhere near the ground
Help me up or help me down
Don’t want to lose those days
When everything is just a haze
Sometimes things went a bit wrong, and one of the many concepts I have learned to deal with was the ‘Concept of Throwing Up’; and where better to try it out than in the restaurant of the Speakeasy, where I found myself at the table with my girlfriend, Zoe? After probably fifteen or twenty minutes of sound sleep, with my face buried in the plate of spaghetti Luigi had so wonderfully prepared for me, somebody bumped into the lamp over our table, and it woke me. I looked up, spaghetti dripping from my face, and stared at Zoe, who was now in a moving light.
Well, I felt nauseous – not because of her, but because of the moving light and the copious flagons of alcohol I had quaffed. And so, in my state of discomfort, it was time to get up from the table (as so many had before me) and try to reach the toilet, where I could vomit.
Now, it is one of the absolute quests of civilised man to be able to throw up and still to keep his dignity; but, unfortunately, my legs could not keep up with my stomach, and so I ended up spoiling a good fight!
All of this is very well, but in ‘cold lights of days’ we had managers who were on a corporate mission, and so I’d be constantly reminded that the money I was spending was an advance against future earnings; in other words, this is a serious business we’re all in! Having therefore been ‘reminded’ (again), we all reunited around said purpose to produce Deep Purple in Rock and, alongside it, Jon’s Concerto, which he continued with to the increasing fury of the guitar player, and, to some extent, the rest of us. We also began extensive touring, and doing high-profile appearances. August 1969, for example, saw us undertaking a schedule along the following lines:
August
2nd Radio Brighton
11th BBC Radio
13th Revolution Club, London
15th Mayfair Ballroom, Newcastle
16th Rebecca’s Club, Birmingham
24th Bilzen, Amsterdam
26th Klooks Kleek, Windsor
28th Lyceum, Leicester Square, London
29th BBC Radio, Noise at Nine
30th Kent Pop Festival, Gravesend
It was the beginning of heady days, and I guess I may not have been handling things too well sometimes, as I was reminded the time I went back to my old drinking haunt, the Travellers Friend. Now, part of my intention with the visit was to repay mates like Barry, Mick, Dave, Los and all those guys who had ‘subbed’ me in times when they were better off; but now things were different: I was on £20 a week, and that was big bucks!
So I went into the pub, and said, ‘I’m the singer with Deep Purple, drinks are on me!’ There was a lot of backslapping as I ordered a round, and then, before the glasses were empty, I put in for another. ‘Same again, please, landlord.’ And then I went back for a third time.
At this point, little Dave King, whom we called the Professor, came up to me and said, ‘I think that’s enough, don’t you, Ian?’
I replied, ‘Hey, man, what do you mean?’
‘We enjoy you buying us drinks, and we’re enjoying tonight. In fact we’re really pleased you got the job. But don’t rub our noses in it! Buying two rounds on the trot was enough, so don’t be an arsehole. Stick your money in your pocket, and behave yourself!’
Of course it was a calming and corrective moment, during which time I remembered that I was only spending my ‘advance’, and, thinking about it that way, I would also see John Coletta, and it steadied me. Over a drink or several, John could be great value, and there were occasions when we played and beat him at cards, which for the most part he took with good grace and humour. However, when his dander was up, it could be a problem if you pushed your luck at his ‘expense’, and then I’d certainly not catch his eye. It wasn’t fear that held me back, but the fact that, when he lost control, his protruding teeth couldn’t keep in the spluttering that went with an outburst, and in full rage it was impossible for me to keep a straight face. In moments of doubt, I’d remember that John was not above landing one on you, and I’d also been warned that he’d been a champion boxer in the RAF!
As time passed, I know we began to cost the management quite a lot of money, as we settled into being successful at rock ’n’ roll in the early seventies. In the beginning, it was limited to chucking a few bits of furniture out of our hotel rooms – just to test the reaction – but, when the complaints started, the management would do their bit and say, ‘Very sorry,’ before handing over the notes (I mean our ‘advance’). However, we were not out to offend others by our behaviour, and would usually explain a misfortune in terms of our ‘just having a go’ at one another.
Needless to say, such justifications weren’t often seen that way, including the time we crossed the Forth Bridge, to get to the George Hotel, Edinburgh, after a gig in Dunfermline. What happened this time was still in the days before flight cases were available, and gear was protected only by plastic and canvas covers, which was the situation as we drove back in the band limo – a Jaguar 420G. So, as we lined up for the toll queue, we suddenly attacked Roger, putting an amp cover over his head and pulling it down, before tying it firmly to his waist with string. With Part One completed, and our Rog nicely trussed up like the proverbial chicken, we crossed the bridge, stopped the car and chucked him out – right in the middle of the busy multi-lane highway. The sight was incredible, as cars screeched and swerved to avoid the writhing creature, who was all over the place on the tarmac; but, because some drivers were then needlessly abusive, we reversed and got our bass player back in the car, before the police arrived.
Dear Rog, whose Episode Six profile said he didn’t like arguments, was livid, and, believe you me, on the rare occasion when Rog does fume, steam seems to come out of his ears. So we all said, ‘Oh, please, Roger, forgive us. We’re so sorry. We’ll definitely buy you a drink when we get there’ – and all that bollocks, at which moment we arrived at our very elegant hotel. Now, Roger, being the forgiving sort of person he is, said, ‘Oh, all right, then,’ at
which moment we jumped him again, and stripped him stark naked! Reduced to his birthday suit, he made mutterings along the lines of ‘Fuck you lot!’ before he stormed through reception, up the stairs, pausing only to ask for the key to his room. We strolled in a few moments later to be confronted by a sea of waxwork faces, frozen over their gin and tonics! Gloria Bristow would not have approved!
Whatever misgivings we had about Jon Lord’s Concerto, Tony Edwards got behind it after one of those meetings I’d become familiar with, when he or John Coletta would say something like, ‘Well, boys, what shall we do next?’ And there would be Lordie with this opus to hand, and ready to give them the big sell. The next thing we knew was that Tony had booked the Royal Albert Hall, and then, when Jon had completed the score (in Purple time), it went to the publisher, Ben Nesbitt, who took it to the conductor of the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra (RPO), Malcolm Arnold. In fact, Malcolm was Dr Arnold, but I’d later tell him that, with his standing in the business, ‘Sir’ had a much better ring to it (and, indeed, he would be knighted in 1993).
Anyway, he said he’d do the show with the RPO and, with the die cast, we sort of got behind it. Time was not on our side – I think we had only a week or so to work with the orchestra, and they seemed even less keen on the project than we were. In fact, some of them positively hated it, and it was only Malcolm’s enthusiasm and energy that kept the whole thing on track. As an ‘experience’, the prospect of performing Jon’s work in this cavernous building, using 110 musicians, including a sixty-piece string section and assorted percussionists, was ‘numbing’, I’ll admit; but, despite the hugeness of it all, it was heartening to know that Ritchie could blast the whole lot of them away, if he chose to!
The first session with orchestra and band ended with different emotions running high. On the one hand, there were John and Tony sitting in the auditorium, heads deep in hands, and looking quite intellectual; but, representing the other hand, a female cellist stood up, and shouted something about not playing with second-rate Beatles, to which jibe Malcolm told her not to be so silly. However, when another lacklustre performance followed, our conductor had clearly had enough, and moved to deal with the situation in a manner that quite shocked us. So angry was he that he raised his hands and said something like, ‘I don’t know what you think you are doing, but you’re supposed to be the finest orchestra in Britain and you are playing like a bunch of c**ts! It’s extremely embarrassing, and quite frankly, with the way it’s going, you’re not fit to be on stage with these people. So pick yourselves up, and let’s hear some bollocks!’
He was less aggressive during the rehearsal for the National Anthem, which the orchestra also hated, but warmed them to the thought that, ‘We’re going to make history tonight, so we might as well make music while we are doing it!’
Our attitude in the build-up must have upset Jon quite a lot, but the way we saw it, well, it cut two ways. As Deep Purple, we were trying to make Deep Purple in Rock, which Jon was increasingly unavailable to rehearse, and against this we were being asked to support a high-profile non-rock project, which was his very own property. I admit that my own contribution – writing the lyrics for him – was made very late in the day, and it was only during the afternoon, prior to the concert that night, that Jon approached me to ask when I would be ‘doing my bit’. I did it over a couple of bottles of Chianti in a nearby Italian restaurant, and contributed to a great night for Jon.
Ritchie played brilliantly, Ian Paice was stunning, as was Roger, and we drove along with the orchestra in great style. I was proud of the band, and we generally got a good reception – in fact, a fifteen-minute ovation!
The composer, Sir William Walton, came to see us afterwards and said he’d enjoyed it immensely, although there were some who confessed to being uncertain how to deal with the whole thing. Tom Hibbert is reported to have seen a violinist stifle boredom with a coughing fit during Ritchie’s five-minute ‘speed solo’, but, if that’s the case, there’s no way it would have been heard, while, come the end, the audience didn’t know whether to applaud, dance or just sit tight! What’s certain is that it was a stunning success for Jon, and did Deep Purple no harm at all – that is once a few follow-up difficulties had been resolved. Fittingly, Jon’s first child, the lovely Sara, was also born that night, to add to his triumph, and, at the invitation of the BBC, we’d also perform his Gemini Suite at the Royal Festival Hall in September 1970, with the Orchestra of the Light Music Society. However, I remember little about that, on account of the fact that I was drunk for much of the time, although I’m told my performance was ‘acclaimed’, which I think means I was magnificent.
The Concerto was recorded live, and filmed by British Lion, from which footage a programme went out to several countries, while BBC Omnibus also showed it on 4 April 1970. As for the recording itself, well that went out on the EMI label in the UK, where it reached No. 26, while Warner Bros helped it go to No. 149 in America.
One of the side benefits of Jon’s project was that it ‘blooded’ co-engineer Martin (The Wasp) Birch, and his part in our rise to fame will become more apparent further on. For now, Martin had started his career as a musician, but he then moved into production at the De Lane Lea Studios. However, Concerto for Group and Orchestra took him into completely new territory, where he not only had to cope with the complex desks, each with eight tracks, but he also had to deal with background audience noise, the orchestra and, loudest of all, Deep Purple! Martin would soon cross over to become known as the sixth member of the band, staying with us for many years on tours and recording work, until, further down the line, he’d join Iron Maiden, where he became Martin (The Juggler) Birch!
As hinted at already, there were one or two problems to sort out after the Concerto, the biggest one being that, as we toured, some promoters and music lovers weren’t quite sure what to expect. Or, more accurately, they were sure what to expect, but they didn’t get it, and this happened a few times. One occasion was in Folkestone, where we pulled into town to see posters saying, ‘Deep Purple in Concert’, adding the name of such-and-such a silver band! Well, Ritchie took one look at that ‘banner’ and went berserk, ranting on about the Concerto having become a millstone around our necks. It was of course extremely embarrassing, because this promoter (like others) had obviously heard about the Albert Hall concert, and presumed that was how we liked to do things: if we could play with an orchestra, we could obviously play with a silver band. It was a very sad mistake for him, a wasted journey for us, and another notch on the learning curve of experience, which I’ve not mentioned in sadness for some time now!
So we needed to straighten people out as to who we were, and we did this through a period of heavy touring in support of the release of Deep Purple in Rock, as well as catching the occasional headline for rock-’n’-roll excess. Along with this, and as we became increasingly famous, so our pay went up from time to time, and we progressed to either headlining or at least taking second billing to bands such as Canned Heat.
A typical itinerary for around this time shows us in Paris on 5 January; doing Magic Roundabout for BBC radio the next day; playing Reading University on the 10th; and doing two shows in Amsterdam on the 15th and 16th. Then it was back to the Civic Hall, Dunstable, and onto a plane to play the Big Apple in Munich, while shows in the UK (at the close of January) included a return to the Royal Albert Hall, which we did very differently from our first appearance!
As I look back on it all, it’s clear that we began to go through all sorts of attitude changes. For example, it was suddenly ‘uncool’ for anyone in Deep Purple to smile, in case people thought (a) we were having a good time, (b) we were being paid good money for it, or (c) that we were not taking things seriously. So we were definitely ‘definitive cool’, and that showed in publicity shots, on album sleeves and so forth.
On stage, Ritchie had begun to take things a little further still, by refusing encores, and when challenged he’d just say the audience hadn’t deserved it. So
we found ourselves with fans refusing to leave, having paid good money to see us, and begging for our return on stage, only for us to do so, without the great guitar player being with us. There were a lot of arguments and soul-searching moments over situations like that, as we came to terms with fame, and otherwise developed a free-flowing and improvising set, which took us in all sorts of directions. In fact, it has always been said that no two Purple shows are the same, and therefore why bootlegging our music became such good business for certain entrepreneurs. A controversial subject to say the least, but good luck to them, that’s what I say!
Still, as the touring and writing continued, Ritchie and I developed a close stage relationship, swapping his guitar licks with my often matching vocals, as our bond made for a great chemistry, and which Jon quickly picked up on, and began to similarly participate in, with the Hammond. Ritchie also introduced some new riffs to add to those early ‘God Save the Queen’ and ‘White Christmas’ choices, and so ‘The Teddy Bears’ Picnic’ and ‘An English Country Garden’ joined his solos, which, by the bye, were also becoming longer! It didn’t bother me, because the fans loved his musicianship, so, when it came to those moments in a show, the extended break(s) allowed me time to otherwise amuse myself, depending on the opportunities available. In fact, one such opportunity came at a gig we did, where there was a precious Steinway piano on stage. It was covered with a protective green canvas, which trailed to the floor, and, perhaps understandably, they refused to let the roadies push it aside. And building our stacks on the lid was also a no-no! However, given the lack of space left for us to work in, a compromise was reached: cardboard protection was added to safeguard the beautifully polished surface, and we got to play!
