Lucky Man

by Greg Lake

  Having done the work and preparation to bring the band up to touring speed, I was keen for us to take the show around the world one last time. It would be a final thank you to our fans. My own philosophy of music has always been that I’m only here because a lot of people were good enough to buy my records and the records of ELP. I feel a sense of duty to play or perform that music for those people. However, Carl didn’t want to continue and the idea was dropped. It frustrated me. We had only done the one show, and after five or six more the band might have been formidable again. Carl saw it differently, and even Keith was reluctant. I don’t know why. It was very strange, but there was something about ELP that did not work any more in terms of a brotherhood. It used to work, but it didn’t work now.

  The High Voltage show was the last time ELP ever performed.

  CHAPTER 18

  Songs of a Lifetime

  After Emerson, Lake & Palmer had come to an end, I still felt that there was some part of me as an artist that remained unresolved. I think that it was perhaps a sense of not having had the chance to say goodbye to the long-standing fans of my music with ELP and with King Crimson. The idea that I came up with was for a show that would be an intimate, shared experience in which the audience and I could reflect on some of the songs, memories and moments that we have shared together over the years. I decided to play not only King Crimson, ELP and my solo songs, but also include music that influenced me when I was growing up. I played Elvis’s ‘Heartbreak Hotel’, the Beatles’s ‘You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away’ and a few songs that may have surprised people a little, such as Curtis Mayfield’s ‘People Get Ready’. I called the tour, which took place in 2012, ‘Songs of a Lifetime’.

  Apart from performing the music – solo – I would also invite members of the audience to offer up memories that they would like to share, so the whole event became more like a family gathering than a rock concert. This linked right back to the start of my career, when Dee Anthony told me that I should always sing as if I was singing to just one person, to make that individual, emotional connection. I always tried to make sure that I was communicating in a direct, heartfelt and meaningful way. The letters I received from people over the years told me that I had entered their lives in a personal way, and it was good to hear some of their stories in person.

  I have to say that, before the tour began, I was a little nervous about how the audience would respond to that kind of unusual format but, after the first night, I was completely reassured that it was going to work. It really is all about human nature: people love to hear stories being told and they also like to tell stories themselves. They love to reflect on their youth and listen to the music that was so important to them during their formative years, and it is wonderful to do that with people who have had similar experiences.

  During the tour, one thing that took me by complete surprise was just how many incredible stories the audience had to offer. Every night, some of the stories would cause the audience to laugh uproariously or cry, or both – and all of this together with the music made for a really entertaining evening. Although I missed the company and comradeship of having a band on tour with me, it was more than compensated for by the participation of the audience.

  Before the tour began, a number of people tried to dissuade me from doing it on the basis that a one-man show would not be sufficient to entertain an audience for a full two hours. How wrong they were! Most nights after the show had finished, I went out to sign autographs and so on, and was often still there until way past midnight listening to the recollections and experiences that people wanted to share with me. This tour really did prove to be a lesson in human nature and I will always be proud and grateful that I was able to do it. We toured ‘Songs of a Lifetime’ all around the United States and Canada as well as the UK and Europe.

  One outstanding memory I have of performing this show in Europe was on 28 November 2012 in the small city of Piacenza in Italy. The concert took place at a wonderful theatre there, the Teatro Municipale, which looks rather like La Scala in Milan with beautiful gold balconies and crystal chandeliers. I love Piacenza, and the Conservatorio di Musica Giuseppe Nicolini there awarded me an honorary degree in 2016 for the way that King Crimson and Emerson, Lake & Palmer helped to bring classical music into young people’s lives – what an honour.

  The show at Teatro Municipale was recorded and I decided to release a special collectors’ edition of it on vinyl. Somehow the event, the feeling of the music and the atmosphere all seem to be suited to being reproduced in this analogue way. Max Marchini recorded and produced the concert in Piacenza, and together with Max I decided to restore the Manticore Records label for the production and distribution of high-quality vinyl recordings.

  For most of my life I have been performing in stadiums, arenas, festivals or large theatres, and one thing that I really came to enjoy on this ‘Songs of a Lifetime’ tour was being able to get really close to the audience on a one-to-one basis and see how the music I made throughout my life had somehow reached out and become attached to their lives. For any artist, I think this is one of the most gratifying things to experience.

  On 11 March 2016, I received a phone call from one of my managers with the dreadful news that Keith Emerson had been found dead at his house in Santa Monica; he had apparently committed suicide with a self-inflicted gunshot to the head.

  This tragic news came as a shock at the time, but I have to say that it really did not come as a complete surprise. All of us who were close to Keith knew that he was quite a troubled soul who would periodically fall into deep bouts of depression and was often overcome with feelings of self-doubt. This in turn often resulted in him resorting to self-medication in one form or another.

  It is natural that people are interested in knowing how and why this tragedy happened in the way that it did, and as someone who was extremely close to Keith for many years, and whose lives were so entwined, I am constantly being asked about what I believe was the cause.

  It is always easy to point to the usual suspects such as alcohol abuse, prescription drugs, and so on, but I believe that in most cases these are merely symptoms of what invariably lies somewhere far deeper below the surface.

  In Keith’s case, some people speculated on the cause being a feeling of despair about the progressive muscle degeneration taking place in his right arm, which in turn caused him to start losing control of the fingers of his right hand. Although this may have been a contributing factor, the problem with his right arm started as far back as the ELP recording of In the Hot Seat in 1994. He had lived with the problem for over two decades, so the theory that this is what suddenly caused him to take his own life does not really sound plausible to me.

  It should also be borne in mind that by the time of Keith’s death, he was seventy-one years old, so it would have been more than reasonable for him to retire at that point with both dignity and respect intact – without the arm causing him any further issues when performing live.

  The other theory that was put forward was that Keith’s actions were due to a few people writing derogatory remarks about his playing. Both Keith and I have lived all of our lives in the public eye, and have often found ourselves the target of insults and criticism from almost every imaginable quarter. I doubt very much if one or two instances in themselves, so late in life, would have been sufficient to have caused such a tragic reaction.

  That being said, I did notice in recent years that Keith had become increasingly drawn to the internet, focusing more and more upon the opinions of a few isolated people who were posting not always pleasant comments there, and then viewing these as being representative of general opinion. Most of the time, of course, their opinions were a very long way from the truth.

  I remember trying to explain to Keith on more than one occasion that, more often than not, the people who post these provocative or negative comments simply have nothing better to do with their lives than to sit up all night staring at a laptop, trying to find something
provocative or controversial to say.

  In any event, I just do not believe these few negative comments alone would have been sufficient to push him over the edge. I personally feel sure there was something far deeper taking place, something perhaps that he felt unable to deal with or escape from.

  A few years ago, Keith and I were round at my house in Richmond doing some writing together, and I asked him what he considered to be the source of his musical inspiration and imagination. He then explained to me that he grew up as an only child and that his family lived on the third or fourth floor of an apartment building. His bedroom window looked directly over a small grass area where all the children from the building would congregate and play. For some reason, Keith’s mother refused to allow him to go outside and play with the other children and, as a result, for a number of years he was more or less confined to his own bedroom.

  I detected a slight quivering in his voice as he went on to tell me that sometimes when he was alone, he could still hear the voices of the children in his head, laughing and playing and having fun, and he would remember how alone he felt.

  When I asked him if he thought this had affected him, his answer was that being alone in his room for such a long time had prompted him to live in a world of his own creation. In effect, this became the imaginary world of Keith Emerson, a world he would later visit to inspire the music he made – his incredible, ground-breaking creativity was partly born out of a desire to try to shut out the sense of isolation.

  There were two distinct sides to Keith’s personality, one very light, laughing and joking, and almost childlike, and another rather dark and fearful soul from a distant world that would suddenly appear. The difference between the two was almost impossible to reconcile.

  Keith’s life came to a tragic end and no one will ever know for sure what actually brought it about, but I cannot help but wonder if the loneliness of that little boy in his bedroom somehow came back to haunt him in his later life.

  None of us on this earth are in total control of our own destiny and, in many respects, we are all bound to play the hand we have been dealt. During the many years Keith and I worked together, there were some days that were very difficult. Such is the nature of emotional or mental problems. We all have our own problems and we all have our own demons.

  Whatever our occasional disagreements, the Keith Emerson I will always remember lives in the genius of the music he created and in his ability to make musical instruments such as the Hammond organ and Moog synthesiser talk as if they were human. Keith was a true master of his art.

  Death is life.

  This was the concept and indeed the final line of ‘Pictures at an Exhibition’. I am not really a religious person and do not subscribe to any form of organised religion. That is not to say that I deny that there is any form of supreme creative being. I personally believe that, if there is a God, then for me I see this most clearly manifested in the nature that surrounds us. Whenever I go into a forest or walk by the side of a river, I always marvel at the beauty and complexity that exists there. Surely this is not something that could have possibly been created by the hand of man.

  When I stare into the sky at night and look at the galaxy, and try to consider for a moment the meaning of infinity, I cannot help but wonder what lies out there beyond the stars.

  I believe that life is perhaps like a circle: there is no beginning and there is no end, it simply continues to transform and evolve.

  Ever since my late teens I have always been fascinated by the purpose and meaning of life and have always been interested in the philosophical writings of people like Khalil Gibran. I’m pretty sure this inquisitive instinct came from my mother, who herself was always interested in wise insights into life and beyond.

  Of course, everyone is entitled to his or her own beliefs, and no one should have the right to force anyone else to accept theirs. Far too many wars and too much suffering have been caused by religious fanaticism. I see religious bigotry as being a very long way from the notion of what people generally think of when they think of God.

  Personally, I believe the world would be a far better place if religion were kept strictly as a personal and private matter. Live and let live is what I say.

  On the subject of life and death, I was recently diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer and told that this has spread to other parts of my body. Unfortunately, surgery is no longer an option. Needless to say, a moment such as this will give anyone good reason to reflect on their own beliefs.

  I think most people live with some sort of feeling of foreboding about the terrible day when they will be told that they are going to die. However, the strangest thing was that on the day I was told, the sense of fear and dread that I had always expected never came. I believe the reason for this is probably due to my belief in the power of nature and my acceptance that death is simply a part of life. No one cries when the leaves fall from the trees because they know that in the spring new leaves will come again.

  My life has been blessed in far too many ways to count. I have a wonderful family, a small number of really close friends, and have lived a life in music that I could never have even dreamed about as a young child. Just before I was diagnosed, I also received the gift of a wonderful grandson, Gabriel, and so there is nothing more I could possibly wish for.

  I would just like to take this opportunity to thank all those people, colleagues, fans, family and friends, who have supported me over the years. Without your love and encouragement, the life I have lived would never have been possible.

  I have been a lucky man.

  EULOGY

  By Stewart Young

  Greg Lake passed away, aged sixty-nine, on 7 December 2016. At his funeral service on 20 December, his manager Stewart Young gave this eulogy.

  Welcome Back, My Friends

  My father introduced me to Greg forty-five years ago. He was twenty-three, I was twenty-five.

  He was charismatic, warm and a rock star.

  I was wearing a three-piece suit with matching shirt and tie and was a chartered accountant. I worked with ELP for a few months . . . then they asked me to manage them. I was unsure. I met with Greg and told him that I knew nothing about the music business . . . he replied, ‘Nobody does – you can always talk to me.’

  From that moment we became fast friends and spent many a magical evening during which Greg would play music, tell stories about the business, and advise me who I had to meet.

  I learned so much in those days. Greg was always pushing the envelope: to make things beautiful; to aim for the top.

  My life changed.

  The next few years were wondrous. ELP reached heights that we could never have dreamed of. It was an exciting ride. We conquered the world.

  Just when you thought life could not get any better for Greg, he met the love of his life, Regina. I had the honour to be his best man, and then along came his daughter, Natasha.

  When the band were recording in the Bahamas we bought a house together and lived as one family, with Jimmy the parrot and Strawberry the dog.

  Greg loved the countryside and when ELP were recording in Montreux, we went to the local bicycle store. Naturally, Greg bought the best bike . . . a Tour de France special. I bought the second best. The owner, Mr Rochat, took us out for a trial spin. The sun was out, it was beautiful . . . until we came to a steep hill. Both Greg and I were not as fit as we thought and Mr Rochat had to push me up the hill by my backside. We decided to keep the bikes in the studio in the valley down by the lake and every now and then used to ride to Evian for lunch. Greg really loved these rides and years later we would reminisce about them.

  In February 2014, Greg called to share with me that he had just been diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer. He told me he had no regrets. Coming from a humble background, he had gone on to a life he could never have imagined – he had fulfilled every ambition, bought anything he wanted, but what really matters is love in your life, and he’d been blessed with Reg
ina, Natasha, and now he had a grandson, Gabriel.

  I saw Greg six months later, after he had finished the first part of his chemo. We were meeting for lunch, and when I looked across the room I couldn’t see him. Suddenly I saw a hand waving and it was Greg. He had lost an enormous amount of weight, but it was still Greg. He had a twinkle in his eyes and said, ‘I don’t look too bad – we use to spend thousands in the old days to go to Champneys to lose weight.’ On one of our visits to Champneys, we escaped during the night and went to a petrol station and bought their whole supply of Mars bars, and left the wrappers outside some of the other guests’ rooms.

  We would speak on the phone and have lunch whenever he felt well enough. One day he called and asked if I fancied Japanese and told me he would bring his little friend. That was when I first met his grandson, Gabriel. What a great lunch.

  Inevitably Greg’s health started to go downhill and he became bedbound, so I saw him at home.

  Regina took care of him incredibly well. At this stage, Greg couldn’t eat, but he still made sure I was fed and champagne was on hand. The three of us toasted.

  He had not lost his sense of humour. He looked at me and said, ‘You corrupted me. The first time you took me out for lunch we went to the White Elephant and you ordered a bottle of Bâtard-Montrachet.’

  This was his introduction to the good life.

  I guess he changed me. I changed him.

  In the end the pain was too great and he had to go to a hospice. I visited him twice and, although he was very ill, we had a ball.

  The last time I saw him I brought my sound system and played him a mix of a new version he had recorded of ‘Closer to Believing’. When it started playing I was worried it was too loud . . . I asked Greg should I turn it down. He said, ‘No, it’s only 4.30, turn it up . . .’