I Talk Too Much

by Francis Rossi

  But of course, that wasn’t the case. Simon and I used to openly wonder what we would do the day he didn’t come back from another heart attack. Rick just kept smiling through it all. Kept drinking, kept smoking, kept having his ‘big nights’ whenever he felt the urge, which was most weekends from what I could gather. As he’d got older he also become dependent on different sorts of pills to get to sleep every night. For a long time he would use Rohypnol to help him relax and sleep. It was because of his refusal to go without his pills that he turned down the chance to go on I’m a Celebrity … Get Me Out of Here!, the biggest show on ITV. Think about it: Rick would have been the perfect campmate on that show. Funny, loveable, much more famous than most of them and completely game for any of the trials they threw at him. He’d have probably won it, knowing Rick. But he lost out because he simply wouldn’t have been able to cope without his sleeping pills and his cigarettes. They said he could have a certain number of ciggies a day, five perhaps, but that was never going to keep Rick happy.

  Then there was the horrible day a couple of years later, when the doctors suspected he might have throat cancer. He cried his fucking eyes out. I remember sitting in the production office at the Guildhall in Plymouth. He’d been to see this specialist in the morning. When he told me the doc thought he had throat cancer I just didn’t believe it. But this fucking specialist had told him this so that was that. Of course, it scared the shit out of him. I’m sitting with him in the production office trying to console him. I’d very much become his dad by then, when it suited him. ‘Can you do this for me? Can you do that for me?’, which I was quite glad to do because I did love him. I said he should talk to Simon. But he said, ‘No. You tell him.’ He was sobbing his heart out. It was weird after all the heart attacks he’d had. I went to see him in the hospital after the last one, which was a very serious heart attack. He wasn’t emotional at all. The throat cancer scare was the only time I saw him go to pieces like that. We weren’t like that with each other. We would always joke about the worst things. Oh, leg fallen off, has it? Jog on then. But this was different.

  As soon as the tests came back that the tumour was benign, though, he was back to being Rockin’ Rick. The doctor told him he’d have to quit smoking and not to have more than a couple of drinks a day. Rick said to him: ‘But if I don’t drink at all in the week, does that mean I can have ten or twelve drinks on the weekend?’ The doctor was like, ‘No it does not!’ so Rick did as he was told and cut down completely on the boozing and smokes – at least for a couple of weeks. It wasn’t until his third heart attack in 2011 that he finally quit drinking and smoking. Well, for longer than a couple of weeks anyway. That was when he also lost a lot of weight. That was impressive. I was pleased for him.

  It wasn’t just Rick’s health that got him into trouble though. It was his endlessly complicated love life. There were his exploits with various groupies, some of which landed him in the pages of the tabloids. Him and Ronnie Wood, I used to think, both great guitarists, both very similar sorts of devil-may-care personalities, loveable rogues, both old enough to know better, you would have thought. Rick, though, always had to take things one step further. As was the case when he married his third wife, Lyndsay Whitburn, in 2006.

  Rick was back living with his second wife, Patty, when he first met Lyndsay, who was a fitness instructor. Then walked out on Patty after becoming secretly engaged to Lindsay, who he then married and went to live with in Spain. I thought, yet again, oh Ricky, what have you done? But he swore that this time it was true love. When he and Lyndsay had children two years later – beautiful boy-and-girl twins named Tommy and Lily – it was hard to argue with.

  What was a lot harder to accept as the years flew by was my own relationship with Rick. Whether it was being on TV together, in films or onstage, Rick and I had long ago established ourselves as a kind of rock ’n’ roll double act. Even when we received OBEs from the Queen for services to music and charity, in 2010, we were given them together.

  They stand you in circles while you wait for the Queen to arrive. Rick and I are standing there at Buckingham Palace. It’s kind of an audition before you get your gongs. I was talking to Sophie, Countess of Wessex, the one who married Prince Edward. She was very nice. Then up comes the Queen. I’m not a royalist by any stretch. But what their gig entails, they outwork any of us. They are really good for the country and that whole thing. I said, ‘Nice to meet you again, ma’am.’ She said, ‘Do what?’ Suddenly I could just imagine her and her sister Margaret, in the fifties, when ‘Do what?’ was a very hip saying. These days it doesn’t sound right. But that’s what the Queen said. ‘Do what?’ We made her smile.

  We were quite good at that, except when people told us to do it. ‘Can you do some of your funny stuff?’ We’d both sit there going, um, ah … It was a very natural thing; it wasn’t something we could just turn on. That was us just being us, when we were in the mood, until towards the end when it became a little bit forced.

  I don’t know who it was but during those last years together it was like there was someone or something digging at Rick. Whispering in his ear, telling him to not be that person. I think it would come up in what I call ‘domestics’, something in his personal life, some jibe that would be thrown at him. I don’t know who it was but someone sowed that little seed of doubt with him. The thing is, you sow the seed of doubt and that’s the fastest plant growing on the planet. It’s the same with anyone. You mustn’t do it to people yet we all do it all the time, if we’re not careful. You should have heard what so-and-so said about you. Why, what did they say? Oh nothing … It’s a killer.

  With Rick, over the latter years of our career something was definitely digging at him inside. It was such a shame because it affected him and it didn’t have to. Because when Rick was on form he was absolutely brilliant. Example: not too long ago we had to do a breakfast telly appearance. Rick had gone into his dressing room looking like a tramp – and came out looking like a million dollars. Like, ‘Hey everybody! Let’s get the show started!’ Rick was really good at that and he was absolutely brilliant that morning.

  In the end, though, it became too much for him. The guy I loved, and that thing that we had, was coming under so much pressure from people to be a particular way, it had a downhill effect. The whole ‘not wanting to be number two’ thing went back to the days after ‘Rockin’ All Over the World’, when he would want to stand in the middle of the stage. I’d just shrug and carry on.

  In those last years, though, more and more often his whole thing to me had become: ‘I’m fed up being number two.’ He’d come up to me doing that ‘You, you, you …’ thing. I mean, what was I supposed to do with that information? Go: ‘All right then, I’ll be the number two and you can be the number one’? I mean, what would have changed? I’d still be the lead singer on most of the songs. That wasn’t about ego, that was about just being the way we were. It would be like me suddenly going, oh, I want to be the drummer. Well, all right, but how will that actually work? Plus, I don’t think anyone ever really saw things that way, that there was a pecking order between Rick and me. They just saw us together, as a double act. Equals.

  Sometimes he’d be out of his head on the tour bus. He’d start going on and asking again why he was number two and I was number one. I’d say, ‘I don’t think so Rick. You’re drunk so there’s no point talking about it now anyway. You’ll only forget everything the next day.’

  Then he’d change and start crying. ‘You let me in your group …’ Oh, Christ! Then it would be, ‘You cunt …’ Whoa! It was this Jekyll and Hyde situation. Alcohol and insecurity and whatever other frustrations he was going through. It only came out like that though when he was drunk.

  When we did the first Aquostic album, Rick wasn’t on it. He wasn’t on quite a few albums. For a while, that was fine. We’d say, that’s OK, that’s just Rick. We did the acoustic album at my home studio, which is where we had done all the recent Quo recordings, as we still do today,
and he wasn’t there at all. His twins had been born and he rightly wanted to spend as much time with them as possible. The only snag was he and Lyndsay and the kids were living in Spain. And yet, hard though it is to admit, I didn’t miss not having him there. In fact, it was one of the best times I’ve had with the band in a studio for years. It was creative and enjoyable and we didn’t want to stop. When we came to do a live performance and interview for the promotional video, Rick was in there first telling everyone how the album was made. Typical Rick! You had to laugh.

  Then when we made the second acoustic album he phoned up the producer Mike Paxman and said, ‘That’s disgraceful what you’ve done with my vocal.’ Mike told him, ‘Rick, you were in such a state your voice was shot.’ Rick was like: ‘I was not. How dare you say that about me?’ But it was true what Mike said. Rick had been drunk or hungover most of the time.

  What was also true was that Rick really was a lovely bloke – when he was being a lovely bloke. He was a darling and I loved him. Except for those times, particularly in the latter years, when he wasn’t and I didn’t.

  The psychologist and writer Jordan Peterson says that very successful people tend to be obsessive about what they do, or feel they have absolutely no choice in the matter: they have to do it. I look at my wife Eileen and I realise that if I had not married her I would never have been able to carry on with Quo in the late eighties. But because she was so important to me, I knew I just had to do whatever it took to keep the show on the road. No matter what, I had to make sure we kept going in the right direction. If that meant giving up drugs, I gave up drugs. If that meant giving up drink, I gave up drink. If that meant becoming the most unpopular guy in the band, then fine, that’s who I would become too if that is what’s needed. The leader is the one everyone else relies on to keep things together.

  I hate discussing it, especially here. Written down it never comes across the right way. It doesn’t read well. But I lament the fact that my and Rick’s relationship didn’t end well. I wish I never had to see him struggle with these things. In the end, it was the stuff other people were whispering in Rick’s ear that ruined our personal relationship. I did my very best to take care of Ricky throughout our time together, when I wasn’t up to my neck in my own problems. For some people now to suggest that I could have done more is very upsetting for me. It makes me angry. They don’t know the real story and they never will know the full extent of it because even now I choose to try and protect his memory as much as I can.

  It was such a shame. We had some great times together over the years, including a final hurrah together with the original band. Now this is something I didn’t see happening at all – ever. Of course, I’d been asked countless times over the years: would we ever consider getting back together with Alan Lancaster and John Coghlan? And, well, you can guess what my answer always was.

  Only this time it was different. Once again, Simon Porter was the éminence grisé that put the chess pieces in the right order on the chessboard for it to happen. It all began with a phone call, which Simon arranged, between me and Alan while the band was in Sydney, when we were touring Australia, in 2010.

  The clincher was when Alan said to me that Simon had proved that he was wrong. At last, I thought. At the time, when we went to court in the mid-eighties, Alan was telling people that we owed him £30 million. I was like, ‘What the hell are you talking about, Al?’ The numbers don’t even come close. If he was really owed £30 million, on top of what he’d already earned, that meant we had earned at least £120 million between the four of us. And that would be after all the management commissions, repayment of record company advances, tour expenses, tax and everything else. I doubt the Rolling Stones earned as much as what Alan reckoned we did in the seventies. It was just not physically possible that Alan was owed £30 million in 1985.

  When we talked things over in Sydney, Alan seemed like he’d finally come to his senses. So when Rick and I saw him and sat down together, we had to rub his nose in it a bit because, as far as he was concerned, he’d left us in the lurch. He really thought we’d never survive without him. When in fact we went from strength to strength.

  Alan could be a laugh when he was in the right mood, particularly if he’d had a joint. When we met he would sometimes giggle and I felt like I did when I was twelve years old hanging out at his parents’ house. Suddenly we were getting on great again. Just because of that brief visit, we started to think about things. You know, maybe we could do a few gigs. And from that everything escalated. It just seemed like such a good idea – on paper.

  As Quo fans will now know, this resulted in what quickly became known as the Frantic Four tour. That is, the original seventies line-up of Quo – me, Rick, Alan and John – all touring together for the first time since the Never Too Late world tour of 1981. Rick was all for it. Alan and John practically bit our hands off. Even the current line-up seemed relaxed about it. We were only talking about nine dates around Britain in March 2013, then back on tour properly with the current band. Meanwhile, Quo fans of all ages began acting as though the Second Coming was on its way.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t quite work out that way. I knew as soon as we got to the first rehearsals and I could see the crew – they were pale. It was dreadful! It was obvious we would need some serious rehearsals to get the old band up to speed. But it was too late. I’d made that commitment. The announcement to the fans had been made so that was it, I was going through with it come what may.

  Alan had recently been diagnosed with MS, I believe. I can’t say for sure because at the time he was still denying anything was wrong with him. But he was clearly unsteady on his feet. The old fire was certainly still in his belly though. The tour itself, however, at least for me, was not a good one. Musically, I mean. I would walk offstage some nights and the crowd would be going crazy and I would think to myself: wow, there is something going on here that I just don’t get. What they are hearing is so different to what I’m hearing. They seem to have been listening to a completely different band. For me, it was just a mess. Alan and John meanwhile loved every minute.

  However, that’s the same with me at most Quo shows. I’m never really satisfied, even when we’ve played a blinder. It’s a good feeling when it’s all over, either because it’s been bad and you can’t wait to get off, or because it’s been really good and it’s a great feeling to end a gig knowing it’s been you at your best. I’m always about what’s happening next. I can’t help that. It’s probably why I’m in showbiz.

  I can’t pretend I enjoyed the Frantic Four shows though. Alan made it tough for me on occasion. He thought he was back in 1977. A big star giving orders. But that isn’t how we do things any more. One show, I saw Alan getting off the bus freaking out, screaming at people. ‘What a two-bit outfit this arsehole crew is! Fucking shit catering!’ Lyane Ngan, who’s been our personal assistant for more years than Alan was in the group, was ready to kill him. She was trying to calm him down, find out what was wrong and he’s screaming about how he hasn’t slept on the bus, nothing’s any good. So she goes, ‘OK, that’s it. You’re off the bus. We’ll get you a separate bus and you can travel on your own.’

  That old-school way – you have a tantrum and everyone jumps – well, it’s not like that any more. And the thing is, Lyane’s really good at looking after people on tour. But if you mess with her you’re in trouble. So when Alan then started slagging off various other crew members she put her foot down. ‘You can’t say that about my colleagues.’ And she’s the one who’s going to win. Not you. Even Rick went for Alan. ‘Will you fucking leave her alone? She looks after us.’

  I went to him and said, ‘You got a problem, Al?’ He was like, ‘I want my breakfast!’ ‘Then go and ask them to cook you breakfast.’ But he was still chuntering away. I said, ‘Look, you’ve had a bad sleep. I understand that. But you can’t talk to people that work for us like that. Now go and apologise to her.’ He’s like, ‘I am not apologising to anybody!’ I said, ‘Al,
this won’t go any further unless you address that now. We don’t do that shit. Even Rick doesn’t do that shit any more.’

  But Alan had a lot of stuff he was carrying on his shoulders. He’d insisted on bringing his wife and family on tour with him. I think that made it harder for him, too. But he was insistent: ‘They need to see me.’ I said, ‘Al, it’s costing you extra money, you’re not sleeping properly and you’re ill.’ Straight back at me: ‘There’s nothing wrong with me!’ He nearly fell over a couple of times. Rick and I went to help him offstage one night when it looked like he was going to fall and he got all pissed off at us. We should have let him fall.

  So even after all these years it was quickly back to where it was when we split up the first time. He would keep poking away at John, too. If I was the drummer and Alan was the bass player and he kept poking away at me like that I’d go mad. No wonder Coghlan used to fly off the handle all the time. Musically, onstage Rick was the only one holding it all together. We didn’t have Andy with us so there were no keyboards to take up the slack, just me and Rick working overtime to keep the rhythm bubbling.

  In the intervening years Rick and I had improved. We’d been touring together for nearly thirty years before the Frantic Four tour. And we’d gotten really good, as players, singers and as professionals. The others had been less active and the time apart showed, and not just musically. They tried to bring back that old culture but you can’t. It’s simply not there. They would get the hump with me because I didn’t want to sit around with them drinking after the show. Well, I haven’t been a drinker for decades now and I don’t like being around drunk people. So obviously I’m not going to start doing that. Also, in the years that have gone by, I’ve developed my on-the-road routine. The things I need to do to survive long tours and still be able to put on a great show each night – and keep myself together physically and mentally.