Ian Gillan: The Autobiography of Deep Purple’s Singer

by Ian Gillan

  At some time I remember offering the idea that we make the album in New York, and justified it on the basis of the management being there; as did Ritchie and Roger (who also had a studio we could use); plus the equipment was kept there, and the tour manager and many of our crew lived in the city, etc., etc., etc. So, having presented the idea, and why it seemed to make sense, I’ll never forget Jon’s memorable reply: ‘The thought of recording in New York fills me with dread!’ So, with that suggestion comprehensively rejected, Los Angeles was proposed, only for Ritchie to knock it down.

  The atmosphere in the Deep Purple camp was now extremely difficult, to which end, Bruce tried to resolve the impasse by suggesting that perhaps we should get some studio brochures together, a solution that I found unbelievable! I mean, had he not considered that most decent studios were long since booked out? After this, I’m afraid I resorted to the ‘dickhead’ description again, for which he’d so generously forgiven me the first time around! I also said, ‘Bruce, you are supposed to be picking the stones from out of our path, instead of which all I hear is, “I don’t want to do this” or “That’s not possible.”’ I told him it was driving me crazy, being with a ‘band I’d die for’, when all I got was negatives.

  Finally, I said, ‘You are fucking useless!’ at which point Ritchie walked out without saying a word. Jon said something I didn’t quite catch, and also left, with Bruce not far behind him. That left Roger, my dear friend of all those years, who leaned forward across the table, knuckles bunched, and stared me in the face.

  ‘Ian,’ he said, ‘you have gone too far this time!’

  The snow was down in Stowe, and I began drinking more and more heavily – my presence not really required. And then one night I arrived back at my accommodation to find the door locked. For some reason I was now naked, except for two bin liners tied below the knees to keep my feet dry. So I moved across to where Ritchie stayed, and kicked the door down. My arrival was greeted by an open-mouthed tableau, because there was Ritchie with his girlfriend, Tammi, and Colin Hart, who I think was trying to help sort out a domestic between the guitar player and his lady, who I also believe was about to take a flight back home, or something like that. I think somebody else may have been in the room, but it mattered not, as I realised that the momentum caused by kicking in the door had become an unstoppable force. And so I lurched forward, mouthing silent words, eventually to hit the settee, which I crashed over, bringing down a couple of glass shelves with their cut-glass contents. And so, stark naked and dressed only in my improvised ‘wellies’, I fell asleep at Ritchie’s place.

  I was sitting at home in England, when I got a call from Phil Banfield, saying I’d been fired.

  CHAPTER 12

  So Phil’s on the other end of the line with that tone of voice that tells me something terrible has happened, and this is not a good moment for him. After some brief and hollow pleasantries, he comes to the point.

  ‘Ian, we’ve got problems.’

  And, of course, I knew exactly what was coming.

  ‘It’s Purple, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘They fired me, didn’t they?

  ‘Yes.’

  At the time, I was sitting in the small studio that was part of our house, and from that room I could look towards a small lake, over which I’ve seen the seasons pass, or have sat around on warm summer days and evenings in solitude or with friends. How strange it seemed, then, as I watched carefree wildlife and movement on the water, while hearing Phil’s voice from London’s hectic Soho, as he spoke about musical differences and the band looking for another singer, and running his thoughts by me on how we should deal with the media. To be honest, I have little recollection of taking much of it in, as I struggled with the enormity of my situation.

  On the one hand, I knew I’d not been coming up with great ideas for Purple, but I knew it was in me to do so; and Accidentally on Purpose proved it. OK, so The House of Blue Light had been a struggle, but my efforts to contribute had been worth nothing more than a constant drowning-out session, mostly by a guitar! Suggestions and half-worked ideas had been strangled, because, so long as Ritchie was happy with his parts, then the lads were happy with the project. Well fuck it, I wasn’t happy, and I’d said so. Perhaps then my own way of dealing with my frustration had given them the chance to think me a nuisance, but could they not see my difficulties?

  In the meantime, Phil was bravely continuing with some crap gossip that had been going around the business: that I didn’t really want to be with Deep Purple any more, and was even looking to revive my alter ego, Garth Rockett and the Moonshiners. Well to this day, I have no idea how that all got so totally out of hand, although the buzz was that Ian Paice had something to do with it. Anyway, whoever it was, he or she had certainly added fuel to a fire, and people were able to say, ‘Ian doesn’t really like Purple any more, and Garth Rockett had always been his first love,’ to which nonsense I’d hear that Simon Robinson from Darker Than Blue, had also been getting calls from fans who wanted to know what might be going on.

  So all of this was going through my head, and then I saw B standing in the studio doorway.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

  ‘The bastards have fired me,’ I said.

  After a pause – just a lingering moment, when you wonder what’s going to happen next – a great big grin crossed her face, she ran across the studio and threw herself at me, arms around my neck, legs around my waist and cried happily into my ear, ‘Gubbins [my occasional nickname], so now you can do what you really want!’

  It must have sounded a little strange to Phil, who was still talking on the other end of the phone. Imagine: here was my manager passing on incredibly depressing news, but getting no feedback, and the next thing he’s hearing is a celebration happening! I eventually returned my attention to the phone to apologise and say I thought the Garth Rockett project a great idea, and fuck Deep Purple. I may also have used the words I’d have to explain a few years later: ‘I’d rather slit my throat than sing with that band again!’ (Never say never again!)

  So, having fired me, Purple hired Joe Lynn Turner, and started work on Slaves and Masters. Of course, those wicked journalists naturally asked for his thoughts about me, and I’d learn that one of his stock-in-trade answers was, ‘Ian Gillan? Let’s not speak ill of the dead!’

  Meanwhile, I picked up with the Moonshiners project, and planned a one-off concert at the Southport Floral Hall, which Phil Easton promoted. Among the usual problems – perhaps I should say challenges – was a period during which Phil had to sort out a double booking of the venue on the night in question; and then there was the question (suspicion also) as to who precisely was in this band! In the end Raw magazine managed to trace me, but I simply suggested they should call Garth Rockett, and turned my attention to finding a bunch of musicians who would work with me for the sheer fun of playing rock ’n’ roll on the club circuit. And I found them in Mark Buckle (keyboards), Keith Mulholland (bass/vocals), Lou Rosenthal (drums), Harry Shaw (guitar/vocals) and Steve Morris, who came along as guitarist and musical director. The lads all came from the Liverpool area, and had also been recommended by Phil Easton.

  We rehearsed for a couple of weeks at the Cumberland Tavern in Liverpool, and then the Southport gig came up, and was just great, although a ‘quantum dip’ from my lifestyle of just a few weeks before, when I was the singer with Deep Purple! Of course, a number of fans had made the Garth Rockett connection, and we had a great party, playing songs such as ‘I’ll Rip Your Spine Out’, ‘No Laughing in Heaven’, ‘Living for the City’, ‘Ain’t That Loving’, ‘I Thought No’, ‘No Easy Way’, ‘New Orleans’, plus a slow lament that I’d perform a lot, ‘No More Cane On The Brazos’ – or just ‘Brazos’, as it became known. It’s a song Roger had reminded me of, and it’s variously credited, usually to Lonnie Donegan.

  Although there was no money in this for Phil Banfield – in fact there was no more than pocket money for us all – he still backed the proj
ect, and it turned into a mini tour. It was early 1989, we were working flat out, we were accessible, affordable (tickets at the Tivoli, Buckley, cost just £2. 50) and the shows were good.

  May

  14th Sheffield University

  15th Birmingham, Edwards No. 8

  16th Ritz, Manchester

  17th Leeds Irish Centre

  19th Civic Centre, Wolverhampton

  20th Nottingham Trent Polytechnic

  22nd Mayfair, Newcastle

  23rd Mayfair, Glasgow

  24th Fat Sam’s, Dundee

  25th Venue, Edinburgh

  27th Stairways, Birkenhead

  28th Bierkeller Theatre, Bristol

  Although we made a video, Live at the Ritz ’89, it was never my intention to make records with the Moonshiners, nor to develop the project into something bigger. Various old mates looked in at the gigs – for instance, Tony Iommi, Cozy Powell and Bev Bevan – and we’d usually end up in the early hours at some club, or just keeping the hotel bar open. The idea was to have fun and tour out of a suitcase, which I think we managed to do quite well!

  Perhaps the lads in the band were hoping things would lead to something else, although I’d made my position very clear at the outset. Still we all have our dreams, and perhaps I’d let my attitude that ‘I don’t close doors on anything’ come across as misleading. Selective hearing is part of human nature and I know full well that we all sometimes pick out only on what we want to hear. However, by excluding the rest, we usually end up being disappointed, and I’m sure I’ve also fallen into the same trap many times!

  It was when I began to formulate plans to make the album Naked Thunder, and rediscover my career as a major artist, that the disappointment just mentioned cropped up, and some harsh words were said when all but Steve Morris had no serious place in this next stage.

  At around the same time, I’d also become friendly with Graham Underwood – drinking buddy, deadly pool opponent, car fixer, anything fixer, non-stop piss-taker and general partner in crime. Soon to be known as ‘Squiffy’, Graham easily slipped into the role of tour manager, general listener, troubleshooter and so on. Our first meeting was at some pub or other (where else?), when I discovered I had no money on me to stand my round. I asked Graham if he could lend me some, and he bought me two! I then asked again if he could help me out with a note, to which he said, ‘What do you want to drink?’ So I thought I’d better deal with this, and said, ‘Triple Scotch and Coke, please,’ which prompted him to lend me the money!

  It was towards the end of the Garth Rockett dates that I found myself talking to Steve about the Naked Thunder album, and he just quietly said, ‘Oh, I write songs, actually.’

  ‘Well, feel free to send some down to me. I have people sending me tapes all the time,’ I replied.

  So, one morning, I was having my cereal and doing the crossword while also separating my post into two piles – one for the bin and the other to deal with – when, on this occasion, I added a package in its brown envelope to the ‘to deal with’ pile. It had no return address on it, and was sealed with almost an entire roll of sticky tape, so, after fighting with it for a while, I chucked it in the bin.

  A short while later, I was playing pool with Graham, when I heard this great backing track come on the speakers. So I said to Graham, ‘Where the hell did you get that from?’

  ‘Your bin!’ he replied. And, of the four tracks on the tape, three ended up on Naked Thunder; and of course you’ve guessed right: the tape was the one I’d thrown away, and Steve had sent it!

  Steve would then start to come down and work with me, or we’d send stuff backwards and forwards by post, developing a project I’d decided for various reasons I’d finance myself. Looking back on that decision, I see it was a mistake, while, so far as the album was concerned, there are things that could have been done better. Quite honestly, the Garth Rockett tour had been a most welcome distraction from the Purple fallout, but it had not given me the reserves of energy I needed, and neither had I rediscovered my touch. I should have come out on Naked Thunder with both fists flying, but I didn’t want to be undignified, nor to be seen as being in a corner.

  What I was dealing with post-Purple was equivalent to a traumatic divorce, in which the parties should have been able to work something out and stay together. However, unlike the first divorce, in which I’d been the one who walked away, this time I’d been thrown out, and my band were continuing without me, and making a new Deep Purple album, Slaves and Masters. It was a painful time, and so much must have been interfering with my mind, as we worked on the material for Naked Thunder, for which I brought in Leif Mases as its producer.

  Leif came with great credentials, having just completed a project with Jeff Beck; but, as nice as he is, and with his obvious ability, he came to work with an artist, me, who had very few positive ideas to offer, apart from ordering another drink!

  So how do I look back on that period in terms of its relevance? Well, I guess I summed it up myself in the studio one day, when I realised I was crafting my songs by taking Steve’s material and singing along to it with a scribbling pad, and in a ‘hum-dee-hum’ fashion. The other way is when I get hold of a multitrack set of tapes, crank up the volume to full throttle and start ‘Whoooaaoo’ - ing’, and rock-’n’-rolling. Naked Thunder was a ‘hum-dee-hum’ album, and, while there’s a lot about it I’m very happy with, I can see that it disappointed some people.

  I’m gonna build a bridge

  To take my train of thought

  I’m gonna break the law

  And spread my wings across the water

  You think you’re something special

  But you don’t know what you’re doing

  I’ve got news for you, babe

  What you’re doin’s gonna ruin you.

  Perhaps the only moment of real fulfilment and reunion with my past came about when I got involved in the aftermath of the Armenian tragedy, where a few of us came together in 1989 to make Rock Aid Armenia, with ‘Smoke on the Water’ and ‘Paranoid’ on the B side. In fact the record was part of a larger project initiated by the charity campaigner Jon Dee, and it included a film documentary, with the monies variously raised given towards helping the victims of that terrible event, and to contribute towards their better futures. A lot of my mates were involved, including Bruce Dickinson, Bryan Adams, Dave Gilmore, Tony Iommi, Roger Taylor, Paul Rodgers and Uncle Tom Cobley an’ all! Quite some line-up I suppose, into which Ritchie came in on a separate occasion to record his contribution, when no one was around. Later that year, we’d all be awarded gold discs, with grateful thanks for our contribution to the cause, although it wasn’t necessary. You don’t do a thing like that to add to the collection of personal mementoes, but the gesture was still appreciated. After all, a lot of people don’t bother to thank you at all!

  We made Naked Thunder at Duncansby Crescent Studios in Warrington, Woodcray Studio near Bracknell and Amazon Studios, Liverpool, and it features several noteworthy musicians, including Peter Robinson (synth/piano), Tommy Eyre (also on synth and Hammond), Simon Phillips (drums) and other great players such as Bev Bevan, John Gustafson (that man again!), Dave Lloyd, Harry Shaw and Carol Kenyan. Along with my collaborator, Steve Morris, everyone worked enthusiastically on stuff such as ‘Gut Reaction’, ‘Nothing but the Best’, ‘Love Gun’ and ‘No More Cane On The Brazos’, but then I came to realise just how hard and different the music business had become, and how quickly it forgets you, because finding a record deal for Naked Thunder was a demoralising experience. Suddenly, it was all a far cry from the days when there were record companies all over the place – major labels and challenging independent ones – as I painfully discovered that the new businesses seemed to be owned by people who also sold washing machines, televisions and other such useful objects. Now, in these new times I had to wind the clock back, and go through that whole experience of knocking on doors, and playing my tapes to a fresh generation, some of whom hadn’t been
conceived when my career began! Still, we finally got there, and signed to Teldec/East West, with whom the album was released in July 1990 (a little before Slaves and Masters came out). Naked Thunder would not sell very well, but, on the back of it, I could make plans to do what I like doing best: touring! So, while a new Ian Gillan Band tour was being put together, with kick-off set in the former USSR, I set about finding a seasoned bunch of travellers who needed two essential qualities: playing skills and endurance! I ended up with much, much more.

  For a tour like this, it was out of the question to ask the likes of Simon Phillips along. People like Simon and Pete Robinson regularly work with top artists, and they can earn more in a few hours in the States than they’d take home after months on a tour, the likes of which I had in mind. So we had to settle for wonderful lesser mortals, and, with no disrespect at all, they were Steve ‘Navajo’ Morris (lead guitar), Chris Glenn, known as ‘Big Bad’ (bass), Ted McKenna, also known as ‘Big Mental’ (drums), Tommy Eyre (keyboard), Dave Lloyd (a great singer) and Mick O’Donoghue (rhythm guitar). Ted and Chris were recently out of MSG, but go back further to the Sensational Alex Harvey Band, while Mick became known as O’Duff – except, of course, on the night we played Odense!

  And so we rehearsed at Nomis Studios near Earls Court in London, after which we left for the vastness of Russia, where everybody seemed to be called Sasha. In fact, the tour started in Moscow, where we played four shows at the Olympiyskiy, and where I had a little confrontation with a guy who wanted me to sign an anti-drugs petition. I put it to him that I couldn’t do as he asked, suggesting that it wasn’t the way to deal with the issue.