Ian Gillan: The Autobiography of Deep Purple’s Singer

by Ian Gillan

  Otherwise, Brett had taken to wearing a nifty little dress on stage, and Lenny looked like an overripe banana in a tasty grow-suit that defies description to this day! Dean was still cruising and grooving, and we’d written some new songs, which were being brought into the shows. It’s always good to let new songs grow into themselves before taking them into a studio, and we were looking forward to doing just that when news reached us that we’d been dropped by our record company, East West.

  We were sort of expecting this bombshell, because record sales hadn’t been brilliant, but here we were, two years after Naked Thunder, and evolving into something a bit special. We had a total belief in ourselves – a ‘let’s do it’ attitude – and, although finances were tight, our management were strongly behind us, as we started recording in a shed near to my home using a small mobile studio. My cousin, Paul ‘Chad’ Watkins, from erstwhile projects at Kingsway Studios, came on board, and we put down ‘A Day Late ’n’ a Dollar Short’, ‘Hard on You’ and ‘Sugar Plum’, as well as ‘High Ground’ and ‘Ticket to Your Heart’. We were all chuffed with the results, and sent the tapes to Phil and Al, who started punting them around.

  However, the reaction was not what we expected, and dejection set in. I even wondered if my name was becoming a drawback to the band, and we talked about a change to something without ‘Gillan’ on the sleeve. And then, just as we were looking around our rehearsal-cum-recording shed, idly messing with the litter of drumsticks, empty beer bottles and leads that didn’t work, Lenny said, ‘Jeez! This place looks like a repo depot,’ which is what a junkyard is back where he comes from, where ‘depot’ is pronounced ‘deepo’!

  So that dealt with the new name of the band – Repo Depo – and, a while after that, we set off on the ferry to the Hook of Holland, with all the gear loaded into my Volvo and a Ford truck, there to try our luck in the studios of the famous Bolland Brothers. ‘Bolland and Bolland from Holland’ – it kinda rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?

  In fact Ferdi and Rob have an impeccable background – ‘Rock Me Amadeus’ may jog your memory – but then there’s their concept album called The Domino Theory, which touches on war and American foreign interventions, from which Status Quo lifted ‘In the Army Now’ (No. 2 in the UK charts, 1986). I’d first met the Bollands when they kindly invited me to sing a couple of songs on a project called Darwin, a work that was based, not surprisingly, on the life of the great man Charles, and about whose lyrics and score I’m sure Tim Rice would have approved. In fact, Rob and Ferdi have several things in common with Tim, including that they are very businesslike, but temper that with a fine sense of humour. However, more than anything else, the two of them, like Tim, are absolute gentlemen – and I mean gentlemen.

  A couple of hours after we arrived at the little hotel we’d booked into close to the studio we’d reserved, El Al Flight 1862 was leaving Schiphol Airport. The plane was a Boeing 747 cargo carrier. The day was 4 October 1992, and all was well with us until at around 6. 35 p.m. the aircraft crashed into a block of flats in the nearby neighbourhood of Bijlmermeer, killing the crew of four as well as many innocents on the ground. The explosion from the catastrophe was massive, and, moments later, one of the engines landed quite near to us, after which everything went quiet.

  Back home in England, my life was back in turmoil; and I need to explain why, having just made mention of my exhilarating and upbeat time with Repo Depo.

  You see, for six months or so, there had been gossip and moves afoot to reunite me in some way with Deep Purple, and, when this kind of speculation is out there, unchallenged and creating its own energy, what follows is usually an invidious position for someone like me to be in. So I’ve said nothing about these rumours and stories, nor have I made any mention of my former band’s apparent difficulties without me, because it was simply not my business to do so. Of course, I’d followed their progress over the years, in the same way I’m sure they’d followed mine – remember the night a short while before Christmas, when Ritchie turned up at my house (see Chapter 9)? Therefore, we always more or less knew what each one of us had been doing, and what ideas might be germinating for new and potential futures, which meant that the situation I found myself in was not much different from the way company chiefs keep an eye on what their competitors in the field are up to, with opponents in the supermarket industry being a good example of what I’m trying to explain and justify.

  Well, I’ve never been allowed to forget the time I said, ‘I’d rather slit my throat than sing with that band again.’ But, then, I’ve also been asked many times, about my feelings towards their singers since my departure – David Coverdale, Glenn Hughes and Joe Lynn Turner, and about that, my answer has always been, ‘How would you feel if you found your lover with somebody else?’ Which, as an emotional and ready-made thought, has to say something quite powerful, does it not?

  So the rumours continued to circulate, and, when something gains sufficient momentum, it’s hard to stop. When a flock of birds changes flight, when dogs become a pack, when human minds compete collectively, single strengths move in alliance. Well, I reasonably understand how the ‘physics’ of this argument can work, and, although I’ve frequently swum against the tide, just once in a while I realise that it’s necessary to take a deep breath and go with its flow.

  So, while still in Amsterdam, I just knew my past was trying to revisit me, and the situation was unbearable, because I loved Repo Depo. I saw the band as my future – in fact my only future – such that we even had a logo organised by Man (Manjeet Khangura) of Electric Echo (what a success his company is today!); and his people had also come up with a promo package, including the design of various pieces of artwork and a band picture, which looked ultra cool! However, in reality, we had no record deal on offer to us, and I was on my uppers. Phil Banfield had also come to the end of his tether, and I must have moaned one too many times, because he sent me a fax saying, ‘I quit!’ Ashen-faced, I walked into the kitchen of the Bolland studio, where Al was sitting quietly having a beer. I read the fax again, burst into tears and looked at Al, who clearly knew what was going on. ‘I’ll do it!’ I said, before rushing out to call Phil, still sobbing my heart out, just as I heard him doing the same at the other end of the line. I’d decided to go back to Deep Purple!

  The journey home was uneasy. We all knew what was happening, and the usual banter was restrained. We’d scraped enough money together for a couple of drinks, but we also stayed sober. Everyone was tired, and careful politeness took away our fun. Dean drifted off from Harwich, and Brett and Lenny came back to my place for a day or so, during which time Lenny wrecked my car, before flying home to San Francisco.

  What was it John Alphonso had said to me just a few weeks ago? ‘Ian, it’s up to you.’ And so I took a deep breath and started work with Roger, on the new Purple project, The Battle Rages On.

  CHAPTER 14

  My return to the fold was neither easy nor entirely joyful at first, but at least Roger had come over from America to work with me at the studio we’d found in the Thames Valley, where the showbiz fraternity are generally in control of all that goes on, and what generally passes through. I was also told that the Godfather in the territory was Jon’s friend George Harrison, although he’d rather not be – the Godfather, that is! So I suppose what I’m really telling you is that Jon has a friend called George Harrison – but, then, you already know that – from the time he came on stage with us in Australia and I introduced him as ‘Arnold from Liverpool’!

  Anyway, Roger and I were into our second day of delightful work, when I suddenly had this most horrendous awareness, the most disgusting feeling I’ve had in my entire life, as it suddenly dawned on me that I was not really being invited back into the band: I was being auditioned for it!

  I took a deep breath, found some focus, and said to myself, ‘Oh, my God! I’m being auditioned by the love of my life, Deep Purple, to see if I can still hack it with my writing skills and vocals.’ The reason th
ey’d sent Roger over for two days in a studio, was to check me out, which meant that, although I thought I was back in the band, I wasn’t yet!

  I put the thought to one side as effectively as possible, drank some wine with Roger and let the realisation sink in: that Ritchie didn’t want me back but the influential record company BMG did! In fact, work on a new record had already started with Joe Lynn Turner, but it was not considered acceptable, so everybody was now waiting to see what I’d do with the tapes already made. Shut away in the temporary studio, I felt surrounded by feelings of uncertainty, a lack of drive and general ‘anti’ atmosphere, largely caused by a guitar player who basically didn’t want me around. It was a delicate situation, which in the early stages of our reunion showed we were not on the same wavelength!

  Been so many words, so much to say

  Words are not enough to keep the guns at bay

  Some live in fear some do not

  Some gamble everything on who gets the final shot

  The Battle Rages On was recorded at the Bearsville Studios in New York, the Red Rooster Studio in Tutzing, Munich, and the Greg Rike facility in Orlando, Florida (now GRP Studios). Afterwards, Pat Regan and Roger mixed it at the Sound on Sound Studios in New York, and the record company was pleased with what we delivered: ‘Lick It Up’, ‘Anya’, ‘Talk About Love’, ‘Ramshackle Man’, ‘A Twist in the Tale’, ‘Nasty Piece of Work’, ‘Solitaire’ and ‘One Man’s Meat’, ‘The Battle Rages On’, and the one Ritchie didn’t like (or, at least, preferred a different version of), ‘Time to Kill’.

  It’s difficult to give the different genres of today’s music a place in the charts against times past, when indicators of success (or not) were dealt with by the likes of the NME, Melody Maker and Sounds. So much is different now –which is not to criticise – and that includes referencing to a greater number of charts and catering for the wider choices of music being made: indie, punk, funk, jazz, jazz funk, Prog, country, folk, reggae, MOR, heavy rock and so forth. There’s just so much going on out there that it’s hard to know how something like The Battle Rages On really performed, in the way we could chart such things yesteryear. However, despite the band problems already mentioned, and others to come, the album and CD went out on 26 July 1993 with the former reaching No. 21 in the UK, No. 5 in Japan and No. 13 in Germany; and, although it performed lower down in the States (No. 192), the single reached No. 22 on Billboard’s Mainstream Rock chart.

  In the usual way of things, Bruce’s office confirmed a Battle Rages On tour, to begin in Europe, with Colin Hart as the tour manager (Al Dutton came along with me), and we travelled to Bregenz, Austria, on Saturday, 18 September 1993, where we rehearsed for three days. It was then on to Rome for another day of rehearsal, before we opened at Palaghiaccio on the 24th.

  September

  24th Palaghiaccio

  25th Palasport, Forli, Italy

  26th Palatrussardi, Milan, Italy

  27th Palasport, Turin, Italy

  29th Stadthalle, Villach, Austria

  October

  1st Sporthalle, Schwerin, Germany

  2nd Ostseehalle, Kiel, Germany

  3rd Festhalle, Frankfurt, Germany

  4th Grugahalle, Essen, Germany

  6th Weser-Ems-Halle, Oldenburg, Germany

  And so the tour progressed with Berlin (7th), Hamburg (8th), Cologne (10th), Memmingen (11th), Nuremberg (13th), Munich (14th), Mannheim, Stuttgart, and on into France; Nancy (18th), Paris (19th); and into Switzerland for shows in Zurich and Lausanne (21st/22nd), Barcelona in Spain (and San Sebastian) on 23rd and 24th; finishing the month with shows in Austria, Czechoslovakia and Poland, where we played the Zabrze Sport Hall in Katowice on Sunday, 31st October.

  The tour was going well, with virtual or complete sell-outs wherever we went (including the bigger venues – around 13, 000 at Stuttgart); while we mixed old with the new, including ‘Highway Star’, ‘Space Truckin’’, ‘Anyone’s Daughter’, ‘Strange Kind of Woman’, ‘Speed King’, ‘Twist in the Tale’, ‘Child in Time’, ‘Smoke on the Water’, ‘Anya’ and ‘The Battle Rages On’. Otherwise, some of the usual medleys were thrown in, which the fans love, and we even did ‘Hush’ a few times.

  Sitting back for a few moments of reflection, I’m reminded of that tongue-in-cheek comment I made earlier, when putting the pros and cons of possibly moving from Gillan to Deep Purple. And, if you recall, one of the cons to be considered was why I’d want to move from a successful band, with its current and contained management set-up, to a ‘cast of thousands’, underpinning what was Deep Purple, plus I was also reflective of how other such major names also worked and travelled at the time. Well, I don’t doubt you thought my earlier analysis way over the top; but, if you still have a copy of the Battle Rages On tour brochure, check out the inside back cover, because I count ‘those to blame’ at more than sixty, and that excludes the band, which was still at five!

  We were still at five because there were tensions as the tour moved from venue to venue, with some niggles being obvious to the audience. For example, there was the occasion when Ritchie went into a Jesus Christ riff during ‘Black Night’, and, when I started to join in, he stopped in his tracks. Or for ‘Lazy’, when, once again, I went to pick up on his riff, he stopped again!

  I struggled to keep control when it was needed, and didn’t quite manage on every occasion; but against this there were many moments of high drama but with fine musicianship from him (and the band, for that matter) – including in the show, when he swapped his guitar, trashed the replacement and threw it into the audience – before he altered his touch on ‘Anyone’s Daughter’, which was sublime.

  So how can I rationalise this ‘thing’, this polarisation of Ritchie and me, with Jon, Ian and Roger stuck in the middle? I suppose the best I can come up with is to say, ‘Imagine a beautiful meal, with a plate of food in front of you, and that all that is on the plate looks good, and works well in culinary terms. Then consider that same plate of beautiful food as being Deep Purple, except two of the essential ingredients, Ritchie and I, are missing, because we’ve decided our role is better served by being a knife and fork, on either side of the plate?

  Try as I may, I cannot claim to understand how Ritchie reasons things out, or how he arrives at his conclusions. I have certain ideas, but out of respect they must remain outside the public domain, as one of those things to leave alone, at least until he and I are dead.

  And so the shows continued to critical musical acclaim, with the problems kept mostly to ourselves, as we went into Belgium to play Forest National in Brussels on 2 November and Rotterdam (Ahoy) on the 3rd. It was then back to England for the Manchester Apollo on the 5th, the Brixton Academy, London, on the 7th and 8th and the ‘big one’ at the NEC, Birmingham, on the 9th.

  Ritchie had, by now, destroyed his visa, saying that he’d not be going to Japan at the end of the month, while pre-NEC the situation had become so volatile that nobody could predict what would happen at Birmingham. And I’ll give some context to this by saying that, for the earlier Manchester show, our roadies were trying to make sure we arrived on stage without taking the same route to it! Still, the show was fine, as was Brixton, particularly the second one, where Ritchie was great, and I met up with some old buddies afterwards, including Dean Howard.

  However, in Birmingham, it was all to end. And, about that, stories vary as to precisely what happened, depending on whether you were on stage, in the audience or in the wings. In the bigger picture, what had been arranged (and agreed by everybody) was that this show would actually be filmed. (I know – ‘in the bigger picture’, ‘filmed’! So sorry!). The director was Hugh Symonds, the producer would be Lana Topham, and little could they have predicted what would happen to them and the project!

  To begin with, the atmosphere backstage was vile, and Ritchie had locked himself in his room with a notice on the door saying, ‘The Badger’s Den’. To be clear, he’d also signed up to the idea of the cameras, so, not surprisi
ngly, there were loads of guys wandering around. Indeed, everywhere you turned, there seemed to be someone with a camera, or pulling a cable across the floor. Well, from my point of view, the days when an artist can demand to have the stage all to himself or herself went out of the window years ago. All that precious-behaviour stuff – I mean, there’s always going to be somebody under your feet, and you just have to learn to live with it. Crucially, there’s absolutely no point in letting something like that, something you’d wanted anyway, spoil your performance. But Ritchie did!

  And so the lights went down, Ian Paice got things under way, and then, with Jon and Roger, they cranked up ‘Highway Star’, and I went on.

  I was at the mike, and realised that something wasn’t right. Jon was keeping things going, and then I turned to see that Ritchie wasn’t with us! I mean, when one-fifth of the band is not with you, it does sound a bit lame, particularly with the opening song. And so it was decision time: either we stop the show, or count in and get on with it, which is what I did. When we reached the solo, the guitarist appeared, played a few runs, and wandered back off.

  I’m told a beaker of water flew by me just after the congas, and we went into ‘Black Night’ in much the same situation, i. e. no guitar player.

  Backstage, it seems Ritchie had taken exception to a particular cameraman, and had thrown a bucket of water over him. He then found another bucket and went for a second guy who was also filming, but when the water was chucked this time, the cameraman was not where Ritchie thought he was, and, instead, it went all over my missus, as one thing led to another.