With so many changes going on in my life, another one was about to begin. Some time after returning to the music business, and I can’t remember exactly when that was, I started to use a booking agent, Phil Banfield, to help get the Ian Gillan Band on the road, and so he came to see us one night at the Queensway Hall, Dunstable. After the show he came backstage for a chat, and I asked what he thought of the performance (never ask a question if you’re afraid of the answer!), to which he said it was ‘horrible’, and that he’d been watching the faces of the audience, who knew me as a rock singer, and not a jazz performer. He then ended with, ‘All this “tweedle dee” stuff for “Smoke” just isn’t on!’ Well I’d asked, I got an answer I didn’t really want, but of course I knew he was right!
When he later heard that I’d ended with the band, and was putting Gillan together, he called me and said we could now think in terms of booking places like the Marquee to play at, and aim to build things up from there, which is what happened. We started by playing the clubs, universities and so forth, progressing soon after with schedules in Spain and elsewhere in Europe, where we were well received wherever we performed. However, what we didn’t have was a record deal, and Phil talked to our then manager, Dave Hanfield, asking why that was.
It turned out that Dave had been going to the different record labels asking for figures in telephone numbers, and finding himself rapidly back on the street, with the door closed firmly behind him. Well it’s hard to go back to people after that, and so, in March 1978, I asked Phil to be my manager. Once again, I knew I was putting my career into the hands of someone who had no track record in this kind of work, but, to keep things as efficient as possible, I also said I wanted him to continue as my booking agent. We met at his office at 10 Sutherland Avenue in London, with his partner, Carl Leighton Pope, also present, and quickly decided we’d phone every single record company in the country, until we got a deal. And it was a good strategy, which soon led us to the doorstep of Acrobat, who’d also been recommended, because they’d done such a great job for Roger Chapman. I made a point of speaking personally to all who were to be involved with us at the label, and, although it began with a singles deal, it was still a great start.
For the first time in years, I felt there was focus and direction. I had a new band with Bernie Tormé (guitar), John McCoy (bass), Mick Underwood (drums) and of course Colin Towns on keyboard; plus, we also had Phil Banfield on board to help steer the ship! Raw energy returned as we recorded ‘Vengeance’ for the new label (‘Smoke’ on the B side), and I got my first taste of working with Phil.
The two of us went to the south coast to get a picture for the record sleeve, and to generally figure out what to do. I was roaming around in the freezing water in my wellies when Phil hit on an idea. He said he wanted a picture of me with only water in the background, but to get the effect he was after he said I’d have to jump. So it came to pass that when my manager said I had to jump, I’d jump! And he made me do it quite often!
Eye for eye
Tooth for tooth
You take one
But I can take two
Call it vengeance
I’m seeking vengeance
For my independence
And I’m fighting with you
And so 1978 into 1979 was a time of great hope, as Phil started to put us in front of audiences in a big way, and one of the people he brought back into my life was Jack Barrie, who, you might recall from Chapter 4, said of the then emerging Deep Purple that we were ‘a little before their time’! Well, of course, Jack had for many years been responsible for the booking policy that made the Marquee world famous, and he also looked after bookings at the Reading Rock Festival, at which event he wonderfully offered Gillan a spot on the same bill as Steve Hackett, Thin Lizzy and Rory Gallagher – now, sadly, no longer with us. I suspect we were used only as padding, and were told there would be no time for an encore. However, we went down so well we had to do one, and played an unrehearsed medley of rock ’n’ roll, which the audience loved! So it was good to see the reviews, with Melody Maker saying that it was only when we hit the stage that the audience could really get down to any kind of serious headbanging, and that Gillan rock with force. Playing to 30, 000 people was good for morale, and brought back memories of how it was before, and could be again.
As an aside, I also used this period to think about, and define, new words, which I think deserving of a mention in our dictionary of rock ’n’ roll. I’ve already dealt with a ‘headbanger’, as a ‘person with rhythm’, but there are new ones to which I’d like to draw your attention, starting with a ‘headmaster’, who’s an ‘ex-headcase’; and then the ‘headcase’, who’s an ‘ex-person with rhythm’, and … Well, the Oxford English Dictionary frequently updates its content to meet changing times, for Heaven’s sake!
Anyhow, with Gillan, this was it! We had Acrobat commit to an album, Mr. Universe, which came out in October, while Phil worked on setting up a major UK/European tour, which we’d follow with Japan, Australia and America.
In the UK, we promoted our records alongside touring, and were supported by Randy California of Spirit (and very short-term Purple experience), and in Canada we had Samson (see Chapter 2); plus Bruce Dickinson was also there. And so we toured intensively, as the UK schedule illustrates, and it was simply great to be back on track!
Why do I example tour dates from time to time? I guess one reason is that so many fans have literally followed our tours, coming to see me over the years on more than just a visit to one venue. So perhaps this item of reference is a nice reminder of what we’ve all done. It’s also happened to me worldwide, and would continue, even for tours to Russia, where familiar faces have appeared, and would appear, somehow at the different shows. How you manage it I’ll never know, particularly when it comes to territories where distances are so great, but wherever it has happened – here, or over there – it’s fantastic, and I’m grateful. We’re all grateful! I know there are friends and fans who like this kind of information, in a curating sense, and therefore as fully as can be remembered and recorded. And for the best source, Simon Robinson’s Darker Than Blue – except I’ll guess you know that!
Mr. Universe made No. 11 in the UK charts (11 November), and included a number of tracks on the withdrawn Gillan import from Japan. ‘Secret of the Dance’, ‘Roller’ and ‘Vengeance’ showed we meant business, while my first serious attempt at songwriting, ‘Puget Sound’, harked back to the trip I’d done so many years before with Audrey and my sister, Pauline.
I loved the Gillan band, where Bernie and John grabbed audiences with their electrifying stage presence. I mean they just oozed rock ’n’ roll, including its humour, which for John meant having to live with one reviewer’s description of him as a ‘walking absurdity’. The whole vibe was fantastic, as was the period in question!
Of course, people always wanted to know how I felt about Purple – particularly as their management had put out a compilation – and of course they also wanted to know what I thought about Rainbow, which Ritchie had set up so well. Inevitable also was the question of a Deep Purple reunion, but I always steered well clear of any talk that could be misinterpreted or get me into trouble, although I did have an unusual surprise one Christmas, when there was a knock on the door, and when I opened it there stood Ritchie a couple of steps back, wearing his silly pilgrim hat.
‘What do you want?’ I asked.
‘I’m looking for a singer,’ he said.
‘Oh, well, come in, then!’
‘Do you mind if I bring in the girlfriend?’ he asked.
‘Where is she?’
He said she was standing at the end of the drive, and when I asked why, he replied that he was worried I might hit him! So they came in, and Ritchie started knocking back the vodka, which was surprising, because I knew him as a Scotch and beer man. Still, after a few hours, he said, ‘Do you want to join Rainbow?’
‘No,’ I said, going on to ask if he wanted to join Gillan, since I was looking for someone to fill the place Bernie would later take. However, Ritchie’s reaction was not only negative, but in a strange kind of way he was also reasonable enough to me. ‘No, no, Ian, you’re doing it all wrong – you should be playing the big stadiums!’
Well, I knew what he was saying, because Rainbow were doing just that, but equally they weren’t doing as many shows as we were, and nor were they going into some of the more far-flung countries, the names of which he’d probably never even heard of, but were places I just wanted to see!
In the end, it got to the point where we obviously weren’t going to do a reunion, but I asked, ‘Why don’t you come to the Marquee on Boxing Day, and play with us?’ In fact, we had three nights there and, to give Ritchie his due, he did turn up on one occasion, and also joined us on stage. Unfortunately, John chose that moment to display a side of his character that would cause problems, because, when Ritchie came up, he started ruffling his hair, and generally being a bit stupid. John could be a bit boorish sometimes, and he didn’t take it kindly when I started to question the wisdom of opening a rock show with a bass solo!
Anyway, Ritchie departed as quietly and strangely as he had arrived, and it would be a long time before we’d meet again. I was happy with Gillan and its potential, and the idea of joining the ‘whiz pops’ in America didn’t interest me, just as gigging around Britain wouldn’t have appealed to Ritchie.
It would also have been around that time that I had a call from Tim Rice, and it was another of those lovely ‘Hello, dear boy, how are you?’ intros, to which I gave him, ‘All the better for hearing from you, Tim!’
Well, as you know, I’d got to like Tim enormously from the moment we first met for the Jesus Christ Superstar project, and now here he was again, this time explaining a new project he and Andrew Lloyd Webber were putting together. The show was called Evita, and of course I could guess what was coming: ‘Would you like to play the part of General Perón? I’d really love you to do it!’
We talked about Jesus Christ Superstar, how alive and rock ’n’ roll it had been, as well as how I was able to relate it to my situation with Deep Purple at the time. However, when I called him back on the invitation, I said no, because the Gillan band was my priority. Of course, Evita was another huge hit for them, and it was another great offer that I’d refused. I hope Tim wasn’t too upset by my decision then, because I’ve really learned so much from him.
The chemistry continued just right with Gillan, and I was happy to be quoted to that effect often. We became a serious force to be reckoned with, and went into 1980 as a settled band, but also with a change of label to Virgin, a move that came about because of our initial success with Acrobat, but, more honestly, because, to our horror, they suddenly announced they’d run out of money! It was a major setback for us, and all I can say is they tried to be as ‘nice’ about the situation as they could be, including giving us good references, so we could try to find another label. Still, what good are success and nice words without pay? And the band immediately started on the tack that we were being ripped off, leaving me and Phil to try to persuade them that getting blood out of a stone was a waste of time and energy. I’d say to them, ‘What the fuck do you want me to do? Go round and beat these people up? It’s not going to get us any money!’
It was indeed a bitter blow, made all the worse because we’d fronted the cost of Mr. Universe before signing with Acrobat, so our signing-on fee when we transferred to Virgin just about cleared the decks, before we started on Glory Road. In other words, we were immediately locked into what I’ve experienced before, and it’s called a cashflow problem; which this time left me with just enough residual for the new record, in terms of production costs, but precious little left to live on thereafter. We’d have to wait a long time until royalties came through to ease things, but the band didn’t seem to see it that way – the more so because Glory Road became a huge success, going to No. 3 in the UK charts, and doing well enough in America. With this success self-evident, plus the fact that our single, ‘Sleeping on the Job’ made No. 55, well, it encouraged them to press for money.
At around the same time as the financial returns were coming into Virgin, the band will have known that Deep Purple material was also in the charts, with Deepest Purple, while ‘Black Night’ had also been re-released. So I suppose it’s understandable, that they thought I was holding back, while issues of different perceptions and actualities in a corporate sense would be argued for a while to come, even as we stayed together and became increasingly successful.
In fact, there were many wonderful and lighter moments, even with John, and, when he was in a good mood, he was simply brilliant and tolerant. We were selling out concerts within hours of tickets being available, and doing dates such as the Hammersmith Odeon, where a second night was added. It was a non-stop roller-coaster of rock ’n’ roll!
| September | |
| 26th | New Theatre, Oxford |
| 27th | Brighton Dome |
| 28th | De Montfort Hall, Leicester |
| 29th | St George’s Hall, Bradford |
| October | |
| 1st/2nd | Mayfair, Newcastle |
| 3rd | Town Hall, Middlesbrough |
| 4th | Guildhall, Preston |
| 5th | Empire, Liverpool |
And then to Sheffield City Hall (6th), Manchester Apollo (7th), Hanley Victoria Hall (8th), Birmingham Odeon (10th), Derby Assembly Hall (11th), Coventry Theatre (12th), Hemel Hempstead Pavilion (13th), Hammersmith Odeon (14th/15th), Bristol Colston Hall (16th), Southampton Gaumont (17th), Bracknell Sports Centre (18th), Cardiff Top Rank (19th), Ipswich Gaumont (21st), Edinburgh Odeon (23rd), Glasgow Apollo (24th), Dundee Caird Hall (25th), Carlisle Market Hall (26th), and Hull City Hall (27th).
For me, Glory Road, with ‘Unchain Your Brain’, ‘No Easy Way, ‘Sleeping on the Job’, ‘Are You Sure?’, ‘Time And Again’, ‘If You Believe Me’, ‘On The Rocks’, ‘Running, White Face, City Boy’ and ‘Nervous’ was my best piece of work since Machine Head.
We also gave away a freebie souvenir programme with the first 15, 000 copies of the album, which included a crack at Samson’s ‘Vice Versa’ (listen to ‘Egg Timer’). Still, they took it all in good part, while the freebie was upped to 25, 000 by public demand, and even that left people disappointed.
Of course, there was still the Purple material in the charts, so people just wouldn’t leave off the question of a reunion, and in the end I got to counter my tormentors with the suggestion they consider asking David Coverdale of Whitesnake the same question, although we all knew the interest was in the classic Mk. 2 line-up, didn’t we? Otherwise, as a back-of-envelope review, it was obvious that the logistics of a reunion would be quite mind blowing, because here I was now, making great rock music with a major band who were under management I trusted completely with Phil.
And, together with a fair wind and no more hiccups, we had a great future, so what was the point in getting involved with an alternative game plan, which would need fifteen agents, ten managers, two thousand road managers, nine private jets and a stack of stress? OK, so I’ll admit I’m prone to exaggeration sometimes, but you get the drift. To try to nail the subject once and for all, I went on record as saying, ‘My band is so tight you couldn’t prise us apart with a razor!’ which at the very least I thought was good stuff, even though it wasn’t going to work!
Despite the creative side of Gillan as told, the situation on the ground was often difficult, as the band started to press for increased pay, plus shares for when royalties were released and so forth. Unfortunately, you cannot have it both ways, and the niggling extended to suspicions, as we then argued over who should produce ‘Trouble’, which we were rehearsing. It’s the old story: you begin something with excitement and a belief that you all understand the game, and so it’s done informally. I mean, who wants to show cynicism – even distrust – by asking for watertight contracts when you’re in apparent agreement, and probably wanting to avoid large legal costs in confirming on paper what’s been ‘confirmed in discussion’? It was another of my misjudgements, and maybe I wasn’t in the greatest shape at the time. I felt I was all right, but I know Phil was concerned, although more about my smoking than anything else, and there was certainly a period when shows were cancelled because of illnesses associated with that issue.
Of course, the media and others preferred to put the situation down to ‘alcohol’, but it wasn’t the case, so another of Phil’s tasks was to explain many things, and set certain records straight. He took on board the various difficulties I had with the band, and then helped to sort out closing difficulties I still had with Zoe (who, incidentally, had also put herself forward as my manager). Above all else, he sorted out a few people who seemed to be ripping me off, because my antennae were evidently not tuned into ‘trust assessment’; and, looking back over the years, and with The Springs in particular, I can see that they probably never had been!
Anyway, Virgin were great to be with, and planned to keep our profile high with singles and albums that sold. So ‘Trouble’, an old Elvis favourite, was recorded, and went to No. 3 in the UK charts, to which success the ‘bearded one’, Richard Branson, threw a party for us at a curry house in Hammersmith, and also invited my old mate Tommy Vance to come along. Richard chose the occasion to then add to the gold, platinum and other discs that hang on the walls of my home, and spoke some good words about the award-winning Glory Road, and the value of Gillan to his label.
A lot of people don’t like the idea of these awards, but, when they are given in the setting of a curry house, and in the company of people from all departments of the label – the art section, the secretaries and so forth – it’s brilliant and they’re worth having. Awards are an affirmation of fan approval and a mark of achievement, on which criteria I’m not embarrassed by either!
Our 1981 UK schedule was arranged around the release of Mutually Assured Destruction, which came out in February, and was set around a nuclear-idiocy theme. It would make No. 32 in the UK charts, and we backed it with a tour, taking in Nottingham Rock City on 4 March, and then going to the London Rainbow, Newcastle City Hall (for a charity gig), Middlesbrough Town Hall, St George’s Hall in Bradford and the Apollo in Manchester. Other venues, such as Bournemouth and Blackburn, were also slipped into gaps by good old Phil, or ‘Bung- ’em-in Banfield’ as we’d call him sometimes, and around the same time I was voted best male singer by Sounds magazine.
From where I stand
I can see mushrooms in the sky
From where I stand
I can watch the bleeding children cry
And they will die
And you who have no wings will fly
From where I stand
I know what they are planning
I know they’re planning one big bang
And they call it mutually assured destruction
We played to full houses wherever we went, and did a European tour, including a visit to the AEK Arena stadium in Greece, where I believe we broke the audience record set by the Rolling Stones, and then just topped by Police. The stadium was absolutely packed, and we somehow got the vibe they’d not expected that kind of turnout, for which read that the scene was set for a disaster. As we came on stage, and kicked off with ‘Unchain Your Brain’, we saw fans still pouring over the high security wall and dropping to the ground like flies, so that many must have suffered terrible injuries. However, that wasn’t the end of things, because all around there was a groundswell of mass hysteria unfolding.
Then, when I turned to grab a towel, I became witness to one of the most frightening sights of my life. There, through the backstage area and across the pitch behind, were a couple of hundred storm troopers in full riot gear and looking very organised. Whatever was going down must have been properly thought through, and they looked and clearly meant serious business, as they broke into a phalanx and started assaulting – beating up – the audience. Of course I’ve seen and experienced difficulties from manageable disturbances to violence before, but this one was on a seriously big scale, and getting worse, so, very sadly, I was left with no choice but to end the show immediately.
Otherwise, when we were on stage, this was a great band to work with. Although Mick and Colin were happy to keep low profiles, they were experienced and fine musicians, as were John and Bernie, who in contrast lent a huge dynamic to our performances, with John’s awesome appearance and rolling, lumbering, stage manner, sometimes adding that extra dimension when he’d dismantle his guitar and stage gear. So, with Bernie’s guitar heroics and hyperactivity around the stage, plus my own way of projecting my music, the fans definitely ‘got off’ on Gillan, and it was always a far more satisfying spectacle to witness from the stage than the experience at the AEK Arena!
The humour was there as well, both on and off stage. For example, we adhered to the obligatory ritual birthday celebrations rock musicians take so seriously, the spirit of which I’ll introduce with a question: why is it that bald heads are so attractive to cake? Still, behind his fearsome appearance, John could be very generous, as fans who collected the European Tour brochure would discover by the competition he set. For those who impressed him with the most ridiculous photo, he’d award a signed album, with a rare cassette of silly bits we couldn’t fit on – ‘for Gillan fans only’. As second prize he’d give away a backstage pass from the American Glory Road Tour 1980, along with a tin of baked beans, although he made it clear that the snaps could not be returned, because John would make it known he’d be eating some of them!
Bernie was a more reflective guy, and his brochure contribution offered no prizes, except that he included a crossword puzzle he’d devised. So try Clue One (across) Name ‘the greatest guitarist alive’ (6, 5). You got it! Finally, to complete the band offerings, Colin and Mick just lent their portraits, while I gave revival to some thoughts on infinity.
Seldom if ever are we knocked off our perches
With the threatening ‘beginningless’
Time goes forward doesn’t it?
Endless we can cope with,
After all we understand procreation
And humanity’s determination to be around forever
Let alone any personal plans for the hereafter
‘Beginningless’ that’s another story
It never started?
Ha, that surely means we’re not here
Well here we are, so that can’t be right.
In between the demands of rock ’n’ roll, I still kept up with my old mates, and played as much football as possible, often for charity. Because of Jonathan Crisp’s connection with the sport – he was very involved with advertising and sponsorships at clubs such as Ipswich Town FC, where I got to meet a number of my heroes, including Terry Butcher, Russell Osmond and Paul Mariner.
I know football managers hate it, but these guys like to party as much as musicians do, and there was one famous occasion when Jonathan arranged that we all get together on a seagoing barge, which was moored on the Orwell Estuary. Although we started in the pub, he’d ordered tons of booze for the vessel, but forgot to supply any food, so a few of us went to the fish-and-chip shop and ordered a lorry load, plus a barrel of pickled onions.
After a while, I felt a bit hot – indeed, a bit strange – and decided on a swim. I began to strip down, but they all started shouting, ‘No, no, Ian, you can’t do that!’ But it was too late, as I dived into the Orwell, and swam round to the bow end, beneath the gaze of the now very drunk partygoers.
The vessel was moored by chain, and so I clawed my way up, to arrive back on board, furious, and caked in slime and grease. But why should I be furious? Well I’d gone over the side without a knife, hadn’t I? And how can you possibly climb back on board a vessel without a knife between your teeth, eh? Of course you can’t, so given that the only thing I could lay my hands on was this plastic knife we’d brought back from the fish shop, I grabbed that, put it in my mouth, and was about to return to the slime and grease when Russell and Terry grabbed hold of me, and said, ‘No way Ian. That river’s dangerous. It’s littered with disease and God knows what else.’ At this point I had to inform them that I don’t get diseases, I only give them! With the amount of alcohol inside us all, plus my ridiculous appearance, it gave us all a good laugh, but it wasn’t so funny the next morning when I looked at where I’d been swimming. Just imagine, if you will, a flat calm of oily water with a load of dead fish floating on the surface. As I said only the day before, ‘I only give diseases!’ Back on tour, we wrote new songs and, in April 1981, Virgin brought out Future Shock, so called after the book by Alvin Toffler. With Future Shock, I think we played some of the best material I have ever written with Colin, and the band were fantastic. We were at our peak, and Virgin put a lot of energy into making sure the album and our singles sold. They offered a sixteen-page colour booklet with the first sixty thousand sales, and alongside the touring, plus the eye-catching sleeve image by Alan Daniels, it wasn’t surprising the project was a success, making No. 2 in the UK charts with songs such as ‘Future Shock’, ‘Night Ride Out of Phoenix’, ‘(The Ballad of) The Lucitania Express’, ‘No Laughing in Heaven’, ‘Sacre Bleu’, ‘Bite the Bullet’, ‘If I Sing Softly’, ‘Don’t Want the Truth’ and ‘For Your Dreams’.
Gone were the days when Phil had to beg the organisers to have me at the Reading Festival, because those days were now a distant memory, as we returned this year as ‘headliners’! ‘No Laughing in Heaven’ is a song from the album that I’m particularly proud of, as it tells the story of a guy who’s been a sinner all his life, but then decides he’d better reform if he wants to get to heaven. And so he does a lot of obnoxious and cynical things to find his way there, but then will come a ‘twist’!
Well, on arrival in heaven our friend is so chuffed, that he starts laughing and jumping around, enjoying himself, only to get arrested. He’s told that, if he wants to do that sort of thing – such as have fun – he’d be better off in hell, and it ends with his screaming:
Let me out of Heaven,
I’ve got it wrong, no I can’t stay in here,
No laughing in Heaven
Oh God it’s awful here,
Going crazy in Heaven,
Take me out, let me go to Hell,
No laughing in Heaven,
Don’t laugh this place is Hell.
(And I wonder what Father Stubbs would have made of that?)