The boys in Purple were visiting in Iceland in this that is my article number 1,000 on this blog. One thousand!
I never imagined a specific number posts when starting the blog, but I probably wouldn`t even dare to think that it would amount to such a great number. Now I think I must have a little break to think about what I will do next. The free amount of storage space is starting to get a bit limited and I must decide if I want to continue with this blog if I must pay out of my own pocket to keep it alive. There isn`t exactly a lot of money to earn from this (even if there is a donation link on the front page) as I have learned by the total donated amount of zero (0) dollar, euro, pounds, bath or whatever currency you might think of.
So, until a possible next time, enjoy this for now!
Iceland gives Deep Purple (and our Richard Green) a hot reception!
You have to hand it to Deep Purple – when they go anywhere they make sure everybody knows about it and nobody forgets it for a long time. The group`s first visit to Iceland on Friday was fraught with the sort of events that make newspaper headlines, including a riot, a protective police escort and a public mobbing.
We had not been in the country for more than 90 minutes when the promoter took us to a club where Independence Day celebrations (at least that’s what we think they were) were in full swing. That sparked it all off.
Dozens of girls ranging in age from about 14 to 30, many of them far the worse for wear due to liberal helpings of Scotch and acquavit, descended on our ten-strong party and began the game of “let’s see who can be the first to endear themself to a pop star by pulling him about.”
It might be added that the boys were similarly enthusiastic and one lad almost lost his teeth when he placed his face an inch from Roger Glover’s and screamed “Deep Purple!” at the top of his voice.
Party
A hostess at the Keflavik NATO base, where our chartered Viscount had landed earlier, led Ian Gillan and me to the safety of a party in suburban Reykjavik while the others went to a rival do elsewhere.
Ian, who is to take flying lessons in August with a view to piloting himself to overseas gigs, glanced through a copy of the NME and pronounced: “I see ‘Superstar’ has been knocked off the top of the chart in America, that’s a few less threepences for me.”
He gets three old pence for each copy sold and as the album has done 3,000,000 in the States, he’s netted a handy £37,000 already!
Late risers
Most of us got to bed at about seven in the morning and late risers wandered over to the concert hall to have a look see. Roger Glover complained of kidney trouble and eventually had to take pain-killing tablets before going on stage. The stage itself was very big and faced a 4,500 capacity auditorium that is normally reserved for sporting events — 4,300 tickets were sold for the concert.
The promoter’s assistant told us that Led Zeppelin had been there and proved a sensation while the Kinks had, it seemed, proved something of a disappointment. Deep Purple were to score another huge success that evening.
A trot round town revealed every record shop with its windows full of Deep Purple albums, kids selling Purple posters in the streets and signs advertising the concert everywhere. But we didn’t see one Eskimo, Igloo, Polar Bear or Rudolph, and felt quite cheated. On the other hand, the scenery was breathtaking and our hotel was situated across the bay from a snow-capped volcano that was last active 40 years ago.
In the dressing room prior to the concert, typical Purple humour broke out and I witnessed the amazing Jon Lord-Ian Paice mock wardance, a spate of tonking (a particularly sharp smack on the crown of the head), threats to Roger’s career, a decision to do away with Jon’s organ and switch Ian Gillan to electric piano (“Then we’ll get the same riff all night long,” – Jon) and fruity renditions of “Tie My Kangaroo Down, Sport” and even “Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep.”
Roger gave me the honour of carrying his spare bass on stage for him and I was rewarded with a rousing cheer from the audience. As the group filed on, something akin to Beatlemania in volume greeted them.
Aurora borealis
During the first number, “Speed King,” roadie Ian, who is in charge of the sound mixer, told me: “I can’t believe its so light; I don’t know if we’ll be able to use the strobes.” This was a reference to the dreaded, sleep-preventing aurora borealis (midnight sun).
Ian Paice shed his T-shirt before “Strange Kinda Woman” and Ian Gillen announced “Into The Fire” as “a sort of backwards rock and roll number.” “Child In Time” seems to be one of Purple’s most popular numbers in Iceland — it was greeted with a hugh cheer and throughout our visit people often asked questions about it.
Big Ian said: “It’s the slowest number we do and it’s the fastest one we do and it also changes time, as you might imagine.” It’s on the time change that Ian goes off stage for a long time while the other dash off some good rock, Roger’s bass chugging away up front with Richie Blackmore’s lead. Jon has his say with a lengthy electric piano/organ work-out, he and Richie musically answering one another back at one stage, Richie going through some almost acrobatic paces.
“Paint It Black” featuring Little Ian’s solo was followed by “Mandrake Root” and that was when the trouble started. Announced Big Ian: “It’s a very rude song about a love potion and its effect on a boy and a girl. It’s the sort of thing you can take your underwear off to.” The crowd loved that and gave him a cheer.
Surged
Interplay between Jon and Little Ian sounded good and the strobes were used but rendered pretty ineffective by daylight streaming through the windows even though it was almost 11 pm local time.
Richie did a Townshend on his guitar and snapped the neck off, much to the enjoyment of the fans who surged to the front, then the power failed for the second time and Little Ian went into another solo to keep things going.
The crowd swayed precariously but there were a number of peace signs flashed. Strange, then, that one “fan” was moved to throw a large bottle which smashed on the stage spilling yellow liquid at Jon’s feet. Another was hurled, at the end of the number, as glass was being cleared away.
The power went for the fifth and final time at the beginning of “Black Night” and Ian Gillan raised the mike stand above his head — no mean height — and smashed it into the thin stage. He repeated this process, then walked off leaving the thing sticking up like a failed rocket launch. Richie pushed his amps over and the drums went for a Burton.
Yells & claps
There was no question of Purple — who had played for a hundred minutes — going on again but the fans kept up yells and claps for more. A very large bull-necked policeman came into the dressing room and told us that he had a paddy wagon waiting outside for our protection and we clambered in only to find the thing bogged down!
It was eventually man-handled on to firm terrain and driven by a circuitous route to the hotel to avoid over-eager fans, but by the time we arrived, a large number had covered the more direct quarter-mile route on foot. We let a few of them in to join us for a farewell drink but the Icelandic hotel authorities frown upon this sort of behaviour (it really was innocent) and told them to leave.
After the return flight — Butch Lord and Sundance Green having relieved various people of six quid in a card game — Jon brought me back to the practically deserted East End of London in the early hours. On the way we passed the hall where he and Richie had gone to spy on Ian Gillan and Roger Glover in Episode Six, and the Wake Arms, Epping, where Big Ian once appeared on stage through no fault of his own wearing only his socks!
As I said, times with Deep Purple can be quite eventful.
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