My no-fly list is loaded with 70s hard rock and metal bands, largely due to screechy lead singers. I’ve done nothing with metal, and my hard rock reviews from that era are limited to two Bad Company albums, a Lynyrd Skynyrd compilation, and Led Zeppelin’s Physical Graffiti (only because Robert Plant had temporarily lost his ability to screech).
Ergo, you can understand my trepidation when I learned that Deep Purple’s Mark II lineup was described as both a “hard rock” and a “heavy metal” band. While I removed Deep Purple from the no-fly list to include the song “Hush” in my Onesies (Rock Edition) review, that was the Mark I lineup with a different lead singer and bassist. I never bothered to listen closely to any of the Mark II albums, and the only song from that phase that I was vaguely familiar with was “Smoke on the Water.”
With the Americans banished to purgatory, I realized that I had to expand my range and rid myself of first-reaction biases, so I borrowed my father’s copy of Machine Head and gave it a whirl. I would describe my reaction as “pleasantly surprised and confused.” I didn’t hear anything that came close to what I would consider “heavy metal,” so I played the album for my metalhead wife to get her take. After listening to the entire album, Alicia shook her head and said, “That’s not heavy metal or any other metal.” Curious as to why Deep Purple had been tagged as a heavy metal band, I did some research and found the answer on the Kemper Profile Forum in a conversation between Bayou Texan and Chris Duncan under the heading, “‘Hard Rock’ vs ‘Heavy Metal’—Can you define the difference?”
Bayou Texan: I kind of thought those two terms were synonymous, or I hear people using them synonymously, but is there a “defined” difference that is easily explained? The first Google result says this, but it doesn’t seem to jive well: “Heavy metal is much simpler but much louder than hard rock. This genre of music was greatly influenced by classical music. When it comes to musical tempo, heavy metal is faster than rock. Hard rock leans more to being sexy and slow, much like the rock n roll of the 60s.” (Doesn’t make much sense).
Chris Duncan: I love labels. Back in the 70s, these two terms were used interchangeably. It was applied to any kind of rock with a Marshall on 11 and a loud drummer. Time goes on and people ascribe all sorts of new meanings to them. I guess that’s just the evolution of language, but it still strikes me as a bit silly . . . As for the listed definitions, whiskey, tangos and foxtrots come to mind. Google, whatever it is you’re smoking, it’s time to share.
All tracks written by Ritchie Blackmore, Ian Gillan, Roger Glover, Jon Lord and Ian Paice.
“Highway Star”: I suspect that some environmentalists and first and second wave feminists might dismiss this song as either a sexist celebration of unbridled masculinity or an anti-environmental rant, so I would like to provide some historical context to refute those accusations. Having already come to Mick Jagger’s defense on many occasions, I think I can pull it off.
As a millennial, I missed the whole “guys and their cars” thing, so all I knew about the phenomenon came from second-hand information supplied by ’60s sources: Jan & Dean, the Beach Boys, and my father. I asked Dad to refresh my memory, and he reminded me that he and his teenage buddies would spend Saturday afternoons in their driveways working on their cars—an exercise that was virtually impossible when I was making my way through the 90s thanks to catalytic converters and computers. The point of the effort was to ensure that the jalopy had enough power to make it up to Twin Peaks for some teenage kicks with a willing lady. Fun fact: Did you know that Twin Peaks was named after tits? The horny Conquistadors who discovered the place named it “Los Pechos de la Chola” (“Breasts of the Maiden”). That must have been one exceptionally developed maiden!
Dad told me that car ownership was a rite of passage to adulthood far more important than Confirmation. If you were a guy who didn’t own a car or your parents refused to let you borrow the family wheels, you were unlikely to get laid unless the parents went away for the weekend. In those days of innocence regarding the environmental impact of the automobile, you filled your tank with leaded gasoline that cost less than thirty cents a gallon, but from a metaphorical standpoint, cars were fueled by testosterone—and on occasion, estrogen. Traditional gender roles were still in play at the time, and while some girls owned cars, it was unthinkable for a girl to drive her boyfriend to the prom. Still, there were definite signs of progress in the realm of sexual equality thanks to “bad girls.” “The bad girls used their cars to flirt. They’d pull up next to you at a stop, give you the eye, then take off like a rocket when the light turned green. Teenage hide-and-seek. They had to play hard-to-get because they didn’t want to be tagged as sluts, but you knew you could at least get to second base with a bad girl. The Catholic schools were full of them.”
The sexual power inherent in cars and motorcycles was felt by both guys and gals. Speed was a large part of the thrill, but the real excitement involved the risk factor when the driver attempted to take control of the beast while putting pedal to the metal or revving up the cycle. Roller coasters have the speed, but you can’t control the ride or the risk, which is why you’re more likely to piss in your pants than shoot your wad on Space Mountain. One of my most memorable orgasms occurred on the back of a Norton P53 Commander—and I didn’t even like the guy! The truth is that both sexes can get a rush from the experience of speeding down the highway under the driver’s command. As long as they’re not mean about it, a guy in full control of a car can be a huge turn-on for a sex-starved gal. “Highway Star” is essentially an ode to a rite-of-passage shared by young men and young women.
In a 2003 interview with Steve Morse of Guitar Magazine, bassist Roger Glover talked about the song’s miraculous birth: “This was written specifically as an opener. Famously, we wrote it on a tour bus on the way to Portsmouth. We had some journalists with us who were coming down to cover the gig, and one of them asked us how we write songs. Ritchie said ‘Like this!’ and started chugging out this riff on the guitar. Ian started singing any crap lyrics he could think of, and before long, we just forgot about the journalists and the song came out. As the bootlegs will prove, we played it at the gig that night. The name was just a tribute to the fact that the song was written on the highway.” The recorded lyrics fall short of Shakespearean excellence, but this is a song about the thrilling sense of freedom provided by the automobile, and Gillan’s short-and-punchy approach is a much better fit than a drawn-out soliloquy.
Deep Purple obliterates the Google-supplied notion that “hard rock leans more to being sexy and slow” in less than a nanosecond with one of the most exciting intros in rock history. The overture opens with double Blackmore providing muffled power chords in sync with Ian Paice’s faint and steady drumming on the right and punctuated strums set to a G5/F-G/C-G/F-G pattern on the left. Roger Glover adds additional punch at the five-second mark, beginning high up the fretboard before launching a descending figure that cues a longer segment consisting of a chugging rhythm to a G5 chord, enhanced with occasional departures to the 7th note. At the twenty-four-second mark, we hear Ian Gillan sing “We-ll-ll-ll-ll” before disappearing into the stratosphere, followed by a stunning drum roll from Paice, which leads to a two-chord crash (C5-Bb5) combining guitar, bass and cymbals that sets the stage for the opening verse in the key of G major. Wowza!
The rhythm section keeps chugging away throughout the song, adding plenty of raw emotional support for Gillan’s lead vocal. Ian is obviously delighted to find himself behind the wheel of a muscle car . . . sometimes a little too delighted, especially when he screeches in the third stanzas in each triple-verse. On the plus side, Gillan conveys far more excitement than Mike Love’s nonchalant delivery of the line, “But I’ve got the fastest set of wheels in town.”
Nobody gonna take my car
I’m gonna race it to the ground
Nobody gonna beat my car
It’s gonna break the speed of soundOoh, it’s a killing machine
It’s got everything
Like a driving power
Big fat tires and everythingI love it and I need it, I bleed it
Yeah, it’s a wild hurricane
Alright, hold tight
I’m a highway star
Hmm. “Alright, hold tight” suggests that there might be a passenger onboard that killing machine.
Nobody gonna take my girl
I’m gonna keep her to the end
Nobody gonna have my girl
She stays close on every bendOoh, she’s a killing machine
She got everything
Like a moving mouth
Body control and everythingI love her, I need her, I seed her
Yeah, she turns me on
Alright, hold on tight
I’m a highway star
Putting aside his extreme and unnecessary possessiveness and the weird line “Like a moving mouth,” it appears that he got lucky and found a bad girl, and that when they finally reach their destination, he will happily deposit his seed into her vagina and she will be more than willing to accept the gift (thanks to the widespread availability of The Pill).
At this point, Ian takes a well-deserved rest while Jon Lord takes center stage to deliver a fabulous organ solo, with ample support from Blackmore and Paice. The solo involves a key shift to a harmonic minor scale, where a major seventh substitutes for the minor seventh, resulting in what I would describe as a “Baroque Blues” feel. His steady stream of whirling arpeggios occasionally crosses over to Phrygian mode, revealing both his classical training and exceptional command of the keyboard. On paper, it might seem that classical touches are an odd fit for a car song, but this one-minute passage serves to heighten the excitement by imbuing the ride with a touch of mystery and delightful danger.
After a seamless return to the chugging rhythm, the boys have a little fun with a transition featuring a stutter-step pattern before crashing back to the verse rhythm. Gillan returns from the shadows, still amped up and ready to continue his ode to the exhilarating experience of the wide-open road.
Nobody gonna take my head
I got speed inside my brain
Nobody gonna steal my head
Now that I’m on the road againOoh, I’m in Heaven again
I got everything
Like a moving ground
An open road and everythingI love it and I need it, I seed it
Eight cylinders all mine
Alright, hold on tight
I’m a highway star
I assume that “head” refers to a “cylinder head,” and that the opening line does not involve a guillotine. I doubt that the speed inside his brain is a reference to amphetamines, as by driving like a maniac, he was probably producing enough adrenaline to last a lifetime.
“Highway Star” keeps getting better and better as Ritchie Blackmore slips into the spotlight to deliver his pièce de résistance. His 20-bar solo was named the 13th greatest guitar solo of all-time by Guitar World, but I would have placed it in the top ten. Using what he learned in his classical guitar training at the age of eleven, Blackmore wanted the solo to reflect Bach, and he remembered a Johnny Burnette riff with a Bach-like feel that became the basis for his solo. He then proceeded to write down every single note in the solo to a classic Bach progression of Dm, Gm, C, and A (D Dorian mode) before presenting it to his bandmates. I searched and eventually found the complete sheet music for the song on Guitar Alliance just to confirm what I thought I was hearing, and holy fuck, Batman! The flurries of eighth and sixteenth notes, the uneven bars indicating frequent syncopation, the downward patterns played at blazing speed—all of it seemed virtually impossible! Guitar World added this consumer warning to explain Ritchie’s lofty placement in guitar history: “It’s a serious challenge to nail the part as Ritchie played it, but it’s possible to play it using hammer‑ons and pull-offs—albeit more loosely. Just make sure to give all four of your fretting fingers a warm-up. Every finger comes into play here in Ritchie’s impressive solo.” The song may be structured around Bach, but in addition to his classical training, Ritchie Blackmore was steeped in the blues and a fervent admirer of classic rockers like Burnette and Eddie Cochran, and you hear all of those influences in this guitar masterpiece.
The song closes with a repetition of the opening verses, followed by a classic rock closing passage featuring contributions from all the bandmates, with Paice delivering the final blow with his octopus-mimicking talents. When the music came to a halt, I felt both drained and invigorated (if that’s possible). “Highway Star” proves to be a thrilling ride and has earned a spot on my list of favorite opening numbers in rock history.
“Maybe I’m a Leo”: From Songfacts: “This song was written mainly by Roger Glover. He and Ian Paice both have similar hobbies and interests. One day Paice asked what his star sign was and he didn’t know, but as Paice was a Leo and because of their similarities, he said, ‘Maybe I’m a Leo’.”
Well, I am a Leo, and though it turns out that Glover is a Sagittarius, this piece is custom-made for my star sign. This is pure strut music with a little bit of funk and a little bit of soul, and there’s nothing this lioness loves better than to strut when my libido is on fire. From a musical perspective, the song would have been a strong candidate for my entrance song on one of my fuck playlists, but the lyrics are the polar opposite of sexy.
Peeping round the door I got a big surprise
Couldn’t see a thing but open skies
They’ve taken her away, where is she now?Wish that she was here I wish she’d hold my hand
Maybe she could laugh maybe understand
Why was I so cruel where is she nowActing like a fool I had to make her cry
Maybe I’m a Leo but I ain’t a lion
I’m hurting oh so bad, I want her now
Okay, so the guy was a prick and regrets subjecting a woman to verbal cruelty, but the line “They’ve taken her away, where is she now?” makes no sense whatsoever unless the woman in question was either his ailing, aging mother or a lover gone mad who was taken away to the funny farm by the guys in white coats. As Lester Bangs opined in his review of the album for Rolling Stone, “some of the lyrics may leave a bit to be desired.” Amen.
“Pictures of Home”: This showcase of each member’s musical talents is also blessed with solid lyrics (hooray!) that tell a chilling (literally and figuratively) story about a stranded mountain climber longing for home.
I should have mentioned that after doing some research, I decided to review the 25th anniversary reissue instead of my father’s original album for one reason alone: the reissue restored Ian Paice’s drum introduction, which was criminally removed from the original. Paice’s entire performance on this song is a composition by itself, and cutting the intro is like skipping the overture to Beethoven’s Fifth. With Gillan absorbed in the lead vocal and the other three guys assigned solos, someone had to hold it all together, and few drummers excel at providing continuity like Ian Paice. I played “Pictures of Home” more frequently than any other song on the album, sometimes doing my best to shut out everything but the drums. Though Paice had several “ta da” moments displaying his remarkable agility, he also possessed discipline, knowing exactly when to play it straight and when to let it rip.
Befitting the theme of a man lost in perpetual winter, Paice’s introduction conveys anxiety and a sense of urgency through steady rolls and on-and-off beat snare punctuation, before shifting to a steady beat to support Blackmore’s melody-based overture. The sudden shift to stop time allows Blackmore to ratchet up the intensity in a stream of quickly-picked notes, cueing Gillan to present the climber’s dire dilemma as he hopes against hope:
Somebody’s shouting up at a mountain
Only my own words return
Nobody’s out there, it’s a deception
When will I ever learn?I’m alone here
With emptiness, eagles and snow
Unfriendliness chilling my body
And whispering pictures of home
Toward the end of the chorus, Jon Lord makes his entry with his Hammond filtered through distortion, adding a rough texture to a pretty rough situation. After Blackmore repeats his opening thrust, we find our hiker in a state of panic, aware that in many European cultures, the call of the crow is an “omen of death, disease and ill-fortune”:
Wandering blindly, how can they find me?
Maybe they don’t even know
My body is shaking, anticipating
The call of the black-footed crow
After a repeat of the chorus, Blackmore enters to deliver the first of three solos featuring the instrumentalists. Ritchie climbs to the top of the fretboard with a flurry of notes that echoes the growing panic, intensified by Lord’s distorted organ. Gillan returns to deliver the closing verse and chorus, where our stranded traveler imagines himself as a lost hero—one who, like many heroes, will never experience the accolades heroes receive in those rare situations when they come home alive.
Here in this prison of my own making
Year after day I have grown
Into a hero, but there’s no worship
Where have they hidden my throne?
The next solo goes to Lord, who eases up a bit on the distortion as he shifts gears to produce a series of dissonant arpeggios reflecting the hero’s doubt and confusion. Toward the end of the solo, we hear Paice ramping up the intensity, followed by a sudden stop, closely followed by Roger Glover’s bass solo. Similar to Blackmore’s approach, Glover climbs up the fretboard before making a sudden descent to the depths of the bass, which I interpret as “this guy is in deep shit!” Roger wraps up his solo by returning to the melody, then turns things over to Blackmore. It sure sounds like Ritchie is headed for the fade, but he breaks the pattern with a display of dissonance and then . . . what the fuck? Where did the song go? Ah! Here comes Paice with a rising drum roll and NOW we can head for the fade, with Ritchie leading the way. Nice fake-out, guys!
I was so caught up in the narrative that I neglected to mention that this is my favorite Ian Gillan vocal on the album. He plays the part so well that I find myself hoping that the man stumbles across a path down the mountain and winds up at a cozy inn where waitresses sporting big tits serve him a steady diet of hot toddies.
“Never Before”: Yes, the lyrics are a mess, but goddamn, I just love hearing these guys play! The arrangement features several changes in tempo and style, combining funk, blues, strut, driving rock, and reflective ballad, and they execute every change to perfection. Gillan nails his vocals and harmonies, Paice is on fire, Glover delivers a strong bottom, and Blackmore has a hot solo that ends with a stunning application of the whammy bar. The band felt this was the most commercial song on the album and released it as the lead single, but despite the display of musical excellence, the song lacks a strong hook. It died at #35 on the U.K. charts and failed to chart in the USA.
“Smoke on the Water”: Let’s begin with the opening verses and chorus, which faithfully document the havoc of December 4, 1971:
We all came out to Montreux
On the Lake Geneva shoreline
To make records with a mobile,
We didn’t have much timeFrank Zappa and the Mothers
Were at the best place around
But some stupid with a flare gun
Burned the place to the groundSmoke on the water, a fire in the sky
(Smoke) on the waterThey burned down the gambling house
It died with an awful sound
Funky Claude was running in and out
Pulling kids out the groundWhen it all was over
Find another place
Swiss time was running out
It seemed that we would lose the race
Few songs compare to “Smoke on the Water” in terms of its rich backstory, but what I found most interesting in my research was that the band viewed the song as a last-minute filler with virtually no commercial appeal. In a Songfacts interview with Ian Gillan, he explains how they shifted gears after the Montreux Casino went up in flames and left the band scrambling for another place to record the album. In the process, Deep Purple came up with what would become their signature song.
Songfacts: What are the “few red lights and a few old beds” you sing about in “Smoke On The Water”?
Gillan: That’s the hotel we moved into – the Grand Hotel – after the casino burned down during the Frank Zappa concert we were at. And that’s what the song is all about. We ended up at the Grand Hotel, and it was very bright, so we changed the light bulbs. We got some red light bulbs, and we used the bed mattresses as sound baffles.
We set the gear up in the hallways and the corridors of the hotel, and the Rolling Stones’ mobile truck was out back with very long cables coming up through the windows. We tried to re-create an atmosphere in a technical sense the best we could. And when we went to write the lyrics, because we were short on material, we thought it was an “add-on track.” It was just a last-minute panic.
So, the riff and backing track had been recorded on the first day as a kind of soundcheck. There were no lyrics. The engineer told us on the last day, “Man, we’re several minutes short for an album.” So, we dug it out, and Roger and I wrote a biographical account of the making of the record: “We all came out to Montreux . . .” etcetera, etcetera.
That’s how it ended up on the album. It never got played on the radio for a year because it was too long. It was only when a guy from Warner Bros. came to see a show and saw the reaction of the crowd. He ran back to the studio and did an edit of three-and-a-half minutes, and it got played for the first time on the radio. That was a year after the album release. It would never have gotten played if we hadn’t done the edit.
Songfacts: How do you feel about that song today?
Gillan: Like all the narrative songs, you can place yourself there. It’s fantastic – I love singing it. It’s such a groove. And the important thing is everyone in the audience is so involved in the song, and of course, they know every word and the groove.
Roger Glover found the title in his head after waking up one morning, and Ritchie Blackmore came up with the memorable riff that he sometimes characterized as “fourths and fifths—a medieval modal scale” and at other times, likened it to the first movement of Beethoven’s 5th. Ian Paice told Classic Rock that “The amazing thing with that song, and Ritchie’s riff in particular, is that somebody hadn’t done it before, because it’s so gloriously simple and wonderfully satisfying.” The pattern is F-Bb-C, F-Bb-C#, and I think the dissonance of the C# might have frightened off some songwriters. It’s amazing how one teeny-weeny move up the fretboard could make such a magnificent difference. In a brilliant compositional move, the chorus also makes use of the flatted sixth in the pattern C-G#-G. Both patterns convey a darkness in sync with the depicted disaster and also turn out to be incredibly sexy.
The main motif is repeated again and again throughout the song, but the build in the intro is a grabber par excellence in four phases. Phase one: two four-bar solo renditions of the motif from Ritchie on the left channel. Phase two: Ritchie repeats his performance in stereo while Paice enters on the high-hat. Phase three: Paice adds snare hits to solidify the rhythm. Phase four: Glover enters with rumbling bass and I feel myself getting wet down under. Yes, I know they needed to fill a whole lot of recording space, but this isn’t filler—it’s a group of professional musicians exercising the utmost in care when it came to the arrangement.
I also love the added grit in the chorus (courtesy of Blackmore and Lord) and Ritchie’s typically wonderful guitar solo. Paice demonstrates his amazing feel for a song, doing all the right things at just the right time. As for the lyrics, one line in particular made me laugh: “Swiss time was running out.” I love the wordplay involving the world-famous Swiss watch industry, but the line also proved to be prophetic when the Japanese became viable competitors and threw the Swiss watchmakers into panic.
“Lazy”: The band had been playing this blues-based talent showcase late in their sets for nearly a year before recording it. I can understand how it might have appealed to a live audience, but compared to the other compositions on the album, I find it rather boring. Oh, well.
“Space Truckin'”: I have no issues with the closing track from an instrumental standpoint. I would describe Ian Paice’s contribution as “out of this world,” the main motif as a kick-ass piece of rock’n’ roll, Blackmore’s guitar as hot and heavy, and Glover’s bass as a heart-pumping delight. Unfortunately, Ian Gillan decided to go Robert Plant on me and screeches like a banshee with an ingrown toenail. The lyrics are silly, particularly in comparison to the earthbound “Highway Star.” Sorry, guys!
*****
I have a few more hard rock albums on the schedule, but based on what I heard on Machine Head, I would be quite surprised if any of those bands can compete with Deep Purple Mark II when it comes to musicianship. Paice, Lord and Blackmore are on most of the best-of lists, and Roger Glover was certainly no slouch on the bass. When he’s not screeching, Ian Gillan has a fine voice capable of covering a variety of musical styles. We’ll see.
Next week, I will be reviewing an album by an artist who is also a superb musician . . . and the polar opposite of Deep Purple. Stay tuned!