Glenn Hughes: The Autobiography

Glenn Hughes

Description

Singer, bassist, and songwriter Glenn Hughes is a living, breathing embodiment of British rock, and his is a compelling story.

Starting out in the 60s with beat combo Finders Keepers, he formed acclaimed funk-rock band Trapeze, then joined Deep Purple at their commercial peak. Flying around the world in the band’s own jet, Hughes enthusiastically embraced the rock’n’roll lifestyle. He played on three Purple albums, including the classic Burn.

When Deep Purple split up in 1976, Hughes embarked on a series of solo albums, collaborations, and even a brief, chaotic spell fronting Black Sabbath. Along the way he battled crack addiction and cocaine psychosis, before surviving a clean-up-or-die crisis and recovering to rebuild his solo career.

Hughes recounts his adventures and misadventures with honesty and humour, bringing us up to date with the formation of rock supergroup Black Country Communion.

Sujets

• Musique
• Histoire de la musique
• Music
• Rock
• Multiple signal classification
• Genres
• Styles

Informations

• Publié par: Jawbone Press
• Date de parution: 11 novembre 2011
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781906002749
• Langue: English

Extrait

GLENN HUGHES: THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY
From Deep Purple To Black Country Communion
Glenn Hughes with Joel McIver
A Jawbone book
First edition 2011
Published in the UK and the USA by
Jawbone Press
2a Union Court,
20–22 Union Road,
London SW4 6JP,
England
www.jawbonepress.com
This edition published by permission of Foruli Ltd, London, England
www.foruli.co.uk
ISBN 978-1-906002-74-9
Editor: John Morrish
Volume copyright © 2011 Outline Press Ltd. Text copyright © Glenn Hughes and Joel McIver. All rights reserved. No part of this book covered by the copyrights hereon may be reproduced or copied in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews where the source should be made clear. For more information contact the publishers.
All photographs from the Glenn Hughes Archive unless otherwise stated. Jacket: Fin Costello/Redferns/Getty Images. Roundhouse 1971: Fin Costello. Clearwell Castle: Dieter Zill. Memphis 1973: Carl Dunn. Starship: Fin Costello/Getty Images. Great Dane: Fin Costello/Getty Images. Black Country Communion (2): Christie Goodwin. Cooper/Varvatos: John Varvatos. NYC 2010: Julian Lennon. Final portrait: Christie Goodwin.


This book is dedicated to the three women in my life: my grandmother Nell (RIP), my mother Sheila, and my wife Gabi. You have all shown me unconditional love. And to my father William: thanks for telling me the truth.

CONTENTS
FOREWORD
by Lars Ulrich
CO-WRITER’S NOTE
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER 1: I WAS THE MUSIC
CHAPTER 2: FIRST STEPS TO STARDOM
CHAPTER 3: MAN ON FIRE
CHAPTER 4: CLOUDS GATHERING
CHAPTER 5: A NEW ERA
CHAPTER 6: DEATH IN THE EAST
CHAPTER 7: HEARTBREAK
CHAPTER 8: LOSING MY WAY
PHOTOGRAPHS
CHAPTER 9: THE DOWNWARD SPIRAL
CHAPTER 10: ROCK BOTTOM
CHAPTER 11: TURNING THE CORNER
CHAPTER 12: LITTLE SECRET
CHAPTER 13: A NEW DAWN
CHAPTER 14: REBUILDING THE MACHINE
CHAPTER 15: WE’RE JUST THE BAND
EPILOGUE
DISCOGRAPHY
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHORS



FOREWORD
Deep Purple has played a huge role in my life. I saw Purple twice with Glenn Hughes. When I saw Glenn up on stage in that white satin suit, with that Fender Precision bass, and the mane of hair, he looked like a rock god! He had that aura. I was just, “Oh my God … this guy is so cool!”
I went to the first show they played in Copenhagen, Denmark, in December 1973: I was nine years old. I’d seen Purple a few months earlier with Gillan and Glover – this was the first time with the Mark III line-up. They played quite a few songs from Burn, which hadn’t been released yet, so there was a fair amount of checking-it-out vibe for the new songs, but then they played ‘Smoke On The Water’ and ‘Space Truckin’’, I believe, and it was pretty awesome. When they came back again in March 1975, and played a bigger place called the Brondbyhalle, with Elf opening – in their last two weeks with Ritchie Blackmore – I went and saw them and met a couple of them at the Plaza hotel. I saw them twice … not bad at that age!
Obviously things got a little more versatile with the Mark III line-up, and they expanded. The biggest news was that they were harmonising together, so when you got to the chorus of ‘Burn’, all of a sudden there was something that you’d never got on a Deep Purple record before – harmony vocals. That added another level – I thought it was great. Burn was a very hard record, and had a lot of traditional Blackmore-type signature things, but then by the time they moved on to Stormbringer , things got a little more versatile, and everyone knows the story about Blackmore being pissed off.
By the time Stormbringer came out I was what, 11? I wasn’t versed in American R&B, ha ha! So I couldn’t sit there and go, “Oh my God, there’s the Stevie Wonder influence,” or anything like that. I liked Stormbringer , I thought it was more of a versatile record, but I wasn’t schooled enough to draw comparisons with it. At that point, pretty much anything Purple did was godlike.
I thought that Come Taste The Band had better songs on it than Stormbringer . There are songs on that third album that are a little more non-signature Purple – like ‘Drifter’ – although the opening track, ‘Comin’ Home’, was a little more rock, and ‘You Keep On Moving’ was a beautiful, beautiful song. That was a great record, and you could feel that Glenn had become a major, major player in what was going on. Some of the songs that seemed to come from his different background to the rest of them resonated well on that band. No disrespect to Roger Glover at all, but it felt as if the rhythm section had definitely livened up a bit – it felt as if Ian had started playing with a bit more funk. Glenn and Ian had brought it to someplace interesting.
I first met Glenn in 1996 when Metallica were playing at the NEC in Birmingham. Tony Iommi and Glenn were working on a record together, and they came down to the show and hung out and swapped old stories. Obviously Glenn had been through a lot in the years since Purple, but he looked great: he was super-personable and easy-going and unaffected. It was really cool to have him and Tony there at the same time. It was exciting. I got my picture taken with them!
It’s always an honour when the people who were plastered on my walls when I was a kid show up at a Metallica gig, and show some form of appreciation for what we do. It was great, absolutely great – Glenn was a true gentleman. I really look forward to meeting him again.
Lars Ulrich



CO-WRITER’S NOTE
This book contains explicit information about various drug dealers, Mafiosi, and gangsters. Some of these lovely people are currently incarcerated, but many are still at large and doing business in a town near you. Accordingly, names have been changed or omitted so that Glenn and I don’t get ‘whacked’.
Joel McIver



INTRODUCTION
It was 7:30pm on Christmas Day 1991, but it could have been any day. The guests were leaving the house. As their car made its way down the driveway, once again I felt a wave of euphoria surge over me. Yeah, better lock the house up and put on the alarm: I didn’t want to see anyone. I’d gone over to meet my dealer on Christmas Eve, knowing that this would be the last time. “Better get an ounce!” said a voice somewhere in my brain.
Only a week before, I had been diagnosed as an alcoholic and drug addict by the good people at the Betty Ford Center, but they were full over the Christmas period. I guess their clientele were hoping to get a head start on sobriety for 1992 – but not me, not yet. I had one more journey to take, into my own hell. A hell called cocaine psychosis. “Relax! It’ll be different this time,” said the voice inside my head.
I’d done a few rails of coke after dinner. An hour later I was in the master bathroom, standing in front of a giant mirror, looking down at my coke paraphernalia. The centrepieces were two brand-new crack pipes, bought for the occasion.
I began to cook the cocaine. My method was to mix two parts coke with one part baking soda, put it into a large vial, add water and then heat it with a lighter held underneath. When the powder became a rock, it made a cracking sound as it hit the inside of the vial. To every crack user, this sound is magic time.
I was pretty high from the lines I’d done an hour before, and I was anxious. I put the spoon into the bag and scooped out a couple of grams. My whole body was shivering, going from hot to cold. My obsession was complete, it was my everything, my purpose, my God. Nothing else mattered. Babies were being born, people were dying, so what? Time stood still.
I lit the cotton ball, soaked in 151 per cent rum, and placed a big hit, a headbanger, into the bowl of the pipe – and began to ingest my curse, my demon. As a child I’d read The Strange Case Of Dr Jekyll And Mr Hyde , and now I’d become Hyde in all his glory, with his mannerisms and gait.
In a few seconds I felt the universe shift. Every sound and smell was magnified. What was real seconds ago was now unreal. This was what I craved.
My body shook and I fell to my knees, I could hear what freebasers call ‘Hell’s Bells’ – the deafening sound of something so hideous and yet so beautiful, coming from somewhere inside me. This hit was beyond belief.
My girlfriend asked nervously if I was OK. I mumbled some gibberish and found my way to the bed.
I was in a state of shock. This was the perfect hit. I tried to speak, but no words came and I was overcome by a wave of euphoria.
I lay on the bed. My euphoria was about to be replaced by a gigantic case of paranoia. I was frozen to the bed. I could hear sirens going off and the sound of doors closing. There were footsteps coming from the basement – and was that music coming from upstairs? Were they here in my house? Better go and get that carving knife …
I somehow peeled myself off the bed and stumbled back into the bathroom, loading the pipe with another rock and babbling something about the music I heard coming from upstairs. Fuck it.
I took my hit and made my way back to the bed to lie down. In all my years on this twisted, satanic merry-go-round, I had never felt so unsettled.
As the evening became morning and the sun was rising, I played out my dance of death – and found myself alone, one more time, cornered by my own shadow and my reflection in that demonic mirror. As I stood, eyes fixed on my reflection, I found myself asking the stranger who I was facing, “Who are you and what do you want?” I didn’t recognise the shell that was me.
I took another hit. It buckled my knees and I crawled to the bed like a wounded