The day of the fire at the Montreux Casino was a day that changed all of our lives.  A day or so earlier, we had arrived in Montreux to be met by a charming gentleman by the name of Claude Nobs.  We’d been aware of him previously as the promoter when we played a couple of gigs in Montreux before.  Arriving in our hotel rooms we found welcome gifts from him – a couple of bottles of Swiss wine and a yellow tee shirt with the word Montreux on it.  I still have it somewhere.

The Rolling Stones’ truck arrived in the evening; Ian Stewart came with the crew to make sure everything was working. We were all in the bar when Claude dropped by to advise us not to unload the gear that night because there was a show the following afternoon – a matinee performance by Frank Zappa and the Mothers, after which the place would be ours. And would we like to come to the show?

You all know the story… flare gun (apparently) fired into the bamboo-covered ceiling an hour or so into the concert – Frank saying ‘Arthur Brown, in person!’ – evacuating the building – Claude in charge – fire trucks, water-hoses – smoke over the lake…

The massive fire destroyed the casino, the exhibition space, the restaurants, clubs, etc. – and all of Frank’s equipment.   Suddenly, our recording plans became obsolete.  As the fire blazed we watched in shock from the relatively safe distance of the hotel bar.  An hour or so after it started, Claude came to our hotel and, despite the fact that his life was going up in flames, expressed concern for our predicament.  There is a photograph of that very moment on the inner gatefold of the vinyl Machine Head album.  You can see the worry on his face. I was blown away by his attitude; with all that was going on, here he was, thinking of us!

It was he who sorted out La Pavilion as an alternative recording space (where we recorded the backing track that would become Smoke On The Water) and when that space became untenable, he worked unceasingly to help us find somewhere else.  He was tireless.  He felt responsible. That showed us what kind of man we were working with.

Invited to his amazing apartment in the town, we were exposed to his exquisite taste: interesting furniture from around the world, all kinds of art, intriguing curios and the latest, state-of-the–art sound system.    He loved music.  Wherever you looked there was some thing remarkable to see and wonder about.

Many years later, he invited us up the mountain to another house where he cooked us a delicious meal.  I was surprised that he didn’t dine with us but merely joined us for dessert, so I asked him why.  He replied that a good chef prepares a meal FOR his guests and needs to concentrate.

For the last few decades, he lived further up the mountain and his stunning home was open to all the performers at every Jazz Festival, amazing views over Lake Geneva, superb food, interesting guests, great music (he had a video theatre on the top floor where you could watch any one of thousands of performances from the Festival whilst sitting comfortably in converted aircraft seats), and of course his outstanding collection of antiques, art, curios, trains, musical instruments, etc.

Since 1971, he has been a fixture in our world, a good friend, and an inspiration on how to do things with style.  That word sums him up – he had style.  And that’s what he left behind; the Montreux Jazz and Blues (and everything else) Festival has style and is a fitting memorial to a special man.

Thank you and rest in peace, Claude.

RG, January 2013

Photo courtesy of Ross Halfin