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Messages from Roger Glover

It’s later than you think

Those were the words on a famous poster at a time when posters seemed to matter, in the late 60s. Here in 2015, posters are old hat, summer’s gone and winter’s coming on. And that’s that.

Life has been packing and unpacking itself over the last several months. Life. One forgets to value it when events, pressures, schedules, responsibilities, etc. impinge on ones appreciation of the greatest gift… waking up.

 

B. B. King

I well remember a time in the early ’70s when Ian Paice and I shared a flat in Parsons Green. Despite, or maybe because of, the intense hard rock that we were performing on the road, we had a surprisingly eclectic listening taste at home. It veered, one might say alarmingly, from The Carpenters to Mountain, with the likes of Taj Mahal, Prokofiev, James Taylor, Hendrix, Vaughen Williams, Dr John, Elgar, Dave Brubeck et al.

 

2014 WAS THE YEAR THAT…

2014 WAS THE YEAR THAT…

… my computer died on the first day of the European tour in February. Panic stations. Seems like a prison cell when you have no Internet. Thanks to Christer Lorichs for sorting me out and also for taking this photograph for the next item.

… a host of friends and admirers saluted Jon Lord at the Royal Albert Hall. Tears of wonder, joy and sorrow ran all through the first half as Jon’s beautiful mind was revealed by the stellar performances on stage.

 

JOHN GUSTAFSON R.I.P.

Sometime in the latter half of the sixties, our manager Gloria Bristow had an assistant, Barbara, who threw a party at her apartment in Pimlico, London. All of Episode Six were there, some PR (public relations) people, and a few industry types, but what got us excited was that we’d heard that Johnny Gustafson might show up.

When the Merseybeat explosion happened, The Big Three was one of the coolest and most underrated bands around.

 

FROM SUNDOWN TO THE RISING SUN

A whirlwind two weeks; from great gigs in Luxembourg to Antwerp to the emotion, tears of joy and sadness at London’s Royal Albert Hall and the next morning, as if anticipating the rising sun, flying to Kleine Scheidegg at the crack of dawn to perform before a partying crowd up a snowy Swiss mountainside.

Then suddenly, the following morning, we were on a thirteen hour flight to Japan – time to catch a little sleep.