“It was spiralling out of control. You find yourself in some dodgy situations waiting outside train stations at three in the morning”: How Orange Goblin’s Ben Ward turned his life around

In January 2023, Orange Goblin frontman Ben Ward cut off his hair. The dark, arse-length locks that he’d flung around for 30 years, while spurting mouthfuls of beer and roaring into the faces of happy metalheads at Orange Goblin gigs, were no more. The end of an era had come. 

“The main reason was because it was really getting in my way at the gym!” he says in softly spoken tones, accompanied by a chuckle. “It got annoying to the point where I was like: “You know what? I’m just gonna shave my head.’” 

This is not something you’d have heard from Ben Ward in the past. Sitting in the local boozer he rarely frequents, near his home in North West London, Ward has now gone 796 days without a drink. Six-foot-six of muscle and tattoos in his Carcass T-shirt, shorts and hoodie, he nurses an alcohol-free Peroni and chats about his workout routine: four days a week in the local gym at 5.30am (his wife works there as a personal trainer), upper body days, leg days, 10,000 steps a day, macro-friendly meals. You’ll hear it in the propulsive chops and tunes of Science, Not Fiction, Orange Goblin’s first new album in six years. 

“There’s no downside to looking after yourself, is there?” he muses. “I’m fifty this year and I feel fitter and stronger than ever before, which is great. I fit into the trousers I haven’t worn since my teens!” 

He takes out his phone and shows us an ‘I’m Sober’ app, which reveals that he’s saved a staggering £23,890 and nearly two million calories in the last 796 days. He’s bought a nicer house. He went on holiday. He realised that he loved walking (with podcasts and albums playing in his ears), and found a sense of community at the gym not unlike the rock and metal world he still loves. Now he’s even looking seriously into bodybuilding. It’s a remarkable turnaround for a man who in his twenties was told by doctors that his liver was twice as bad as the late, great footballer George Best’s. 

“I think by fifty-five I’ll be entering the seniors’ competitions,” he enthuses. “I’ve always had a big frame, I’ve always been athletic… So yeah, I’m gonna give it a go.”

With Ward off the sauce he notoriously imbibed for so long, and the arrival of new bassist Harry Armstrong, you’d be forgiven for wondering how different the band will feel. As Science, Not Fiction confirms, not very. The lyrics strike some fresh notes – tied up with the sci-fi vibes of their roots – but the familiar Orange Goblin tropes are all there: the ferocity, the fun, the headbanger-blues riffage from guitarist Joe Hoare, the heavy, psychedelic, groovy flavours of Black Sabbath, Motörhead and Pink Floyd. 

It helps that their new bassist is an old friend, who coined the ‘Orange fucking Goblin, baby!’ battle cry so synonymous with the band and all who sail in it. Now, though, it’s filtered through a singer newly curious about the world. It’s made for some interesting band debates, not least with drummer Chris Turner, who has a degree in astrophysics. 

“I’ve discovered myself, basically,” a smiling Ward says. “I used to be quite closed off to the idea of conspiracy theories, spirituality and stuff like that. Now I’ve opened my mind a bit. I find it really refreshing.” 

It all began in lockdown. One of many agents laid off by his old employers, United Talent Agency, Ward found himself stuck at home with a decent severance package and nothing to do. He started drinking heavily. The bear-like, ‘happy drunk’ tone of his stage persona took a darker turn. 

“When I started drinking a lot, it meant I had to put a call in and order some coke,” he sighs. “And then a one-night session turned into four- or five-day sessions. It was spiralling out of control. You find yourself in some dodgy situations waiting outside train stations at three in the morning. So I… [pauses] And it weren’t just the health impacts. I’d become really sort of aggressive and depressed and bloated, a hundred and thirty kilos, really unfit and unhealthy. It was affecting my relationship with my wife, with the band…” 

Everything came to a head when he and his wife had a major bust-up. Seeing how much he’d upset her, Ward knew that he had to step up. “I looked at myself in the mirror, and didn’t really like what was looking back at me. I was like: ‘This isn’t working.’ And, you know, I’ve got nothing to prove. I had thirty years of doing that, I had some great times and had some wild parties and everything along the way. But I needed to make a change.”

To understand Ward’s relationship with alcohol – and in turn his leonine stage self – it helps to go back to his formative years. Raised in his parents’ pub in Ramsgate, drinking a lot seemed normal. At grammar school he liked sports, history and languages. He loved football but was put on rugby teams with older kids, on account of his size. Plans to join the RAF as an engineer were thrown by an offer from Queens Park Rangers FC, when he was 15. Soon after, he found heavy metal. This was in the 90s; excess was the norm. 

“I used to be really shy,” he admits. “I probably still am, to a certain extent. I think that’s why alcohol was like a revelation to me, when I discovered that it brought out this… not showman, but a more extroverted, extravagant person.” 

Thus his Jekyll & Hyde-esque character was born, leaning into age-old rock-star archetypes that still linger in the outlooks of many in the industry. In previous interviews, Ward hailed the revelry of Lemmy and lamented the lack of “danger” in younger bands. 

Sober, he has a more nuanced, updated perspective: “You’re expected to have long hair, you’re expected to wear denim and leather. That’s cool to a certain extent, but it’s not necessarily true. You can still be heavy metal or rock’n’roll in your core; you don’t have to be dressed the same as everybody else. It puts the focus back on the music – that’s what you should judge a band on.” 

Still, now he’s no longer emulating Lemmy in the lifestyle stakes, does he view him in a different light? 

“Not at all. I still admire his music, his intellect, I admire him as a lyricist and vocalist. Everybody does things they regret, whether it’s drink or drugs or other things. I’m not here to be judgemental. I’m just doing what I think is right for myself and my family.” 

So far it’s paying off. His booking agency is doing well. His marriage is flourishing, as is his relationship with his son (from a previous partner). On recent Orange Goblin tours in Germany and Japan, he went out for early-morning walks while his bandmates slept off hangovers. 

But on stage he’s still Ben Ward. Still towering. Still pumped. Still gladiatorial. “When I stopped drinking, I wondered whether I’d be able to go on stage and do what I do,” he admits. “Then I realised actually, there is this natural adrenaline.” 

And that’s just it. Rock’n’roll shouldn’t be about following a dress code. As Ward says, it’s in your core – long hair or shaved head, drinking or not. “We don’t take ourselves too seriously,” he says, “we never have. But I do feel that Orange Goblin are where we are because, at the crux of it, we’re a fucking good band.” 

Science, Not Fiction is out on now via Peaceville. Orange Goblin’s UK & Ireland tour begins on October 4. Get tickets.

Polly is deputy editor at Classic Rock magazine, where she writes and commissions regular pieces and longer reads (including new band coverage), and has interviewed rock’s biggest and newest names. She also contributes to Louder, Prog and Metal Hammer and talks about songs on the 20 Minute Club podcast. Elsewhere she’s had work published in The Musician, delicious. magazine and others, and written biographies for various album campaigns. In a previous life as a women’s magazine junior she interviewed Tracey Emin and Lily James – and wangled Rival Sons into the arts pages. In her spare time she writes fiction and cooks.