Author: smngrx01

Clem Burke, longtime drummer with Blondie, has died, aged 70.

Burke’s death, following a battle with cancer, was announced by his bandmates on social media this afternoon, April 7.

The statement reads:

The statement is signed by Debbie Harry, Chris Stein and the entire Blondie family

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A music writer since 1993, formerly Editor of Kerrang! and Planet Rock magazine (RIP), Paul Brannigan is a Contributing Editor to Louder. Having previously written books on Lemmy, Dave Grohl (the Sunday Times best-seller This Is A Call) and Metallica (Birth School Metallica Death, co-authored with Ian Winwood), his Eddie Van Halen biography (Eruption in the UK, Unchained in the US) emerged in 2021. He has written for Rolling Stone, Mojo and Q, hung out with Fugazi at Dischord House, flown on Ozzy Osbourne’s private jet, played Angus Young’s Gibson SG, and interviewed everyone from Aerosmith and Beastie Boys to Young Gods and ZZ Top. Born in the North of Ireland, Brannigan lives in North London and supports The Arsenal.

No wonder Mick Fleetwood has the best stories – he has the best view. For more than 40 years, the towering drummer has looked down on rock’n’roll landscape from his lofty perch on the Fleetwood Mac drum stool, observing the great, the good, the drunk and the doomed – and frequently hopped off to partake in the festivities. Like many of his vintage, Fleetwood has weathered the personal storms of bankruptcy, divorce and cocaine addiction, but he emerged with his memory and sense of humour intact. In 2008, Classic Rock took the then-61-year-old drummer on journey through the decades to share stories about some of the more memorable people along the way.

Rod Stewart

Rod was a star then and he’s a star now. He turned himself out like nobody else. And although I was by no means the dandy that Rod will always be, I’m sure that’s where I inherited my love of a well-cut suit. We were in Shotgun Express together [in 1966], and we soon learnt that Rod was not about to get his clothes messed up unloading the van. He would invariably pick up one microphone: “Is that alright?”

Our feathers had been ruffled a few times, but we were okay with that, because we realised Rod had to be deluxe when he hit that stage. He would put lemon juice in his hair to make it stick up. And if he’d been stood in the rain in the middle of winter we wouldn’t have had ‘the star’ looking good on stage. He wasn’t just some old gigster, he was always suited to being a star.

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John Mayall

The nicest way to put it is that John Mayall ‘let me go’ from the Bluesbreakers [in 1967]. Me and John McVie were the wild men. I realised we were getting too loose and a couple of gigs had been affected, and one of us had to go. John McVie had already been let go four times for disorderly behaviour, but he was always asked back because he was such a great bass player. So I knew my head was on the block.

We were in the back of the van and I had my day sheet with the gigs all written out on it, and I wrote a note about halfway down, next to the tenth gig – ‘Mick fired’ – because I sensed it was coming. And I handed it to John Mayall and asked him: “Is that about right?” Give or take a day or two, it was. But it was in good humour. I forgave him. Me and John McVie were too crazy, it was too much.

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Peter Green

This is a confession from someone who is the biggest advocate of Peter Green’s playing. In 1966 Peter auditioned for Peter B’s Looners, the band I was in with Peter Bardens and Dave Ambrose. He walked in with big sideburns down his cheeks, plugged in his Les Paul and started playing. After he’d left, like an idiot I said: “Well, he doesn’t play very much.”

Luckily my opinion didn’t count for much. Peter Bardens said: “Mick, you’re so wrong. This is going to be one of the greatest guitar players to come out of England.” And within days, I just couldn’t believe how I’d missed the point. It was his tone. I’d never heard anything like it. He was the master of less-is-more.

Because of his illness, people often think of him as tragic. But the Peter I knew and hung out with was incredibly funny. Nobody thought this was someone who indulged in misery. But I think there were parts of Peter’s background that drew him to the blues, and he was carrying a cross for something that was, for the most part, hidden. He was way more sensitive than we could have possibly imagined.

For a while I had terrible problems with wanting him to be okay, but that’s a selfish thing. Peter’s journey took him where he is. You just have to accept it.

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Jimi Hendrix

Jimi actually came to one of Fleetwood Mac’s first rehearsals in London, because I’m sure he’d heard about Peter Green. He came down with producer Mike Vernon to the funny little club where we rehearsed, and I remember he was very shy, a lot like Brian Jones in many ways. Shy but suddenly bigger than life. Which is often the way with shy people. Here was this guy who’d been saying ‘yes sir, no sir’ to us, and then you’d see him on stage and he’s eating half a Marshall amplifier.

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Rumours-era Fleetwood Mac

I would be remiss if I didn’t say that intra-band relationships are disastrous. Remain friends – not lovers. John and Christine McVie were friends first, and seemed incredibly suited when they got married, but showbiz and working together was a bridge too far. Their break-up was terrible – having to walk on stage and make albums together. Both of them were in pain.

But a lot of passion has always been flying around in Fleetwood Mac. Stevie Nicks and I were great friends, and we fell in love, and we were in a band together. Which, according to my formula, is not the right thing to do. Luckily we’re still incredibly close, and Stevie is now like a sister to me.

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I won’t see Jimmy for a long time, and then we’ll have a great, heartfelt conversation. It could be about anything. When we played in London last year he came to see us. And I was talking to him from a fan point of view, telling him: “Come on! So many people want to see Led Zeppelin back together!” And he was telling me: “No, man, the rest of the guys don’t want to do it right now” and “I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull it off.” But I told him: “Come on! You gotta do it! If we can do it, you can!” So I wouldn’t say I was responsible for Zeppelin getting back together, but after that they did play that great tribute gig.

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Bill Clinton

Bill Clinton used Don’t Stop for his 1993 election campaign. And although we weren’t involved with him politically, Christine said that’s fine, because if I was voting he’d be the one I’d vote for.

I got to know him a little bit. He was bigger than life, our Bill. He was incredibly bright. He did a lot of great things that, sadly, were systematically ripped down by the inheritor. He was everything that people think he was – very knowledgeable. And he obviously loved life and people, and that got him in a bit of trouble down the road. But I think he’s one of the great presidents the US has had.

We actually played at his farewell party on the White House lawn. We were all happy about it apart from John, who enjoyed the experience but he’s a staunch Republican. I seem to remember Bill hovering around at rehearsals, but he never did get to play sax with us.

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Arnold Schwarzenegger

I got to know Arnie because of [playing a character in] The Running Man [1987]. His main thing in life is going from one prank to the next. It could be a car not starting, or maybe a camera wouldn’t work and the cameraman wouldn’t know that some vital part had been taken out. We’d watch the cameraman die a thousand deaths, everyone looking at him, like, what the hell is going on?’ when we all knew Arnie had taken the batteries out.

Other times it would be something horribly involved; he’d work on an elaborate prank for three weeks. And I’d get involved in some of them. I’d go into his trailer on the set like it was a military operation, and then you’d be sworn to secrecy as the pranks unfolded. Mostly it was all in good humour, but a couple of things would make you go “Whoa.” Funny guy. But look at his journey. He’s the Governor of California. He’s the Gover-nator!

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Samantha Fox

The 1989 Brit Awards will be on both our gravestones; Samantha and myself will forever be a pair of idiots who didn’t know how to compere an awards show. Which is actually terribly unfair.

We rehearsed that whole show perfectly, but what we didn’t realise was that on the night, some boy band had picked 400 fans and put them in the front row to spice things up. Well, they ruined it, because they screamed all the time and nobody could hear anything on their walkie-talkies. We’d read the auto-cue perfectly in rehearsals, but suddenly we were like lambs to the slaughter. The timings were changed, they couldn’t get hold of the celebrities, the script fell apart, and nobody could change it because they couldn’t hear what was going on. I basically gave up. We’d read: “Here we go, Ronnie Wood!” and Paul Simon would walk on.

Poor Samantha and myself were hung out to dry. It wasn’t her fault and it certainly wasn’t mine. No, I haven’t worked with her since.

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Keith Richards

I used to go down and see The Rolling Stones at Eel Pie Island [south London] when I didn’t know them at all. Then we [The Cheynes] went on tour with them in 1964. And to this day Keith Richards is one of the three people who call me Michael; John McVie and Eric Clapton are the others. I don’t know why, but it’s like [admonitory tone] ‘Michael!’ There’s only one Keith. His lifestyle is his world. I thought I was a heavy drinker but… my God!

The Stones really are my favourite band. My dream has always been that Charlie Watts gets the flu and I get to save the day and play with the Stones for a week. But the call has never come.

Originally published in Classic Rock issue 126, November 2008

Henry Yates has been a freelance journalist since 2002 and written about music for titles including The Guardian, The Telegraph, NME, Classic Rock, Guitarist, Total Guitar and Metal Hammer. He is the author of Walter Trout’s official biography, Rescued From Reality, a music pundit on Times Radio and BBC TV, and an interviewer who has spoken to Brian May, Jimmy Page, Ozzy Osbourne, Ronnie Wood, Dave Grohl, Marilyn Manson, Kiefer Sutherland and many more. 

Machine Head’s classic 1994 debut album Burn My Eyes put them on the map, but they delivered their true masterpiece 13 years later with 2007’s monumental The Blackening. In 2017, on the album’s 10th anniversary, mainman Robb Flynn looked back on the making of a modern metal classic.

“We didn’t know what we were doing,” admits Robb Flynn, a smile spreading across his face. “We just did what we believed in and somehow it connected. It was a crazy fuckin’ time!”

Every band wants to craft a classic or two during their career, but records like Machine Head’s sixth album The Blackening don’t come along very often. Universally acclaimed and by far the most successful record of the Bay Area band’s existence, it restored Machine Head to their rightful status as one of the world’s best-loved metal bands via some of the most adventurous and extravagant songs they had ever recorded, including four that gleefully pushed the 10-minute mark. The record was no surefire hit: it was a challenging and absorbing listen, but somehow it seemed to connect with metal fans in a way that few albums ever do, subsequently sending Machine Head on a daunting three-year global trek, driven by a momentum that has barely diminished in the years since.

Back in 2006, however, as they began working on the follow-up to 2003’s Through The Ashes Of Empires, Robb Flynn and his bandmates were by no means working to some grand masterplan.

“We were feeling super-confident after Through The Ashes…, for sure,” says Robb. “Writing The Blackening happened through a lot of jamming with the guys and I don’t think we ever had a particular plan in mind. There’s a myth about songwriting that you can just plan everything, but it doesn’t work like that. The first few songs we wrote weren’t big epics. That all came much later, starting with Halo, and at first I felt the songs were too long. We’d never had a 10-minute song before, and now we had four of them on one album! We tried cutting them down but it didn’t work; the songs lost all the energy and the excitement. So, we just went for it.”

Still startling now, The Blackening emerged as the rowdy and populous New Wave Of American Heavy Metal reached its commercial peak, but Machine Head’s new material bore no resemblance to Killswitch Engage or As I Lay Dying. Instead, this was the fulsome rebirth of the band’s trademark sound, with a progressive streak a mile wide, endless inspired detours and structural tricks and, most importantly, a veritable shit-ton of irresistible hooks, melodies and moments of dynamic impact. With hindsight, it’s obviously a classic metal record, but as legendary producer Colin Richardson (who was responsible for mixing The Blackening) explains, it was hard to foresee the huge success that would eventually come.

“My first thought with The Blackening was that I wasn’t sure how people would react to those 10-minute songs,” he tells us. “The truth is that they were really long songs, but they were really interesting. That excited me, so I hoped that other people would like it too, you know? But it did cross my mind, that people might not get it. It felt like a risk. But obviously I was wrong, because that record went down really well!”

Released on March 27, 2007, The Blackening received the kind of frothing reviews generally reserved for nailed-on masterpieces. Hammer gave the album full marks and few seemed to disagree – with you guys even voting it as the Album Of The Decade three years later. There was just something about this record that made it stand out from everything else at the time, not just in musical terms, but also lyrically. From the furious Aesthetics Of Hate (Robb Flynn’s vitriolic takedown of conservative blogger William Grim, who had published an odious online diatribe decrying the recently murdered Dimebag Darrell as “an ignorant, barbaric, untalented possessor of a guitar” among other idiotic slurs) and the bug-eyed tirade of Slanderous (‘I’m a redneck and a faggot/ The asshole ignoramus!’) to the anti-Christian sentiments of Halo and the pacifist plea of A Farewell To Arms, The Blackening was full of passion, rage and big ideas, as Robb confronted issues that most metal bands simply weren’t touching upon.

“We wanted to piss people off. We were all pissed off and angry about the war in Iraq at the time, and about shit that was going on in society generally, so there are a lot of fucked-up lyrics on the album, a lot of stuff that was pretty shocking,” Robb remembers. “I say this a lot, but I really believe that the job of an artist is to hold a mirror to society. Sometimes what we reflect back is beautiful and sometimes what we reflect back is ugly, but it has to be done. I showed the rest of the band the lyrics and said, ‘Look, I’m saying some fucked-up shit, are you cool?’ And they all came back and said they backed me 100%. But I knew there’d be a massive backlash, and there was.”

From the outside, it appeared that The Blackening was an instant success and that Machine Head were reaping great rewards from the outset. In truth, the first year of touring following the album’s release was far from triumphant, with the band playing to relatively small audiences and providing support to other bands, Lamb Of God among them, in the US. The backlash that Robb mentions took the form of the Disney Company banning Machine Head from their House Of Blues venue in Anaheim, California, as a result of certain lyrics on The Blackening and the band’s supposedly “undesirable” fans. Then, when Robb went public about the ban, a second show in Orlando, Florida, was pulled by the animation overlords. Typically determined, Robb forged ahead regardless.

“Obviously we got a lot of great reviews for The Blackening and people were really digging the record, but those first few tours were a long way from what happened later on,” says Robb. “We opened up for Lamb Of God in the States and Trivium were above us on the bill, and they’d been opening for us two years earlier. That’s not easy, even though we love all those guys, but in the end we realised that we had to take a step back to take two steps forward. When we did The Black Crusade in Europe, which was an amazing tour and a great bill… that’s when everything went crazy.”

Kicking off in France on November 16, 2007, The Black Crusade saw Machine Head join forces with Trivium, Arch Enemy, Dragonforce and Shadows Fall for a month of dates in Europe. Machine Head have long had a strong relationship with their European fans, and UK fans in particular, and it was obvious to Robb from the euphoric reactions they were getting on the road that The Blackening had further cemented that bond. Buoyed by that success, Machine Head then embarked on a seemingly remorseless touring schedule in support of their new album, culminating in high-profile support slots with first Slipknot and then Metallica, whose frontman James Hetfield had taken an unexpected personal interest in the band.

“Yeah, once James said he liked The Blackening, that was it!” laughs Robb. “We’re all from the Bay Area but I don’t think we were particularly on his radar before that. But he heard The Blackening, said that it kicked his ass, and then we get invited to support Metallica. It was pretty surreal.”

Thanks in part to the exposure they received from supporting Metallica during their Death Magnetic arena tour, Machine Head arrived home in March 2010 with the wind in their sails. Despite plenty of behind-the-scenes turmoil, which would later lead to the sacking of bassist Adam Duce, Robb Flynn and his comrades had weathered a very strange but exhilarating chapter in their history and had emerged victorious, if slightly broken, by the physical demands of all that hard work.

“In the end we were on the road for three years and three months,” Robb notes. “That’s fucking insane. It all went past in a blur, if I’m honest, and my only regret is that I wasn’t more in the moment at the time. But if you’d told the 16-year-old me that I’d be touring with Metallica and partying with them and travelling on their private jet, I would’ve freaked out!”

Sixty-one minutes of balls-out, red-blooded, 21st century metal that was both joyously primal and elegantly cerebral, The Blackening sounds as monstrous now as it did 10 years ago. A beacon of hope for anyone who demands more from their heavy music than formulas and lazy box-ticking, it’s an all-time classic that brought Machine Head a level of attention and acclaim that few bands of the modern era have experienced. Above all, The Blackening is an album full of glorious, life-affirming metal anthems that truly, unequivocally connected.

“Ultimately, I think the quality of the songs on The Blackening was really high,” says Colin Richardson. “In the end there are some really strong tunes on there. Machine Head really experimented on The Burning Red and Supercharger, and I think we can agree that there’s nothing necessarily wrong with a band experimenting, but I think people ultimately loved them for being a heavy metal band, and The Blackening was just the right album at the right time. When the accolades came in, I was just really pleased to be associated with it.”

“It’s weird to look back and analyse something you did 10 years ago,” laughs Robb. “It’s an album that we’re all super proud of. I guess it’s known as this super-brutal record, but for me it’s so full of melody and emotion too. I guess that’s the trick. I’d much rather be the guy that wrote The Blackening than the guy that didn’t!”

Originally published in Metal Hammer issue 294, March 2017

Dom Lawson has been writing for Metal Hammer and Prog for over 14 years and is extremely fond of heavy metal, progressive rock, coffee and snooker. He also contributes to The Guardian, Classic Rock, Bravewords and Blabbermouth and has previously written for Kerrang! magazine in the mid-2000s. 

The Waterboys were one of the biggest bands of the 80s but almost four decades on from their commercial heyday, leader Mike Scott remains a thrilling creative livewire. Over the past few years, the Celtic rock giants have released expansive deluxe editions of 80s classics This Is The Sea and Fisherman’s Blues but in between all the looking back, Scott has always kept an eye on the next step too. Since 2015, there has been five new Waterboys records, all taking in different sonic shapes and textures and all keeping up Scott’s gold standard songwriting. Another cracked arrived this week: an ambitious 25-song concept album about Easy Rider and Apocalypse Now star Dennis Hopper. It’s called Life, Death & Dennis Hopper and it’s exactly the sort of adventurous ride you imagine the late screen icon would approve of, taking in swaggering rock’n’roll, hazy country ballads, punky splutters and more. It’s released on the iconic Sun Records, which is a bonus, and features guest appearances from Bruce Springsteen, Fiona Apple and Steve Earle, which is a bonus bonus.

Sitting down with this writer in the taxidermy-heavy café/reception of his boutique hotel – there was a baboon’s arse hovering over his right shoulder for the duration of our conversation – Scott told this writer how the record came about.

“The songs came very quickly,” he said. “Some of my band members had gone into the studio without telling me. They did a day of instrumentals that they’d written themselves and they sent me the seven instrumentals and asked me, ‘Could I write lyrics for them’. It was a wonderful thing for band members to do.”

The music arrived, Scott explained, just when an idea about Hopper was rolling around his mind. He’d already written one song about the Speed and True Romance actor – the electronic-pop groove of Dennis Hopper, which featured on the 2020 Waterboys album Good Luck, Seeker – and now something bigger about Hopper began to unfurl.

“It was just when I was thinking about Dennis Hopper and I was working on what was going to be an EP, a Hopper-themed digital EP,” he continued. “Because I suddenly had all these instrumentals, all these new Hopper lyrics started coming real fast and I realised it was going to be an album that’s his life story. In terms of songwriting, once I hit on the idea of it, it was relatively easy to think, ‘Well, alright, what about a song about this period of his life whilst this was happening to him’, because it’s such an interesting life he led.”

In all the things he discovered about Hopper, who was also a talented painter, photographer and sculptor, one of Scott’s favourites was the tale he unearthed about Elvis. “Hopper was a friend of James Dean, you see, and he was in two movies with James before James died,” he recounts. “When Elvis first became a star and they put him in the movies, Elvis went to Hollywood and James Dean was his hero. He couldn’t meet James because James had died, but the next best thing is he met Dennis, James’s friend, and so Dennis and Elvis met up and Elvis was asking Dennis for advice because Dennis was an actor and Elvis was doing his first movie. He said to Dennis, ‘I’ve got to hit a woman in the movie, I’m really, really uncomfortable because I’ve never hit a woman.’ And Dennis said to him, ‘You don’t really hit her. You make it look like you hit her and they put on sound effects’. The way that Dennis tells it, Elvis didn’t say, ‘Oh, thanks, mate, that’s a great relief’. He looked at Dennis like Dennis had smashed his illusions because he thought the movies were real.”

There was a period of Hopper’s life, he said, that felt a little like a reflection of his own. “In 1970, he made a film called The Last Movie, just after his success with Easy Rider,” he explained. “He took so long finishing it, so long editing it, that the moment had passed.” It was an artistic slog, he said, that cast his mind back to the 80s. “He got bogged down and lost his perspective and it reminded me of me when I made Fisherman’s Blues. The first bit of Waterboys success happened with This Is The Sea and then I made Fisherman’s Blues. I don’t think the reasons for my delay were the same in my case as Dennis’s case, we were very different personalities, but I had that experience of getting bogged down in something that I cannot finish, and then the moment’s passed, time has changed.”

Fisherman’s Blues is now regarded as a classic, so much so that Scott said he had recently been working on a future release relating to more outtakes not featured on 2013’s extensive, seven-disc Fisherman’s Box. “There’s a lot of music that I’d forgotten that’s on unmarked reels, because we recorded so fast that a lot of the time the engineers didn’t know what things were called,” he said. “Lots of things were just marked “Untitled”. I’ve compiled a triple vinyl album and double CD of music that’s never come out. Some of it is really great.”

That constant swing between digging into the archives and working on new music, he explained, is what fills his days and keeps him on his toes. For now, though, it’s all about fresh sounds – Life, Death And Dennis Hopper is the sound of Scott and The Waterboys in full, brilliant flow.

Niall Doherty is a writer and editor whose work can be found in Classic Rock, The Guardian, Music Week, FourFourTwo, on Apple Music and more. Formerly the Deputy Editor of Q magazine, he co-runs the music Substack letter The New Cue with fellow former Q colleagues Ted Kessler and Chris Catchpole. He is also Reviews Editor at Record Collector. Over the years, he’s interviewed some of the world’s biggest stars, including Elton John, Coldplay, Arctic Monkeys, Muse, Pearl Jam, Radiohead, Depeche Mode, Robert Plant and more. Radiohead was only for eight minutes but he still counts it.