non-alumni amongst them
coming up with a t-shirt that from afar said “DEEP PURPLE,” but up close was
revealed to read, “No I wasn’t in DEEP fucking PURPLE.” A further
annoyance was the periodic chatter that Deep Purple, in some guise, was going
to reform and re-take their rightful place. It was no idle threat. The idea was
always a possibility, gaining traction, fading, championed by some ex-members
(and managers), dismissed by others. And then, of course, a reunion would
actually come to pass not far in the future, with real impact on David’s fiery
fiefdom.
In any event, for now, Whitesnake
ensconced themselves at the infamous Ridge Farm in late 1979 to lay down what
is quietly, and without flash, becoming the band’s timeless milestone; its best
serious piece of art. Ready An’ Willing indeed exudes a sense of
steadiness, a sense of charm, and logically so, given that it’s nestled
enigmatically between the eclectic early work and the stadium roar of the
big hair years. It is not so much the cusp album or the crossroads of a shift,
but an island state between two foreign worlds.
Before work could begin at Ridge Farm,
however, everybody would have to get back on the same page, back into work
mode. David had expressed that he was a little ticked off that Bernie had been
on holiday in Africa when he was already rarin’ to go, having returned from
vacation in Belize recharged.
“Ridge Farm was out in the
country and Genesis had worked there in the past and we were recommended to the
place by a mutual engineer,” explains Marsden. “It was in the
middle of winter and freezing cold. And I felt like the boy child, because I
slept in a stable; it was a converted stable [ laughs ]. Come Christmas
Eve, I was beginning to think, ‘Hello, what’s going on here?’ It was the
first album we did with Ian, so the vibe was really good. And I wrote ‘Fool For
Your Loving’ right in that very room, so I always have fond memories of that.”
Marsden can’t say enough about Jon Lord
and Ian Paice as performers par excellence . “They practically ruin you.
Because once you play with these guys, the poor guys who come afterwards are
always chasing the dragon [ sic ], because these guys are so good. I got
over it and you find other people. But suddenly, when you’ve been playing with
Ian Paice and Jon Lord for six years, and suddenly you’re not – it’s tough, it’s
tough.
“Paice as a drummer, I’ve just seen so
many people on the side of the stage; they would come onstage with us in the
old days and say ‘Can I stand here and watch Ian?’ and I’ve seen Paice reduce
grown men drummers to tears. Because what he does is so easy and yet so
impossible. It makes it look like these other guys are just beginning. The guys
are great. And they are a very important turn on my career, because when I joined
Paice Ashton Lord in 1976, pre-Whitesnake, they kind of put me on the
rock map, so to speak. I was suddenly playing with these guys, and they
elevated me into a very prominent position.”
“Paicey was great in those days,” offers
Marsden looking at the personal side of the band. “We used to call him The Bank
Of Paice, because he was always the one who had some money when we were all
broke. He would say, ‘You want $20? Okay, well, next Tuesday, you pay me back
$25 [ laughs ].’ That’s why he’s still a very rich man. Jon Lord, we used
to call The Legend Of Sleepy Hollow because we could never get him up. We would
be in studios all over the world recording, and we wouldn’t see Jon for days
because he wouldn’t come out of his room. That was his way of preparing for the
gig. He would walk in and play the most stupendous keyboard parts you’ve ever
heard.”
David Coverdale reiterates the
importance of Ian Paice to the band. “ Ready An’ Willing … I’ll tell you
exactly what happened there. Paicey was involved, the drummer, and that was the
first time the band really started to sound like it
coming up with a t-shirt that from afar said “DEEP PURPLE,” but up close was
revealed to read, “No I wasn’t in DEEP fucking PURPLE.” A further
annoyance was the periodic chatter that Deep Purple, in some guise, was going
to reform and re-take their rightful place. It was no idle threat. The idea was
always a possibility, gaining traction, fading, championed by some ex-members
(and managers), dismissed by others. And then, of course, a reunion would
actually come to pass not far in the future, with real impact on David’s fiery
fiefdom.
In any event, for now, Whitesnake
ensconced themselves at the infamous Ridge Farm in late 1979 to lay down what
is quietly, and without flash, becoming the band’s timeless milestone; its best
serious piece of art. Ready An’ Willing indeed exudes a sense of
steadiness, a sense of charm, and logically so, given that it’s nestled
enigmatically between the eclectic early work and the stadium roar of the
big hair years. It is not so much the cusp album or the crossroads of a shift,
but an island state between two foreign worlds.
Before work could begin at Ridge Farm,
however, everybody would have to get back on the same page, back into work
mode. David had expressed that he was a little ticked off that Bernie had been
on holiday in Africa when he was already rarin’ to go, having returned from
vacation in Belize recharged.
“Ridge Farm was out in the
country and Genesis had worked there in the past and we were recommended to the
place by a mutual engineer,” explains Marsden. “It was in the
middle of winter and freezing cold. And I felt like the boy child, because I
slept in a stable; it was a converted stable [ laughs ]. Come Christmas
Eve, I was beginning to think, ‘Hello, what’s going on here?’ It was the
first album we did with Ian, so the vibe was really good. And I wrote ‘Fool For
Your Loving’ right in that very room, so I always have fond memories of that.”
Marsden can’t say enough about Jon Lord
and Ian Paice as performers par excellence . “They practically ruin you.
Because once you play with these guys, the poor guys who come afterwards are
always chasing the dragon [ sic ], because these guys are so good. I got
over it and you find other people. But suddenly, when you’ve been playing with
Ian Paice and Jon Lord for six years, and suddenly you’re not – it’s tough, it’s
tough.
“Paice as a drummer, I’ve just seen so
many people on the side of the stage; they would come onstage with us in the
old days and say ‘Can I stand here and watch Ian?’ and I’ve seen Paice reduce
grown men drummers to tears. Because what he does is so easy and yet so
impossible. It makes it look like these other guys are just beginning. The guys
are great. And they are a very important turn on my career, because when I joined
Paice Ashton Lord in 1976, pre-Whitesnake, they kind of put me on the
rock map, so to speak. I was suddenly playing with these guys, and they
elevated me into a very prominent position.”
“Paicey was great in those days,” offers
Marsden looking at the personal side of the band. “We used to call him The Bank
Of Paice, because he was always the one who had some money when we were all
broke. He would say, ‘You want $20? Okay, well, next Tuesday, you pay me back
$25 [ laughs ].’ That’s why he’s still a very rich man. Jon Lord, we used
to call The Legend Of Sleepy Hollow because we could never get him up. We would
be in studios all over the world recording, and we wouldn’t see Jon for days
because he wouldn’t come out of his room. That was his way of preparing for the
gig. He would walk in and play the most stupendous keyboard parts you’ve ever
heard.”
David Coverdale reiterates the
importance of Ian Paice to the band. “ Ready An’ Willing … I’ll tell you
exactly what happened there. Paicey was involved, the drummer, and that was the
first time the band really started to sound like it
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