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READ
EXTRACTS FROM RIDING SHOTGUN
Taken from:
Prologue: Can't believe it's True
June 14, 1995. A blue day for the blues.
One of those days that seem to be etched into the brain like a tape
recording. Almost 10 years after
the
event, every part of it remains incredibly vivid in my memory.
To begin
with it was an unusual day for me in that I was at my east London home,
gardening. Not something I'm known for, but I'd been incredibly
busy with Nine Below Zero recording our album Ice Station Zebro, which
meant
that all domestic duties had taken a back seat. The garden, especially,
had been sadly neglected and I was sweating in the early summer sunshine
as I attempted to hack my way through the undergrowth when my wife,
Coral, shouted to say there was a call for me. Glad of the chance for
a break
I walked over to the house and took the telephone. Immediately I recognised
the voice of Phil McDonnell, the Rory Gallagher Band's sound engineer
and
road manager from 1977 to 1986. He was obviously very upset.
'Gerry...Gerry...It's
Phil.' He started sobbing almost uncontrollably.
'Phil, what the hell's
wrong?'
Phil took a deep breath and, at last, managed to get
the words out: 'Gerry, I've just had a call from Ute. Her brother Klaus
in Germany
has called
her to say that he's heard something on the radio over there announcing
that
Rory's dead. I can't believe it, Gerry. Rory's gone.'
I tried my
best to calm him down and to get some sense out of him but he was in
such a state of shock that it was impossible.
In the
end I
told him
I'd make some calls and get back to him if I could find out
if the story his wife had heard was true. I couldn't believe it.
Surely
it couldn't
be right? I'd had no real contact with Rory for over two years,
but we all
knew he was ill - his health had been shaky ever since the late
'80s when I was still touring with him as his bass player. I'd
been worried
about
him for a long time, but Rory's ever-present roadie, Tom O'Driscoll,
had been keeping me and drummer Brendan O'Neill up to speed
on what was happening.
Brendan had also left Rory's band with me in 1990 to join Nine
Below Zero. Tom would often call in at Matrix Studios for a
beer and a
chat and, on
one of the last occasions, had let us know that Rory's health
had taken a turn for the worse: he'd been taken into hospital
for a
liver transplant
and things weren't looking too good. But a few days later Tom
arrived with the news that the transplant had been successful
and Rory was
being kept
in hospital for just a few days' observation before being allowed
home. He was going to be fine. There was no way the German announcement
could
be true.
I immediately tried to ring Rory's brother and manager,
Donal, but couldn't get through. For over two hours I rang and rang,
and the
longer I kept
hearing that engaged signal the more I realised there might
be something in it.
Frantic with worry I called every few minutes until, at last,
Donal's wife Cecilia answered the phone. Fighting back the
tears she confirmed
that Rory
had died that morning in London's King's College Hospital;
just when everything appeared to be going to plan, an infection had
set in and
his new liver
had failed. Rory Gallagher was dead at just 47 years of age...
Later
that day I managed to get through to Donal and we sat and shared a few
tears together. Donal was desolate. 'It's
the end
of an era,
Gerry,' he said, and I knew he was right. Even now it's
hard for me to think
about those few days without getting emotional. I was Rory
Gallagher's bass
player
and friend for over 20 years from 1971 to 1991 - apart from
Rory the only constant presence on each and every one of
his 14 best-selling
albums,
with more than 30 million copies sold worldwide. Rory and
I travelled around
the world together several times and, thanks to his influence
and the respect in which he was held as a musician, I got
to meet and
play with
some of
the very finest performers on the planet in some of the
biggest and
most prestigious venues rock music can offer. Not bad for
a boy from Belfast
who was never even officially told he was in the band…
Taken from:
Chapter 8: Messin’ with
the Kid
It kind of just crept up on us - all
of the band, including Rory, were drinking a lot more
- but not as much as
me. I remember we had a few days
off in the middle of the tour and all I did was sit in the hotel bar drinking
whisky, all day, without eating. And I'd wait for the happy hour when
they'd bring out free bowls of food - snacks really, like chicken wings
and stuff - and I'd just sit and eat those. One day Rory came down in
the afternoon at about 2pm - he knew where to find me because I was always
there - and he said, 'Gerry, let's go and see a movie.' We walked down
Sunset Strip and went to see Magnum Force with Clint Eastwood, after which
Rory had a very diplomatic chat with me. He said he was concerned about
how much I was drinking and that maybe I ought not to start until at least
5pm or 6pm rather than 12 noon every day. At first I was a bit pissed
off at being lectured by him, but after a couple of days it began to sink
in that he was right - that I had to find other things to occupy me on
my days off. I suppose I was also quite flattered that Rory had noticed
my behaviour and cared enough to want to do something about it. Perhaps
it was just because my playing was being affected, but I don't think so.
What was really nice was that he and I started to do more things together,
especially going to the movies which we were both still very keen on.
Sometimes we'd go for a swim in the hotel pool or maybe just go for a
walk together and enjoy a chat. It brought us much closer together but
also had the desired effect in that I stopped drinking whisky completely
and I've never touched it since. Whisky had a really bad effect on me
and could make me quite violent at times. Sometimes after the gigs we'd
go to the Roxy or the Whiskey A Go Go or some other club and I would find
myself getting fairly aggressive with people over nothing very much at
all. If I'm honest, my whole personality
had altered over the course of those last two American
tours and I had definitely got too big for my
boots.
The free booze, the groupies, the adulation had all started to affect
me to the point that my ego had taken over and I really wasn't myself
anymore. And I wasn't the only one having problems. Rod was also drinking
a great deal, as well as dabbling with drugs. He could be a right nasty
bastard when he'd been drinking and would sometimes snap and turn on
people. I found him very arrogant at times and sometimes
this would boil over
into a face to face confrontation between us. Once or twice it came
to blows. Celtic blood! With his fiery Welsh temper and
my tough Belfast
upbringing, I guess it was kind of inevitable. Having said that, Rod
was certainly a good man to have on your side, as he proved
on a number of
occasions. The most memorable was in Louisiana during our 1973 tour
around the southern states. We had been playing at a college
in Baton Rouge and
were having a drink in the college bar after the show. At that time,
having long hair in Baton Rouge was definitely not a good
idea. There was a bunch
of guys in there with close-cropped Vietnam haircuts who just kept looking
daggers at us. We tried to ignore them and Rod and Rory went over to
have a game of pool, while Lou and I sat at the bar chatting.
I was keeping
tabs on the situation out of the corner of my eye and saw one of these
rednecks walk straight up to Rory, square up to him and say, 'Get the
fuck out of here.'
There was no time for anyone to react.
Without any warning, Rod's pool cue came crashing down
right on top
of the guy's head. Smack. He was
out cold. His friends were stunned and just stood there open-mouthed,
not
sure what to do. Lou and I walked over to join Rod and Rory and the
four of us stood shoulder to shoulder prepared to defend ourselves against
the bloody good kicking we were surely about to receive! Luckily, just
as it was all about to turn nasty, the campus police arrived. They tried
to arrest Rod but I stepped in and explained what had happened - that
the other guy had started it - and amazingly the cop seemed to listen
to me. In a scene reminiscent of a particularly crap western, the policeman
turned to us and drawled, 'Get out of town.' We didn't need telling
twice.
As far as I was concerned the guy got what he deserved. Any hairies
these thugs had ever come across before had probably just left the bar
without
a fight. They hadn't counted on Rod de'Ath!”
©Gerry McAvoy and Pete
Chrisp
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