DEEP PURPLE'S BURN

When I was 13 or 14 I was a metal head.

I lived for the solo, the squawk of the riff and the thrum of the Fender bass.

Christmas 1974 was key moment on my journey to Valhalla. My Mum and Dad bought me Burn.

Burn was a Deep Purple album. Its the one with the dripping band-candles cover all in red with the word Burn in blue.

But that's just the cover.

The contents are that rare item. The whole damn package. The rock chops. A perfect thumping thing.

Burn is quite simply one of the finest hard rock albums ever to be fired in the blistering furnaces of Kerrang. 

From start to finish the mix of man and metal is a recipe for head-bangin' Elysium. 

Ritchie Blackmore's noble axe and David Coverdale's regal voice are glorious weapons battling with the forces of tedious pop muzak, grand buttresses of a pounding citadel where all air-guitarists did and do find life-long solace. Paice and Glen are the mighty foundations shouldered by a solid bedrock of titanic steel and skin.

Need I go on? Hard rock is often associated with bombast and pomp. So what! Let the punks moan and the New Romantics wail, this is the music of the gods.

The Rock Gods!

Thanks Mum and Dad wherever you are.

Join me readers and be burned!