Rock Story: Cheap thrills, Purple fog, and a grab bag of glorious misfits Album Description:
Rock Story wasn’t meant to be a sermon, it was meant to be a jukebox. EMI in Belgium threw this thing out mid-’70s on their bargain-bin Sounds Superb line, but don’t let the budget tag fool you: this platter is basically Deep Purple’s extended family tree, sprouting in all directions like some drunk hydra in platform boots. If you thought compilations were filler, here’s one that actually sweats.
Deep Purple as ringmasters
You get “Smoke on the Water,” of course, that eternal campfire riff, the garage-band national anthem. Then the flip side kicks you in the chest with “When a Blind Man Cries,” which Blackmore thought was too wimpy to release, but Ian Gillan sang it like his throat was full of glass. This is Purple opening the gates and letting in the strays, even the songs they didn’t want themselves.
Freaks in the spotlight
Tony Ashton staggers in with “Celebration,” a horn-blasted pub crawl that sounds like someone threw Joe Cocker into a blender with a brass section. Hard Stuff come roaring out like bulldogs chained too long in a backyard—members of Atomic Rooster and Quatermass, snarling riffs that deserved better than the bargain racks. Rupert Hine drops “Hamburgers,” an inside joke turned sideways pop, and it’s the kind of oddball tune you put on just to see if your friends will make a face or nod along in confusion.
Glitter in the gutters
Silverhead’s “Rolling with My Baby” is glam-rock seedy and slick all at once, Des Barres oozing charm while Nigel Harrison sneaks in a bassline that points the way toward Blondie’s future disco-punk. Then Tucky Buzzard crash the party with “Gold Medallions,” Bill Wyman twiddling the knobs while the band plays like they’re auditioning for the world’s loudest dive bar gig.
Orchestras, islands, and lost causes
Buddy Bohn’s “Vermouth Rondo” brings in strings, Spanish guitar flourishes, and a whiff of sophistication no one asked for but everybody secretly needed. Carol Hunter swings through The Band’s “Look Out Cleveland,” tearing the roof off with raw nerve. And Yvonne Elliman? She brings sunburn and Who covers, balancing Hawaiian breezes with British rock grit. Then you’ve got Maldoon, some lost comet flashing across side two with “Clouds in My Hair,” gone before you even know what it meant.
Why it matters
Rock Story is sloppy, lopsided, half genius, half garage sale—but that’s the point. It’s a reminder that rock in the early ’70s was a sprawl, not a system. Deep Purple were the tentpoles, sure, but under the canvas you had glam weirdos, forgotten shredders, crooners with a sense of humor, and orchestral guitarists trying to out-Bach the bar bands. Put the needle down anywhere and you get chaos, charm, or catastrophe. And that, friends, is the real story of rock.
