Nick Simper.

[KEITH_MORGAN_...@ccmail.mitel.com]

Apologies for the length of this post, and to those of us who already
know the story.

From rock'n'roll to rag'n'roll. Deep Purple was a Seventies supergroup,
but the man who formed it is now a decorator, He used to rock with
Purple, but now he just rolls with it.
by (and any discrepancies) Russell Newmark (Sunday Mail 1985).

Clapton, Page, Beck.......Simper. Who?
Nicholas Simper, born 49 years ago, in west London.
If things had turned out differently he might have been a guitar hero,
doing unspeakable things with tuna fish(?) and groupies. But fate had
other plans for Nick. His career hit one bum note after another and,
instead of being famed for his hip rock, he become renowned for his
Gyproc -- at least, in Hayes area of Middlesex, where he now runs a
thriving decorating business.
Nick went to grammar school at the height of the Fifties guitar
craze, and was soon having impromptu 'jamming' sessions in his front
room, strumming along to Lonnie Donegan records on a plastic ukulele.
Eventually his Dad agreed to buy him a guitar: Nick took lessons, and
other lads started inviting him to join their little groups.
At 15, he was in the Renegades, whose drummer was a cousin of Adam
Faith; they played contemporary hits, taking their instruments by bus
to youth clubs around west London. At 16, he left school, and became a
draughtsman with the London Electricity Board, designing new sites for
substations. Meanwhile, he joined his first 'proper' band, the Delta
Five, playing prestige venues such as the Ealing Jazz Club.
By now, he'd switched to bass guitar. "Nobody in those days ever
thought about being rich and famous," he says. "It was just the idea
of being a pro." By 1964, he'd joined one of his favourite R&B bands,
Buddy Britten and the Regents. He recorded three (unsuccessful)
singles with them before moving to other groups, including the
delightfully named Cyrano and the Bergeracs.
Then came some unbelievable luck. A friend had been cleaning
windows at the Harrow home of Johnny Kidd, who, as the
eyepatch-sporting leader of Johnny Kidd and the Pirates, had enjoyed
such hits as Shakin' All Over. It seemed Kidd needed a new band. And
Johnny was Nicks absolute hero. Nick and his gang knocked on Kidd's
door, said they were his new Pirates-and were taken on. It was early
1966 as their van began criss-crossing the country to and from
one-night shows. Nick felt like he was dreaming, alongside Johnny,
pounding out those familiar songs for real.
But the Grim Reaper was already planning a wake-up call. Nick
played on what turned out to be Johnny Kidd's last recording session,
making an(unsuccessful)single.
It was on the road that tragedy struck in October 1966. Leaving
a venue in Lancashire, Johnny signed what was to be his last autograph
before climbing into the front passenger seat of a Ford Cortina being
driven by a friend, Nick sat in the back.
"After stopping for a pee,"' recalls Nick."We'd just set off
again and something went seriously wrong with the car.'It veered
right-and collided head-on with a Mini.
Nick could see Kidd was dead. He thought he was dying, too. "I
was quite calm about it - I just thought:"I'm on my way,"'he says. In fact,
he was discharged that night after treatment for head and facial injuries,
and a seriously damaged arm.
After Nick recovered, the band gigged as the Pirates, keeping Kidd's
legend alive. But it wasn't the same playing without him. So they became a
backing group, travelling with the likes of Screaming Lord Sutch.
You could say Nick's career had hit rock bottom. But October 1967, a
studio band called the Flowerpot Men landed a hit with Let's Go To San
Francisco. A group was formed to tour and there, on bass, in hippie beads
and bells, was Nick Simper.
Eventually, the group took on a new keyboard player called Jon Lord,
who one day had a proposition for Nick, would he be prepared to drop from
?350.00 to ?25.00 a week to join a new band. Which is how he came to be in
Deep Purple. Early in 1968, Purple set sail. In a whirlwind period of just
over a year the group completed two major US tours and recorded three
albums in London. Their first single, Hush, was a smash hit in the US.
Further hits followed, the albums continued to sell - all three going gold
in America - and they were a hugh live draw.
But suddenly Nick began hearing rumours that Purple had secretly been
rehearsing with a new singer and bass guitarist. After confronting their
manager, He and Rod Evans were told that Rod was being replaced by Ian
Gillan and Nick by Roger Glover.
Nick insists they were never told exactly why. Meanwhile, he says,
promised fortunes based on their success evaporated before his eyes. A
legal tussle ensued and he did receive a cash settlement - a fraction of
what he feels was justified. Later, he says, it turned out that he'd only
been paid royalty money effectively owed to him anyway.
And so, having helped lay Purple's firm foundations, he was forced to
look on as they became global heavy rock heroes. He stayed on in music, but
at one point bought a greengrocer's for extra security."If anybody said
"Deep Purple" to me then, it was like a knife going in," he admits.
He has not spoken to any of Deep Purple in the 26 years since he left,
and rearly listens to the three albums on which he played. His post-Purple
projects included spells leading Warhorse and Fandango - who failed to find
commercial favour - but the chances of another big break have receded.
And now, married with four children and a granddaughter, he spends his
time running his painting and decorating enterprise.
Even so, he's still hoping to land a recording deal as part of a band
which also includes veteran drummer Nick Underwood, and plays the
occasional pub gig with an outfit called the Good Old Boys.
Quite often he finds himself talking about Purple - and he insists he is
not bitter about what happened."I just want people to know that there was
an original Purple line-up that meant something," he says.
"There were good times, going out in front of 25,000 people all
rooting for you. And it's better to have had it for a little while than not
at all. As Johnny always said:"Better a has-been than a never was."'

Cheers
Keef.
kEeP oN sMoKiN' iT's GoOd FoR yOu..