As [Trouser Press magazine’s] Dave Schulps and I rolled along in the darkness to our impending interview, we were filled with apprehension. After all, Ritchie Blackmore has never been known as a pussycat. In fact, most accounts of his years with Deep Purple emphasise his moodiness, sullenness, and even outright hostility.

The Teutonic severity of Ritchie’s current group, Rainbow, does little to suggest that time has mellowed Blackmore the least bit. We didn’t even know where we were being driven! What if Ritchie got annoyed with our questions and had us “silenced”? Paranoia strikes deep.

There was nothing to worry about, as it happened. After a circuitous drive, we pulled up to a suburban bar in Greenwich, Connecticut (Ritchie lives nearby), and parked ourselves in a greasy-looking swinging-singles place. Over a typically giddy barroom roar, interrupted occasionally by notes from an “admirer” who asked things like “Are you Deep Purple?”, we had our talk.

Ritchie Blackmore turned out to be a genial model of decorum, and was fully prepared to discuss anything. Indeed, when we got over the surprise of discovering him to be a pleasant fellow, he even fielded borderline tactless questions, unthinkable to ask of someone with his image. My only complaint about the thoughtful and open Mr Blackmore was that he insisted on keeping his juiciest comments off the record.

Rainbow had that evening finished a rehearsal prior to their multi-month tour in support of a new album, Long Live Rock’n’Roll. Seeing as how this was the band’s fourth album, why the long wait to try and make a mark on America?

“It’s just that the other markets came first, Europe and all that. We took advantage of it rather than just playing around America as a small-time band. Now the only market left is America and we’re the underdog. Most of the time we’re sharing the bill with REO Speedwagon, and Foghat is topping the bill in other places. It’s not like starting again. A lot of people feel that, but it’s just something you do. I’m quite looking forward to it. It means I can get back to the bar afterwards. If you’re a top-billed act, you get back to the hotel and everything’s closed.”

Did Deep Purple audiences get too big?

“They were too big sometimes. It was moving too fast. It’s funny how sometimes it will escalate and turn into something that big, when you know you’re just the same as any other band. All these people are turning out to see this band and next year they’ll be turning out to see some other band equally as bad or as good, whichever way you look at it. The way it’s been going, I think it’s been getting worse. In America you have some very strange big groups.”

Like Kiss?

“No, Kiss I like because they don’t care what people think of them. They take a chance and it’s worked. They’re the first ones to admit they’re not good musicians. I’m talking about middle-of-the-road bands that turn out that lethargic, laid-back cocaine beat. The DJs love it and they play and play it all the time.”

Oh, Fleetwood Mac?

(Laughing) “Funny you should mention them. Nice people, but I have reservations about what they’re doing. But the rest of America doesn’t seem to have reservations. It’s gone into this mellow thing and I’m not keen on that. I like intense music that comes across as drama, as acting.”

The new wave has that excitement, doesn’t it?

“Well, that’s got the impetus, the energy, but it hasn’t got the music. That’s wrong as well. I don’t quite know what I prefer to listen to, the new wave or Fleetwood Mac. I often think of that and I think I would play Fleetwood Mac because I can’t take the other stuff.”

To go back to square one, when did you start guitaring?

“When I was 11. It mostly was my idea – along with my father. He made sure I went along to proper lessons, because if I’m gonna have a guitar, I’ve got to learn it properly.”

Did you have it in your mind to rock?

“Yeah, because there was a guy called Tommy Steele prancing around with a guitar, and Presley and all that lot. I wanted to do that just like everybody else … Duane Eddy, then Hank B Marvin, then Django Reinhardt, Wes Montgomery, James Burton, Les Paul. I bought all of Les Paul’s records up until I was about 17, but after that I didn’t have any idols. Then I was mostly practising. I listened to rock via Buddy Holly up until 16, 17 [in 1962]. Then I was on my own. I didn’t have any inspirations from guitarists; it went more into inspiration from violinists. I don’t listen to too much rock’n’roll really. Jimi Hendrix was good and I liked Cream. I wasn’t really getting off on people like the Beatles and the Hollies, all that vocal business. The Stones? I considered them idiots. It was just a nick from Chuck Berry riffs. Chuck Berry was OK. Sometimes I’m outspoken, but I don’t have any time for the Stones. I can see why they’re respected and their rhythms are very good, very steady on record. I respect them, but I don’t like them.”

And the blues?

“It might sound condescending, but I find them a little too limited. I like to play a blues when I’m jamming, but then I want to get on to other things. I listened to BB King for a couple of years, but I like singers more than guitarists. Albert King I thought was a brilliant singer. That depth, which comes out in Paul Rodgers, too. I do like a blues base to some things; that can be very interesting with classical overtones.”

So what was your first professional gig?

“My first band was with Screaming Lord Sutch. He had amazing publicity stunts – he would go up to the prime minister and stick his hand out and say: ‘Hello there.’ The prime minister’s first reflex was to shake his hand and suddenly he’s thinking, who is this man? He’s got pictures of him about to shake hands with everyone in the business. He used to copy Screamin’ Jay Hawkins.

“From there I was on to a group called the Outlaws. They were known as a very steady band, good for session work, so we used to work together for sessions. You were just given the music to play; sometimes it was just the backing tracks. It wasn’t our job to know who we were playing for, it was just to get the money and go.”

Did you read music?

“Yeah, but not well. It was more like chord sheets. Pagey [Jimmy Page] was in all those sessions. Sometimes you’d get complete rock’n’rollers who could play but wouldn’t be able to read, and others who could read but wouldn’t be able to improvise. Sometimes they’d want rock’n’roll sessions and that’s what we’d do.”

You and Jimmy Page both played in Neil Christian’s band, right?

Blackmore laughed and mused a second before answering: “I was with him on and off for about a year. Chris – that’s his real name – was a slightly bizarre person to work for. In fact, Jimmy played with him for about three years. That’s when I first met Pagey. I was 16 years old. He was good then; I rate him as a three-dimensional guitarist. He has a range, he has ideas, but he can’t be everything, so sometimes he lacks on improvisation a bit. He’s so caught up with producing and everything else concerned with being a top band, whereas someone like Jeff Beck is entirely in the opposite direction. Jeff can extemporise really well, but I don’t think he can write a song. It’s always somebody else’s tune. He doesn’t have many ideas, but he’s a brilliant guitarist.”