Briefly called Roundabout (a remnant of Curtis’ plan to form a band around a small core of players they would be joined by a revolving guest-cast who’d jump on and off a musical ‘roundabout’), Purple debuted in 1968 with their Shades Of… album. In cahoots with partner John Coletta, and along with a hot young keyboard player called Jon Lord, he began recruiting musicians to realise Curtis’ somewhat frazzled vision. (Boy, were people’s tax returns fucked up that year.) Curtis had the foresight, but he also had a penchant for LSD and unpredictable behaviour – as evinced by his decision in ’69 to quit the music business and join the Inland Revenue. (No wonder they decided to put Fairy Liquid bubbles on the cover of 1973 album Who Do We Think We Are.) The band’s roots can be traced back to 1968 (some say 1967) when Searchers drummer Chris Curtis contacted London businessman Tony Edwards to pitch the idea of creating a British rock supergroup.

The story of Deep Purple is truly one of rock’s great soap operas. (Actually it’s the toaster that’s raising toast I won’t be quaffing a brandy until noon at the earliest.) And FYI, I still own that original copy of Fireball… As an increasingly decrepit 60-something-year-old, this writer is perched on a stool in the kitchen on a Sunday morning, raising a toast to Deep Purple’s epic career. Fast-forward 50 years to the present day.

Ten years after a space in time cd