No matter which generation you belong to or where you live, you have almost certainly heard the unmistakable sound of Deep Purple. Formed in 1968, the band exploded onto the global scene in 1971 with their now-iconic track “Smoke on the Water.” Although the line-up has evolved over the decades, it is now 2025 and people are still booking tickets, and flying across continents to see the legendary pioneers of hard rock and early heavy metal perform live. And today, we have two exciting updates.

First: Deep Purple are set to perform on November 20 at Coca-Cola Arena in Dubai. Second: ahead of the show, we had the chance to speak with Ian Gillan, Deep Purple’s legendary frontman — a vocalist whose distinctive style has inspired generations and the living proof that people will believe almost anything when it comes to rock stars (and if you are wondering what that means, just ask him about his most outrageous rider as I did).

What is his favourite performance? What music does he listen to at home? And what was the one rare moment when his voice unexpectedly failed him? Read the full interview below.

— You joined the band in 1969 — at that time, did you believe that such global success was possible, or did it still feel unpredictable?

— At that point, I was 24 and had absolutely no idea what the future held. Everything felt incredibly exciting, and each day was like a new adventure. It was certainly a step in the right direction. Roger Glover and I had been working in a harmony band for four years, and suddenly we found ourselves surrounded by remarkable musicianship. That was really the beginning of everything. So no, I had no idea where it would lead — but I have always liked stepping into the unknown.

— Although Deep Purple pioneered hard rock, five years ago you said: “I’ve never described myself as a hard-rock singer.” Do you still feel that way today, and how would you describe yourself as an artist now?

— I believe I was misquoted — as so often happens. What I actually said was that I don’t consider myself a heavy-metal singer, which was the angle they were pushing. I remember the interview very clearly. I am not particularly bothered about labels — I simply see myself as a singer. I was a boy soprano in the church choir, my uncle was a jazz musician, and my grandfather sang opera, so I have always loved all styles of music.

When I was growing up, my generation naturally gravitated towards hard rock. We moved on from the rock ’n’ roll world of Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Little Richard and Jerry Lee Lewis, into the musical landscape we eventually inhabited — alongside Black Sabbath and Led Zeppelin in the late ’60s and early ’70s. Everything evolves over time, both in our private lives and in the wider world. Yet the Deep Purple family has largely stayed together — there have been a couple of changes, but three of us are still here from 1969.

— You are known for your remarkable vocal range — something very few singers can achieve. When did you first realise you had that ability?

— As a young boy, before your voice breaks, you naturally sing very high — you are practically up in the clouds. Once adolescence arrives, the voice drops, but it is still rather light compared with what it becomes at 25 or 30, when it matures, gains a bit more thickness, timbre, definition and character. Your voice continues to change throughout your life. I didn’t think there was anything particularly special about mine at the time.

Before Deep Purple, I was in Episode Six, and we had a female vocalist, Sheila, who sang three songs in every set. While she performed those numbers, I would move over to the keyboards and sing backing vocals, taking her harmony lines — which were in the female register. I then discovered that I could go even higher and add another octave on top, which enriched the harmonies dramatically. I have always loved harmony singing. So when I finally stepped into the role of frontman, it felt only natural to bring that range into the lead vocals. It was uncharted territory and really exciting. Some people called it screaming, but it was very much singing — and a music master from the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden later explained that it was tenor passaggio, which is the correct technical term

— Has there ever been a moment in your career when your voice failed you during a performance?

— Yes — once. And it was simply because I had tonsillitis. If you break your leg, you can’t run; if you have an infected swelling in your throat, you can’t sing. I had an operation, and everything was fine afterwards.

— As with any major band, there were moments of tension. What were the most challenging internal dynamics?

— I would say it was largely due to external influences. When we first started, we were very close friends. We travelled together — Ritchie and I shared a room, and Jon Lord and Roger Glover did the same — and we got on brilliantly. But then we all got girlfriends, we had new managers, and various outside influences gradually began to affect things. Human chemistry is extremely delicate and always shaped by external forces — there is no real science to explain it.

At the same time, we were growing up, becoming more mature, more confident, and perhaps a little more self — assured. Some might call it arrogant, but we were confident. Naturally, that led to occasional conflicts. And if you really want to understand this more, just watch Spinal Tap — it explains everything perfectly.

— The world recognises Smoke on the Water, Highway Star, and Speed King as the band’s biggest classics — but what is your personal favourite Deep Purple song, and why?

— I say this to annoy the drummer, but my favourite song is Razzle Dazzle. That answer, however, changes from day to day. If you asked me tomorrow, I would probably say something else, because music is fluid — it shifts with your mood.

I don’t have a fixed favourite — not in songs, nor in anything else. What I value most is the experience of working with the band. Circumstances are constantly changing — the venue, the weather, the acoustics, the atmosphere, the audience’s mood. Our responsibility is to maintain consistency, not only musically, but in attitude and professionalism. Only then can you truly enjoy it. If the attitude slips or the professionalism weakens, everything starts to fall apart and you end up relying solely on reputation or nostalgia — and that simply isn’t enough. The ambience will always be beyond your control, but your delivery should never be.

— You have toured the world for decades — which tour or performance remains the most unforgettable for you, and why?

— It is very difficult to choose, as it has been a lifetime. In the studio, one of my favourite moments was recording The Garden of Gethsemane for the original Jesus Christ Superstar. On stage, I still return to our first performance with Deep Purple at the Speakeasy in London — it was absolute magic. There have been countless shows since, and eventually they all merge into one continuous, happy memory.

— You once said that you can write a song about absolutely anything. Which lyrics are you personally most proud of?

— Yes, there are many. On Whoosh! I think I like the lyrics for Drop the Weapon. Child in Time was also very special, and I have a strong attachment to Junkyard Blues. Over the years, plenty of songs have had their moments. But I can’t explain why — I don’t like analysing creativity. I am a very organic person — it isn't a mechanical thing.

— Deep Purple also has several instrumental tracks. When they are performed live, what do you usually do in those moments?

— I used to go down to the pub, or go out with my girlfriend, or read a book, or play cards with the roadies. That was quite a regular thing every night in the dressing room. We had a little card school while the guitar solos were going on — it was great. The solos aren’t so long now, so I do my physical exercises instead. I have a small tent behind the drums where I do my stretching. And of course, I can still hear everything — we are all on the same stage.

— What is your most outrageous rider?

— Yes, well, let me tell you. I like to eat doughnuts. And there is a saying that you can't eat doughnuts without getting sugar on your lips — you can't eat doughnuts without licking your lips. So I hired two lip-lickers to take care of that for me. And one night, I even had Cirque du Soleil perform privately in my dressing room.

Of course, none of this is true — not a word. But these are the kinds of things that amuse me: writing down nonsense and telling lies to journalists.

— When you are driving, what kind of music do you personally listen to?

— I don’t listen to music in the car because I only drive short distances, and on longer journeys I am usually in company and we talk. At home, I currently listen mainly to two radio stations: Africa Calls, which features music from across Africa, particularly the choral harmonies from Zambia and Zimbabwe; and a station focused on 1920s and 1930s jazz — artists such as Art Tatum, Django Reinhardt, Stéphane Grappelli and Louis Armstrong. It was an exciting period, full of developing energy before the music became heavily commercialised. Back then it was called the music business. Today it is called the music industry — which says a lot.

— You perform all over the world. Does the audience response differ from country to country, and have you noticed any particular characteristics in the Middle East?

— Every night is different, and every location has its own distinct character. A lot depends on the type of performance — if you are playing your own arena show, the audience has come specifically to see you, or at least that genre of music, so everyone is naturally tuned in and aligned. At festivals, it can feel more like a party — there is a variety of bands and not necessarily a deeply loyal audience for each set, which creates a very different atmosphere.

There are also national traits; some audiences are naturally more reserved in how they express themselves, while others are incredibly loud and passionate. For example, the loudest crowds I have ever heard have been in Jakarta, Rome, Buenos Aires and São Paulo. By contrast, some northern countries tend to be more restrained, though still very appreciative. Each place has its own spirit — and as for the worst audience, I would rather not say.