Ritchie Blackmore at 80: A Life in Rock

London’s Spear-Throwing Prodigy

Born on April 14, 1945, in the seaside town of Weston-super-Mare, Ritchie Blackmore grew up in a modest family that soon relocated to London. His mother worked in a shop, his father at Heathrow Airport—neither had any connection to music. Young Ritchie, too, seemed destined for a different path. School was a struggle, but sports were his forte. «I was London’s best javelin thrower,» he once recalled. «They considered me for England’s national team, but I was too young. At school, I was a terror—always on the verge of expulsion. Yet in sports, I shone. After winning medals in javelin or swimming, the headmaster would praise me publicly: ‘Blackmore’s saved Heston’s honor again!’ Then, by afternoon, I’d be back in his office, dodging another threat of being kicked out.»

At 11, a guitar found its way into his hands, igniting a lifelong passion. Learning wasn’t easy. «The first six months were brutal,» he said. «Then it clicked—until three years later, when it got tough again.» Even as a teenager, Blackmore sensed he needed to master the rules before breaking them. He drew inspiration from great guitarists, but hearing Jimi Hendrix in his early twenties hit him «like a punch to the gut,» steering him toward a bolder, freer style.

His talent didn’t go unnoticed. At 19, playing with The Outlaws, he backed Jerry Lee Lewis, who invited him to America for a permanent gig. Blackmore declined, a choice that proved fateful. Had he gone, he might never have joined Deep Purple—a band named, as any true fan knows, after a 1930s song his grandmother adored, evoking twilight’s deep purple hue over a sleepy garden.

Smoke on the Water’s Immortal Riff

Blackmore’s most iconic creation is the unmistakable riff of «Smoke on the Water.» The story’s legendary: Deep Purple arrived in Montreux, Switzerland, to record in a concert hall attached to a casino. It was winter, the venue closing after one final show—Frank Zappa’s. During that performance, a reckless fan fired a flare gun at the ceiling, sparking a fire that reduced the grand building to ashes.

The band wove the chaos into «Smoke on the Water,» a track they tossed onto their album Machine Head almost as an afterthought, never dreaming it would become their signature hit. For Blackmore, though, Deep Purple was nearing its end. By the mid-1970s, he left to form Rainbow, though he’d later reunite with his old bandmates for occasional performances.

Songwriting, he admitted, was never his strength. «It might sound arrogant, but I believe I can improvise better than any rock guitarist,» he said. «Composing, though? That’s a struggle. I only did it because no one else would. Half the time, I was disappointed with the result. I can barely remember my own parts—my technical memory’s terrible. I’ll come up with something brilliant, think, ‘I’ll play it later,’ and then it’s gone.»

A Love Story Born Over Autographs and Ale

Blackmore’s charm extended beyond music, landing him in the pages of women’s magazines thanks to his romance with Candice Night, 26 years his junior. In 1989, 18-year-old Night, a New York radio host, met him after a charity football match where Blackmore played with fellow musicians. She asked for an autograph; he gave it, adding that she was beautiful. Thinking little of it, Night walked away—only to be stopped by Blackmore’s assistant, who invited her to meet the guitarist at a pub.

They talked until dawn about ghosts, music, history, and philosophy. «When I saw her, it felt like meeting an old friend,» Blackmore later said. Two days later, he called, asking her to visit his Connecticut home. Night recalled their early days: «We were friends first, then more. He was amazed I could keep up with him, drinking rum and coke all night. Truth is, I’d pour them out when he wasn’t looking—no way could I match an Englishman’s pace!»

By 1991, they were inseparable, marrying in 2008 and welcoming a son in 2010 and a daughter in 2012. Together, they’ve built a life as enduring as Blackmore’s riffs.