BAD COMPANY WON'T GO AWAY

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BAD COMPANY WON'T GO AWAY

Sharon Liveten

People have incredibly short memories. You learn that after working in rock 'n' roll for a few years. If you happen to be an artist (or artistè), rather than a feisty rock journalist, that short-term memory loss can work for and against you. It’s OK if people forget your stiff records, as long as they don’t forget you.

Living proof of that axiom is Simon Kirke, the once and future drummer for Bad Company. Kirke is sitting quite contentedly in a hotel room on the Sunset Strip in Hollywood, not a strange feat in itself, but this is Los Angeles’ Hyatt House, A.K.A. the Riot House. A hotel made infamous by the Who, Led Zeppelin and Bad Company in the early days of rock. A place that for years wouldn’t permit rock bands—any bands—through their doors.

There was a reason. When rock bands used to call the Hyatt home (it was close to most of the happening clubs of the ’60s and ’70s), TV sets flew out the windows with some regularity, furniture was found glued to ceilings: it was chaos. It’s taken the Hyatt people more than 10 years to get over their annoyance. But now they’ve forgiven and forgotten.

Yup, the guys from the reformed Bad Company (Kirke, guitarist Mick Ralphs, bassist Boz Burrell and new singer Brian Howe) have been welcomed back to their old haunt. And the staff addresses them as "Sir.” It’s kind of scary.

Kirke thinks so, too. “If these walls could talk,” he murmurs between sips of Perrier, his current drink. “Thank God they can’t! Those were good days. They were fun, and tinged with madness. In Bad Company’s heyday, we couldn’t do anything wrong. We were regarded like heroes, because we were surrounded by people who thought we were terrific. We all drank to excess, and managed to get into some pretty hairy scenes. It was like one huge, out-of-control party.”

At the time they were unstoppable. Hits like "Feel Like Makin' Love,” "Bad Company” and "Can’t Get Enough” kept pouring off their vinyl. But it’s almost a decade since those days, and things have changed. The group virtually disbanded (or, as they prefer, took a long hiatus) following the completion of their fifth album, 1982's, Desolation Angels. They toured for nearly nine months straight to support the record, and by the end of the road trip the voice of the band, Paul Rodgers, had had enough.

“After that tour,” recalls Kirke quietly, “Paul told us he didn't want to go out again. So he was pretty much saying he didn’t want to be in the band anymore. And we didn’t ever think about replacing him. How could we?”

Indeed. It was Rodger’s unique voice behind “Feel Like Makin’ Love,” “Bad Company” and "Can’t Get Enough.” You just don’t go out and hold auditions to replace him. At least then. So the band went into mothballs, and the members all found solo or new group projects to keep them busy.

Not surprisingly though, none of their efforts even came close to the success they’d had with Bad Company. Nobody likes to think, during their mid-30s, that they had their best years when they were in the early 20s. We’re talking major midlife crisis potential here. Past success had little to do with the impetus behind the reunion, though. Legal contracts did. When BC broke up, they still owed their label, Atlantic, a record. Since the band’s back catalog was still selling, the label figured it would hang on to the players. (Can you say “contractual obligations?”) One quick nudge, and a call from the president was all it took to get Kirke and Ralphs working together, and the ball moving.

“In Bad Company’s heyday, it was like one huge, out-of-control party.”

“We never actually thought of reforming Bad Company,” explains Kirke. “What Atlantic wanted us to do was make use of what we already had—Mick and me, ’cause Boz wasn’t involved at that point. And because Mick’s guitar was, in a way, the essence of the Bad Company sound, they wanted us to do it together. We needed a singer, though, which was hard. After working with Paul, one of the greatest singers ever, it wasn’t easy to find one.”

Brian Howe was brought into the fold on the recommendation of Foreigner’s Mick Jones, a close friend of Kirke’s. Though Howe’s experience was limited to his own band and a stint on tour with Ted Nugent, Ralphs and Kirke figured they’d give him a shot.

“Brian came up to sing for us, and he was great. He had very little experience, but just bags of enthusiasm. Would do anything to be in a rock ’n’ roll band. So here comes someone who isn’t jaded with the scene. And he was great. It was perfect.”

Except, of course, for one small problem: they were missing a bassist. After a painfully long audition period, they settled on Steve Price for the album (Boz, who according to Kirke “was doing a tour of Irish pubs” turned up near the end of recording, but in time for the tour).

The details out of the way, the band went into Jimmy Page’s studio with producer Keith Olsen to lay down the initial tracks for Fame And Fortune. Eventually the final tracks were re-mixed by Mick Jones, and by July, the record—which sounded surprisingly like the old Bad Company—was finished.

That left them with a record, a hot band ready to tour, and no moniker. Oops. They’d tried numerous titles but nothing seemed to fit. Eventually they were drawn to Bad Company, both because the music sounded like the earlier band, and for basic financial reasons. It’s a whole lot easier to sell records from a known band than from a new one.

“We were having a terrible time naming the band,” laughs Kirke. “We had a great line-up, a great record, but we could not find a name. Then the head of Atlantic called us up and suggested Bad Company. He really spelled out his points carefully, and they made sense. I played the tape to a number of friends, who thought it sounded like Bad Company with a new singer. So that was that. We knew it was going to be hard starting up again, and we knew we would have to start a rung or two lower than we left off, but breaking a totally new band in America is incredibly difficult. We thought this made sense. We want to do well.”

They probably will. The record is good, and the band is tight live. But it will never be the old days again. Bad Company has grown up. Kirke doesn’t drink anymore, most of the band members are happily married (with kids yet!). Although they are back at the Riot House on Sunset. Some things never change.