Not Davy Crockett, GARY MOORE, King Of The WildFrontier
“I don’t consider myself part of the socalled heavy metal movement that’s going on right now. I’m just playing the music I want to play. I’m not singing about the devil, and going up there in leather and studs and everything. It’s a joke! I look at those bands and I think, well, you could really get heavy music across to a lot more people if you didn’t stand around looking like a bunch of prats!”
Not Davy Crockett, GARY MOORE, King Of The WildFrontier
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Sylvie Simmons
“I don’t consider myself part of the socalled heavy metal movement that’s going on right now. I’m just playing the music I want to play. I’m not singing about the devil, and going up there in leather and studs and everything. It’s a joke! I look at those bands and I think, well, you could really get heavy music across to a lot more people if you didn’t stand around looking like a bunch of prats!”
That’s Gary Moore, sitting, beaming, opposite me in a long black trench-coat, like some Franciscan friar playing Bond. You’ve known him as a supreme axeman for eons now, but for the past couple of years he’s been Gary Moore, Solo Star. Hit singles, the whole caboodle. His latest and greatest album, Wild Frontier, sounds like just about anything he’s ever had his hand in transported into some perfect metal future—old Irish folkies, spacey Fairlight, ’60s pop, slashing axework— “A gentle record,” Kerrang reviewed it, ‘‘ravaged by savage guitar.. .Lizzy circa their classic LPs Jail break or Johnny The Fox.”