Rick Parfitt 1948 – 2016
With the death of Status Quo’s exuberant rhythm man, the British rock scene is a drabber place. We look back on a life lived at full-throttle…
In a year when some of rock’s brightest stars were cruelly snuffed out, the death of Rick Parfitt on 24 December from sepsis was a bitter sting in the tail. The Status Quo guitarist was not a visionary like Bowie, nor a virtuoso like Prince, but the chunky chug of his rhythm work on the band’s 60-plus UK hit singles was among the most exuberant sounds in rock ’n’ roll, while his blokey bonhomie made him one of the scene’s best-loved figures.“It’s hard to find words,” tweeted Brian May.“You truly rocked our world.”
Born 12 October 1948, and raised on the Elmbridge council estate in Woking, Richard John Parfitt was a self-described “typical naughty boy”whose mayhem often saw him thrashed by his insurance salesman father with a belt. Trying a guitar at 11, he was surprised to discover a natural talent (“I don’t know where that musical ability came from”), and would later recall the satisfaction, in 1965, of showering his disapproving parents with banknotes after early gigs on the British holiday camp circuit started to pay off.“It was about four in the morning and I woke them up and said,‘Oi, look at this,’ then threw the money up in the air.”
That same year, Parfitt watched Francis Rossi perform with The Spectres at Butlin’s in Minehead, and after a line-up shuffle and name change, the pair fell in to form the nucleus of The Status Quo (as it was originally known). Classic psychedelia-tinged 1968 single Pictures Of Matchstick Men hit UK No 7, but the early albums sank, and it wasn’t until the 70s that the duo nailed the formula that made their fortune: revving blues-rock guitars, twinkle-eyed banter in the music press and old-school rock ’n’ roll excess.“Young ladies knocking about,” mused Parfitt of that hard-living decade,“foreign substances flying around. Life was one big rollercoaster of fun. You were young, [so] you could survive hangovers and still do the gig.”
Parfitt’s tools were basic, usually a battered ’59 Telecaster, and the band’s compositions were sometimes derided as three-chord autopilot. As for his technique (aside from the recent Aquostic albums), Parfitt rarely ventured beyond his comfort zone, yet his fullthrottle grooves with Rossi were deceptively tricky to replicate.“There is something about the two Teles, when Francis and I lock in with our right hands,” he noted.“It has to be done with 100 per cent commitment, and played with power and conviction. If you don’t do that, it’ll sound pathetic.”
The critics baulked, but the public fell for the Quo’s route-one mid-70s hits like Down Down and Rockin’All Over The World, and when the band opened 1985’s Live Aid, it was the rubber stamp on their national treasure status.“You start to feel like a rock star,” reflected Parfitt.“You start to take on this kind of attitude, y’know, the iconic legs-apart stance. It was just a wonderful time. Anything was possible. You’re young. You’re earning a lot of money. You’re getting famous all over the world.Your albums are going to No 1…”
His demeanour at interview gave the impression of a bloke-next-door with unfeasible good luck, but Parfitt’s life was not without challenges and tragedies. In the 80s, his baby daughter, Heidi, drowned in the family swimming pool (“I sat on the lawn with her, having pulled her out of the pool. It was terrible, terrible”). The high living caught up with him in 1997 and 2014, when the Quo schedule was interrupted by heart attacks. “I’ve almost dropped while I’ve been rocking,” he said.“Let’s hope there’s not a third time.”
There would be, with further heart problems last June forcing Parfitt to step back from his live work.“This is nature’s way of telling me to take a breather, for now,” he admitted. “Standing there in the audience: I don’t think I could do that.”
Parfitt was making plans for 2017: there was talk of a solo album and autobiography. Sadly, complications from a shoulder injury caused the infection that led to his death in hospital near his Marbella home. Tributes to the fallen star were led by Rossi, and caught the essence of one of rock’s cherished partnerships.“Rick had been a part of my story for 50 years,” he noted.“Without doubt the longest relationship of my life. He was the archetypal rock star, one of the originals, he never lost his joy, his mischievous edge and his penchant for living life at high speed, high volume, high risk. His life was never boring, he was louder and faster and more care-free than the rest of us.
“There were any number of incidents along the way, times when he strayed into areas of true danger, and yet losing him now is still a shock. I was not ready for this…”