Page 86 - Classic Rock - The Complete Story of Def Leppard 2019

The death of Def Leppard’s Steve Clark in January 1991 robbed the band of their

heartbeat – and rock of a charismatic musician. The people who knew him best

look back on an unsung guitar hero and a complicated man.

Words: Geoff Barton Portraits: Ross Halfin

“Man, when I tell you he was cool, he was

With apologies
red hot. I mean, he was Steamin’.” to Phil Lynott

f the New Wave Of British Heavy Metal had one Sheffield – they were clearly a work in progress, despite the excellence of
fault, it was that it didn’t throw up too many hot their live performance and the undeniable potency of their songs. The
young guitar heroes. Indeed, it’s a curious experience, exception was Clark who, despite having turned a mere 19 years of age
looking back at the six-stringers who came to prominence the previous April, had this whole rock star schtick down pat. He exuded
during the ground-breaking UK rock explosion that the experience of a knowing veteran – and as seasoned observers will tell
straddled the late 1970s and early 80s. There was Paul you, that ain’t something you can fake. No amount of lip-pursing and
Samson of Samson, a grizzled old stager whose blues- hip-shaking in front of the bedroom mirror can magic up genuine
rock heart was obliterated by pyro and eclipsed by the attitude, poise and self-belief. Despite his tender years, Clark was so cool.
bizarre antics of hooded drummer Thunderstick. There He had a feline grace about him, slinking around Crookes’ unassuming
was Dave Murray of Iron Maiden, immensely likeable and school-hall-like stage in his permed hair and leopardskin pants, guitar
a true crowd favourite but too cheerful and self-effacing to swaying around his knees, a big cat stalking its prey.
be a genuine contender. There was Diamond Head’s Brian It wasn’t all plain sailing. When Leppard nabbed their first big tour-
Tatler, who had riffs flying out of his fingertips but whose support slot, playing second on the bill to Sammy Hagar, I saw them at
stage presence was too studious by far. There was Jeff London’s old Hammersmith Odeon. From my seat in the balcony
Dunn (aka Mantas of Venom), who certainly looked I noticed them getting in a terrible tangle as Clark darted left, right and
the part but wasn’t exactly playing what you might call music. There centre, the lead of his guitar criss-crossing the leads of the other
was Graham Oliver of Saxon, who used to toss his guitar into the air, members’ instruments, until the floor resembled an explosion in a
kick it across the stage, douse it with lighter fluid and set it on fire. All bootlace factory. The cabling was so intertwined at the finish of the set
good stuff, but fans knew the true musician in the band was Oliver’s that no one could move more than a foot in any direction…
syrup-sporting sideman, Paul Quinn. Thankfully radio mics put paid to such calamitous on-stage bondage,
…Then there was Steve Clark of Def Leppard. Leppard taking full advantage in later years when they played ‘in the
When I first clapped eyes and ears on an unfeasibly fresh-faced round’. As tour manager Malvin Mortimer recalls: “When the curtain
Leppard – the date was June 5, 1979 at Crookes Working Men’s Club in dropped – Kabuki style – at the top of the Hysteria show, revealing

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