Love Quote by Ritchie Blackmore

Blackmore is drawing a line through his own taste: not between old and new, but between lazy noise and music that earns its volume. The name-check of Renaissance music isn’t a random flex; it signals an allegiance to structure, counterpoint, and a kind of emotional gravity that predates amplification. By admitting he’s “very moved” by it, he frames himself less as a guitar hero chasing adrenaline and more as a musician chasing architecture.

Then comes the pivot: he “still” loves hard rock. That “still” matters. It’s a rebuttal to the assumption that refinement requires renunciation, that adulthood means trading riffs for lutes. Blackmore is arguing for continuity: the same appetite that craves modal melodies and interlocking lines can also crave a distorted chord, if the writing is disciplined.

The qualifying clause is the real thesis: “only if it’s sophisticated and has some thought behind it.” He’s not apologizing for rock; he’s elevating his standards for it. Subtext: rock’s problem isn’t aggression, it’s emptiness. In the 1970s and onward, as hard rock got codified into formulas and macho posturing, Blackmore’s insistence on “thought” reads like a defense of craft against cliché. It also reflects his own career arc (Deep Purple to Rainbow to Blackmore’s Night), where baroque flourishes and medieval colors weren’t detours but clues: he’s always been trying to smuggle compositional seriousness into loud music, and refusing to pretend those worlds are enemies.