Mick Box on why his journey with Uriah Heep isn’t over yet From an East End upbringing, Uriah Heep founder Mick Box went on quite a journey – and it’s one that is set to continue… Mick Box is all smiles. Standing on the doorstep of his outwardly anonymous North London residence, the Uriah Heep guitarist wrestles Iggy, his dog, back inside and offers a cup of tea. As the kettle boils, one’s appraising eye is drawn to surroundings unlikely to fool any Through The Keyhole panelist, no matter how lacking in rock literacy. Furniture to grace any baronial hall is brightened by white décor; guitars and paraphernalia pertaining to guitars seem to proliferate at every turn, Roger Dean’s iconic Demons And Wizards cover art hangs in the front room; Biscuit, the unflappable ginger cat, purrs contentedly beneath a wall of extensive and tightly packed gold and silver discs awarded down the years to mark the kind of physical record sales that today’s rock stars can only dream of. To say that Mick Box is a personable chap is to ludicrously understate matters. Seemingly unaffected by the trappings of fame, he’s open, chatty, brimming with hilarious anecdotes, and exactly the sort of person anyone would relish a night down the pub with. Of course, he has also been the driving force behind Uriah Heep, one of 70s rock’s biggest bands, for almost half a century. And despite his sunny demeanour, Mick’s life hasn’t all been easy livin’ and ’appy days, as he explains, from behind blue-tinted shades, over a bracing cuppa char. So here we are in Palmers Green, five miles away from where it all began in Walthamstow, something tells me you’d rather be here than Sunset Strip. I’ve lived in America and Australia, but the draw-card’s always England. It’s where my heart is. Humour’s a big part of my life, and in America it’s a different type. Any catastrophe that happens here, you go down the local pub and joke about it. You don’t get that in other parts of the world. No, I’m the only musical person in the entire family. But my mother was very supportive. She’d be the one standing over the record player, dropping the needle so I could learn a bit of guitar. The rest of my family were always saying to her: “When is he going to get a proper job?” And by then we [Uriah Heep] were very successful – big American tours, hit albums, Wembleys. But when we played the Albert Hall those family comments stopped, because to them that was the pinnacle. Were you old enough to understand the full import of your father’s passing? It was sad, really, because it happened on Christmas Day. He was a carpenter. On this particular occasion he came into my bedroom dressed as Father Christmas. He had a blackboard, easel and chalk. To me that was amazing – I could write something, rub it out and write again. It was magic to me. So he left me playing with that. Then I heard a noise outside my door and he’s been taken to hospital. The following day he passed away, a heart attack. That was my last memory of him. I was six. Even now, Christmas is bittersweet. You must have had quite a matriarchal upbringing, with your mother and grandmother, and you as the centre of attention. Might that have encouraged the performer in you to blossom? Probably. My mother helped me and never once put anything in my way. I was very lucky in that regard. Maybe with a father there he wouldn’t have been so supportive and it might have caused rucks. [Former Heep man] David Byron’s father didn’t support what he did. It became a real issue. He had to move out of home and even change his name. Post navigation Sad news for North Melbourne FC: Hugh Greenwood out of the season due to…. Good news: He is back
