Whitesnake - North Winds (LP) - Black Ice Vinyl

Here’s the sneaky truth that trips up a lot of fans: Northwinds isn’t a Whitesnake record at all, it’s David Coverdale’s second solo album, released in 1978, and it’s the clearest signpost to the band he’d form later that year. If you love the bluesy swagger and late night soul that runs through early Whitesnake, this is the source material. Produced by Roger Glover, Coverdale’s old Deep Purple mate, it was cut in London and it sounds like players in a room, valves glowing, ideas still warm from the writing desk.

The opener, Northwinds, eases in with a rolling groove that favours feel over flash. Coverdale sings like a man who’s left the stadiums behind for a smoke-hazed club, his voice rich and lived in. Keep On Giving Me Love gives you the grit, a fat riff and that unhurried push that would become a Whitesnake calling card. You can practically hear the path forming toward Trouble and Lovehunter. Micky Moody’s guitar is all over this thing, tasteful and tangy, and his partnership with Coverdale here sets the tone for what comes next in the Whitesnake story.

What makes Northwinds special is how comfortable it is in its own skin. It doesn’t chase Deep Purple fireworks, and it never rushes to the chorus. Time and Again floats on a gentle pulse, the Hammond tucked in like an old friend, while Only My Soul stretches out with patient dynamics and a vocal that’s equal parts tenderness and steel. Queen of Hearts is a quiet highlight, a classy melody that Coverdale sings straight, no histrionics, just the weight of the lyric doing the work. Say You Love Me closes the set with a warm, open-hearted glow, the sort of slower tune that used to end side two and send you reaching for the needle again.

Glover’s production is a big part of the charm. He keeps arrangements lean, lets the rhythm section breathe, and sprinkles just enough colour to lift a chorus without smothering the song. You get that early evening mood all over the album, the kind of record that rewards a full spin rather than cherry-picking tracks. Put it on while making dinner and you’ll look up halfway through Only My Soul wondering where the hour went.

Historically, Northwinds matters. Coverdale had released White Snake in 1977, then this in 1978, and within months he’d launch Whitesnake proper with several of these players along for the ride. You can hear him stepping into a bandleader role, writing for his range, trimming the proggy corners in favour of R&B-inflected rock. It’s easy to see why fans who come in through the big eighties hits end up back here, chasing the roots of that voice. If you’re digging through Whitesnake vinyl, don’t skip this one just because the band name isn’t on the spine. It’s part of the family tree.

On wax, Northwinds really blooms. The low end is rounded, the cymbals sit sweetly, and Coverdale’s vocal keeps a little of that tape-room air around it. A clean original pressing or a well-cut reissue is worth the hunt. If you’re browsing a Melbourne record store on a Saturday, this is the sort of LP that hides in the Classic Rock bin between Purple offshoots and British blues sleepers. And if you prefer to buy Whitesnake records online, keep an eye out for Northwinds vinyl under Coverdale’s name, since shops sometimes file it with Whitesnake albums on vinyl anyway. For folks collecting vinyl records Australia wide, it’s an easy recommendation, a solid play from front to back.

Northwinds doesn’t chase trends, it sets a mood and sticks to it. That’s why it ages well. You get craftsmanship, you get songs that feel lived in, and you get that unmistakable Coverdale timbre, relaxed but ready to bite when the band leans into a riff. Spin it in the evening, pour something decent, and let it remind you that the road to Whitesnake wasn’t a pivot, it was a steady walk.