Not even a massive brain haemorrhage could stop the music: Shirley Whiteside reveals the remarkable courage of Frankie Miller

HE has a raw, rasping singing voice that hints at the pain and hardship of growing up poor on a dirt farm in Alabama or maybe a one-room shack in Tennessee. To the uninitiated it is always a

surprise to learn that the gritty, soulful growl belongs not to a black American bluesman but to Frankie Miller, a gallus Glas-wegian who showed the world that a white boy from Bridgeton could sing the blues.

The late 1970s and early 1980s saw Frankie Miller score a string of hit singles, including Be Good To Yourself, Darlin', and When I'm Away From You. When the chart hits dried up he continued with his music, becoming a prolific and highly respected songwriter. Ray Charles, Bob Seger, and Rod Stewart are among the many artists who have recorded his songs.

But four years ago the music suddenly stopped. Miller suffered a massive brain haemorrhage and was written off by doctors as a hopeless case, an empty shell of a man who would never walk or talk or play music again.

EX-S: A Stubborn Kinda Fella, to be shown on BBC1 Scotland on Wednesday,, follows Miller as he attempts to rebuild his life and resume his song-writing career.

He was born in the Bridgeton area of Glasgow in 1950. ''The voice - it was incredible even at an early age,'' says artist Jimmy Boyle, Miller's second cousin and a close friend. That incredible voice and Miller's fierce determination to become a singer eventually led him to London where, in the mid-1970s, he was signed up by record company Chrysalis.

Within a few years the good times rolled as Miller enjoyed hit records and critical acclaim. In 1979, he made his acting debut in Just A Boy's Game, delivering a powerful performance in the television drama written by Peter McDougall.

The two became friends and McDougall remembers arranging to meet Miller in a bar just off Sunset Strip in Los Angeles. Waiting with Billy Connolly for Frankie to arrive, Miller looked up to see him strutting down the street looking every inch a ''somebody''. ''He had a swagger you could dry a washing off,'' says McDougall.

In the summer of 1994, Miller was in New York to see his friend Joe Walsh play a sell-out concert at Shea Stadium as the Eagles, country-rock's super group, were reunited. After the concert Millerturned to Annette Creedon, his partner of three years, and said: ''This is a night you will always remember.'' It was a grim irony for these were almost his last words.

Later that night, Miller suffered a massive brain haemorrhage and lay unconscious for five months in a New York hospital.

He eventually regained consciousness, but medical staff said it was unlikely he would ever walk or talk again. Doctors advised Creedon to put Miller into care and get on with her own life. Courageously, Creedon refused to give up.

Then songwriter Graham Lyle, a long-time friend, visited Miller in hospital. Unsure whether Miller could hear or understand what he was saying, Graham put a guitar

in his hands and asked him to

play a chord. Without hesitation, Miller's fingers moved into the correct position on the neck of the guitar. ''That was the major turning point,'' says Creedon. She knew then that Miller was back and ready to set out on the long road to recovery.

MILLER spent another 20 months in hospital in America. On leaving, he returned to his home in London and slowly started to re-learn simple, everyday tasks, everything from walking and talking to cleaning his teeth. He also began a tough regime of speech therapy and physiotherapy which continues to this day. Throughout the past four years Miller has relied on the constant, reassuring presence of Creedon, whose love and loyalty knows no bounds. As old friend Billy Connolly comments, ''She's done everything from changing his nappies to teaching him to walk. She is a like a saint.''

The contrast between the slim-hipped seventies rocker wearing his trademark black hat and the middle-aged man of today, able to frame chords on a guitar with his left hand but not yet able to strum with his right, is sobering. But pity is not something Frankie Miller would thank you for nor does his attitude inspire it.

Every day his speech and mobility improve and he is obviously happy - serene even - and enjoying every moment of his life. He has a wicked sense of humour and brief glimpses of the bad boy rocker from the old days still survive as, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he flirts outrageously with the female physiotherapists during one of his regular therapy sessions.

Over the past year Miller has become involved with the Drake Music Project, a charity which promotes integration between disabled and able-bodied musicians. He has been working with project tutor Cormack O'Kane and has started writing songs again.

Recently, a celebrity band featuring Bonnie Tyler, Paul Carrack, and Jools Holland played one of Miller's new songs, Sun Comes Up, Sun Goes Down, at a fund-raising concert for the charity.

Will Jennings, co-writer of Celine Dion's monster hit My Heart Goes On, has written the words to music by Frankie. Against all the odds, the sun comes up, the sun goes down, and life goes on for Frankie Miller.

n EX-S: A Stubborn Kinda Fella, 10pm, Wednesday, BBC 1.