FLA 6: David Quantick (10/07/2022)

The Emmy-award winning David Quantick began writing for a living in the early 1980s, shortly after studying law at the University of London, and has barely stopped since. For thirteen years, he was at the New Musical Express, where he originated a torrent of reviews, articles and thinkpieces. There, his association with the late Steven Wells on such anarchic, hilarious columns as ‘Ride the Lizard!’ led to feedback from a young BBC radio producer called Armando Iannucci. Over thirty years after the astonishing On the Hour for Radio 4, David has continued to be a part of Armando’s writing team on such internationally acclaimed television projects as The Thick of It, Veep and most recently Avenue 5.

Frankly, David has written so much, there isn’t room to list it all: sketches for Spitting Image and The Fast Show, the first-ever internet sitcom (2000’s The Junkies, written with Jane Bussmann), Chris Morris’s Brass Eye and Blue Jam, and ten years of Harry Hill’s TV Burp, amongst many, many other things.

 

In recent years, David has turned to novel writing – his seventh novel, Ricky’s Hand, is out now – as well as writing the screenplay for the 2021 romcom feature film Book of Love, starring Sam Claflin and Verónica Echequi.

 

I have been a fan of David’s work since the 80s, and have since got to know him a little bit too, so was delighted when he agreed to join me on First Last Anything to discuss his love of music. And so, one morning in May 2022, he told me about his formative years in Plymouth and Exmouth, the appeal of K-pop, and how to review a new pop record. We hope you enjoy it.

 

 

 

 

DAVID QUANTICK

In the 60s, at first we didn’t have a record player, and then at some point, we got a Dansette from our neighbours Pam and Tony. For me, it was quite an influential thing because the records that came with it were some novelty singles: ‘Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini’, ‘Seven Little Girls Kissing and Hugging with Fred’, and there were some Val Doonican albums with novelty songs on like ‘Slattery’s Mounted Foot’ and ‘Paddy McGinty’s Goat’. But there were also two Goon Show albums, Best of the Goons, volumes one and two, my first exposure to recorded music.

 

Meanwhile, my dad used to love opera. We didn’t have any in the house, but he used to go a lot to the opera, and used to say it was rubbish if it was in English. If you could understand the words, it was no good. And he also used to go to musicals. He worked in London just after World War II, so he saw an amazing amount of original British productions of things like South Pacific and Oklahoma!

 

But what really takes me right back to my childhood is Nat King Cole. We had an album called The Nat King Cole Story, and it had links narrated by, I think, Brian Matthew. I still love Nat King Cole’s voice.

 

Later on, my parents were in the Readers Digest book and record club, so we had lots of Readers Digest box sets – country music, pop music, bit of classical. They liked Howard Keel, the light opera singer – and they liked The Carpenters, although my parents hated the fuzz guitar solo on ‘Goodbye to Love’ – I think they just thought it was a bit much.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

That solo’s like something invading from a different world.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

It does work for me, but it is a bit like having Jimi Hendrix on the Nat King Cole record.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

‘Yesterday Once More’ by The Carpenters is, I think, the first pop song I remember being a current, new record. Round about 1973. It’s weird to have, as one’s first-hand memory of pop music, a song that’s about nostalgia.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

The first like that I remember is ‘Hello Dolly!’ by Louis Armstrong, followed by ‘A Hard Day’s Night’, and that would have been on the BBC Light Programme. I would have been very little. 1964. Yeah, and I also remember my first TV musical memory – because we never watched Top of the Pops – was seeing John and Yoko getting off an aeroplane on the news [1969], wearing white suits like characters in The Champions.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

What do you remember about school music lessons?

 

DAVID QUANTICK

There was ‘banging things at primary school’. The BBC used to do these schools radio programmes called Time and Tune – there’d be an accompanying magazine and you’d play along with xylophones. The one I remember was basically making space sounds.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Time and Tune ran for years. We had that at infants school. A different story project every term. This sounds like it might have been ‘Journey into Space’ (first broadcast, spring 1965, repeated spring 1968).

 

DAVID QUANTICK

For years, with the Carpenters, I was convinced that the song we practised in the Time and Tune lessons was ‘Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft’ (1977), but obviously, as I would realise later on in life, that would have been impossible.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

And did you learn any musical instruments?

 

DAVID QUANTICK

When I was briefly at public school, I had piano lessons and the teacher asked if I was left-handed. I had oboe lessons and I got the cleaning feather stuck in that thing. I bought an acoustic guitar from the Burlington catalogue, the less famous version of the Freemans catalogue. And I think it was the obligatory Kay acoustic, because Kay made all the guitars that poor people had, and I couldn’t tune it. So I gave that up. That was my musical education as a child.

 

 —-

FIRST: WINGS: ‘Mull of Kintyre’ (1977, single, Parlophone)

JUSTIN LEWIS

So, the first single you ever bought. I think at the time the best-selling single there had ever been in Britain. Two million sales.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

Yeah, it outsold ‘She Loves You’ which made Macca very happy and Lennon less so. There was a great lie that I told for many years. When people asked me my first single, I used to tell them it was ‘Airport’ by the Motors, which was the second single I bought.

 

I had a school friend called Ewan, and whenever I talk about The Beatles, he still likes to say how embarrassing it was that I was a Beatles fan at school in the sixth form. This was just after punk, it was 1978, the Sid Vicious era of the Sex Pistols, Sham 69…  Now, we have this world of Beatles obsession and Beatles podcasts and remixes and all that. But back then… it wasn’t that the Beatles were loathed, but they were considered ‘boring’. They were summed up by ‘the Red and the Blue albums’, no-one had any of the other albums, and ELO had come along and stolen their crown and shat on it… Liking the Beatles, as I did, was just so naff. Ralph Wiggum would have liked The Beatles in 1978. And owning ‘Mull of Kintyre’ was even worse, I think.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

When I was first obsessed with pop music in the early 80s, Lennon had just died, so there was still a lot of ‘John’s the best Beatle’, but my other big obsession was TV comedy, and it soon became clear that Paul McCartney had become the whipping boy in comedy for everything that was square in pop music. I think that only really started to move on when he collaborated with Elvis Costello at the end of the decade [on Costello’s Spike and McCartney’s Flowers in the Dirt]. Costello did this interview where he just went, ‘Why’s everyone so rude about McCartney? He’s written more great songs than almost anyone else.’ I’m paraphrasing, but that kind of thing.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

Flowers in the Dirt was interesting, not just for having Costello, but it marked the beginning of McCartney just going, Fuck it, I’m not gonna do records that sound like everybody else. Then there’s the production shift. Every so often now, he’ll do a record with Nigel Godrich or Mark Ronson, but he’s basically saying, ‘I’ll just do what I want.’

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I wondered if Anthology (1995–96) was what really cemented The Beatles, because they’ve never really gone away since then. In the 70s, when I was a child, I don’t really remember hearing The Beatles on the radio. They might well have been played, but I just don’t remember it.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

It’s like if you went to a disco, as they were called then, a student disco, or a 60s night, you’d never hear The Beatles, even though some of their records are real stompers, like ‘Got to Get You Into My Life’ or ‘Get Back’… But you couldn’t play a Beatles record because it stands out too much, it’s like entering a lion in a cat show. It just doesn’t work in that context, even though in a real sixties disco, you would have followed the Kinks’ ‘You Really Got Me’ with ‘Day Tripper’ or whatever. I would love to see, actually, a transcript of a real 1966 DJ’s setlist. If there ever was such a thing.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

And you rarely, if ever, get the Beatles on multi-artist compilation albums.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

No, absolutely, and that’s why [Starsound’s] ‘Stars on 45’ (1981) was such a hit because you could go to a disco and dance to The Beatles. I mean, the legals were probably quite powerful on Beatles stuff on compilations. Like it’s weird when you watch a film and there’s a Beatles song in it. ‘How the hell did they clear that?’

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Just going back to ‘Mull of Kintyre’. You’d have been sixteen when it came out, and that does seem – if you don’t mind my saying, given what a massive fan of pop music you are – quite a late start for a first single. I mean, presumably, you were borrowing stuff from friends, or taping stuff off the radio – was there a record library?

 

DAVID QUANTICK

No, I didn’t have any of that. I liked comedy. As I say, it was rare for me to watch Top of the Pops, though I remember Alice Cooper’s ‘School’s Out’ because obviously I was at school. Queen’s ‘Killer Queen’ seemed a bit like a Gilbert and Sullivan or a Noël Coward song. But I would enjoy the Wurzels, the comedy records. I didn’t get rock. I literally didn’t. I preferred classical music. And I had some albums: Dark Side of the Moon which sounded amazing, and I had a Mike Oldfield box set which I loved…

 

I had changed schools a couple of times, felt a bit isolated, didn’t have a lot of friends, stayed in a lot. But then in the sixth form a couple of other kids came from different schools, and I became friends with them. They were popular kids and they liked punk and they liked John Peel. So I kind of skipped the entire history of rock music. I was hearing The Clash for the first time at the same time as I was hearing Motown for the first time.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

So when people talk about punk as ‘year zero’, you actually experienced it like that, because in a sense, you had no reference points. Or if you did, they were all from different areas of culture.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

Yeah. It was easy to get into punk and I started to understand riffs and why ‘dang-dang-dang’ was good, but I also like categories, and it was easy to spot what was punk. Olivia Newton-John wasn’t punk. The Dickies were. You felt a bit cool because you didn’t like disco – though obviously now I love disco. These were my new friends, and I liked what they my new friends liked.

 

And you could go to Lawes Radio which was a local music shop in Exmouth, selling radios and electronic equipment, but they subscribed to the indie chart so they would have Crass singles in the window display. And they were really nice people, but they knew they couldn’t compete with [WH]Smiths. They had a ‘30p Box’ that seemed to be crammed with early XTC singles.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

One of the aims of this series is to emphasise how record collections, especially early on, are almost accidents, because they’re based on how much money you have at that moment. What have the shops even got in stock? You might go to the shop expecting to buy Record X and they haven’t got it, but they have got record Y which is a bit cheaper. And also they’ve got that thing in the 10p bin which looks interesting. You’re buying a lot of things on a whim, you’re not curating it – that terrible word.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

It’s probably a bit more random. I would buy things that I’d heard, and I’d be embarrassed later. I had a single by a band called The Autographs called ‘While I’m Still Young’ (1978), which is great. It was a Mickie Most-concocted punk band, and it came on – I think – yellow vinyl.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I’m not familiar with this one! The mention of Mickie Most suggests it was on RAK Records.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

I think it was RAK, yeah. 30p. And I’d heard it on Roundtable, on Radio 1, and I loved it because I didn’t know any better. Of course I got rid of it when I realised… no-one ever told me to get rid of it, but I did. Now I look it up online and it’s not revered but it’s well-respected glam punk… It’s great. ‘While I’m Still Young’ – sung by some men who weren’t still young.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Knowing you a little bit, and hearing you on various podcasts and interviews talking about your early forays into writing, it occurs to me that you got into music journalism in the 80s, not directly because of music, but because it provided you with an outlet to write what you wanted. Because a lot of your background was liking comedy and novelists. And when you went to, particularly, the NME, in those days, you could write about authors, or cult films, or anything really. Didn’t you review the singles in the NME once as a Flann O’Brien parody?

 

DAVID QUANTICK

No, I wrote the gossip column as The Brother from Cruiskeen Lawn. It’s easy to parody. It’s basically: ‘This morning such and such happened’ and the other bloke who’s Flann O’Brien is going, ‘Is that a fact?’ So it’s a really good structure. I think we got one letter accusing the anonymous gossip column writer of racism. Because of course, there was no context, I didn’t explain this.

 

But it was great because you had to fill a weekly paper, all this space. The Thrills! section was meant to be interviews with up-and-coming bands, but there weren’t enough of those, so me and Stuart Maconie and Andrew Collins would fill it with comedy.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Somebody circulated on Twitter recently that Rock Family Trees parody the three of you worked on. An epic, incredible piece of work.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

They let us do anything then. And Stuart and Andrew were seconds away from being on Naked City on Channel 4 as columnists [co-hosted by the teenage Caitlin Moran], and I was a writer on that. But I hadn’t really fitted in at the NME in the 1980s, I hadn’t really liked the music. Then there was a sort of golden age when Alan Lewis and Danny Kelly were editing it [1987–92] – and I became friends with Andrew and Stuart. It was this wonderful thing when the NME was funny. You could write parodies, fake interviews. Working with Steven Wells [aka Swells] as well – we had two pages a week to write anything, which ended up with us working for Armando Iannucci.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Yes, apparently the piece he spotted was about classical music and how all stringed instruments are different-sized guitars. Like the cello is in fact a massive guitar.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

I’m always convinced that got us the job writing for On the Hour. Maybe because Armando didn’t like rock! Just to trot out my favourite cliché: the NME was ‘Cambridge for losers’. There’s a reason why me and Steven were one of the few writing teams in comedy who didn’t have an Oxbridge or public school education. And that’s because of Armando, you know – the back door route.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I saw you write the phrase ‘Nostalgia isn’t reviewing’ recently. As a reviewer, do you think your first impression of a record should be the one you stick with, regardless of whether you change your mind later?

 

DAVID QUANTICK

In real life, if you buy a record, and you play it, you love it because it’s by your favourite band, but you don’t really like it yet, because it’s a load of new music to take in. But you keep playing it, and generally the more you play it, the more you love it. You might even go back and play a record you hated but, because you’ve heard it every day, you love it.

 

But in terms of writing a review for a new record, you’ve only got your first impression. Your job is to try and imagine what you will think of it in the future, having heard it once. You’re livetweeting, to use a modern phrase, playing a record for the first time. What it sounds like compared to other things. Where does it fit in? And if you revisit an old review from a weekly music paper, there should be references in it that you won’t understand now. Like HERE COME THE HORSES or something. Because there should be references to where it fits that week ‘in June 89’. What I loathe, by the way, about Wikipedia, is they say things about old records like ‘allmusic.com gave it three stars’. Who cares? I want to know what Melody Maker said at the time.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

When I was about 18, in the late 80s, I probably spent more on music magazines than on records. Lots of the reviews was stuff you wouldn’t hear about, unless you happened to hear Radio 1 at the right moment, so you had to rely on a critic to convey what it might be like. That review had to work on the page as a piece of writing.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

I would have little rules when reviewing. I would always try and describe the music, but also name some of the songs, and maybe some lyrics, to give people something to hold on to. And I’d make comparisons, so say, the Wonder Stuff’s ‘Size of a Cow’: ‘It sounds like crusties doing Madness.’

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Which were useful, especially with records that Radio 1 might not play.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

With most of the NME bands, you could hear it on John Peel or the Evening Session. But when I started at the NME [1983], I got to interview the bands who nobody else wanted. Eddie and Sunshine, for instance, who were great. Or a bloke who’d been in Pilot. Records nobody else wanted to review. These were records you wouldn’t hear on John Peel. I reviewed Nikki Sudden records, because I’d liked Swell Maps, and they’re now re-evaluated as classic indie, but he wouldn’t get an interview in the NME because he was ‘five years ago’ and John Peel wouldn’t play it. Because he was like pre-Primal Scream. He was trying to make 60s rock music in an indie studio.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

For me, as a young person, there was also Saturday morning TV, or stuff in the afternoons. Which you don’t get anymore. And you could get quite unlikely bands in there because the music bookers have to fill the space, and so you could get quite leftfield music on kids’ TV. I once saw Pere Ubu acting as the musical interlude on Roland Rat – The Series [BBC1, 25/07/1988].

 

DAVID QUANTICK

I remember seeing Buzzcocks on a Saturday morning show, doing ‘Are Everything’.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I think that might have been Fun Factory [Granada, 1980].

 

DAVID QUANTICK

I also remember going with my friends Miaow, Cath Carroll’s band, to Alton Towers where I think they were filming Hold Tight! [ITV’s quiz and music show for children filmed at a theme park. This was the last episode, TX 23/09/1987.] It was a really weird day because I met Graham Stark from Peter Sellers’ stuff, who was sitting in a car (‘Are you Graham Stark?’ ‘Yes I am’) and Miaow were on, and Thomas Lear was on who’d been on Mute Records in the early 80s. It was more NME than the NME.

 

—-

LAST: PSY: ‘Gangnam Style’ (2012, single, YG)

JUSTIN LEWIS

I don’t notice lots of people my age championing K-pop, but you very much do.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

Like millions of people who aren’t sixteen, the obvious entry point with K-pop for me, about ten years ago, was ‘Gangnam Style’ by PSY. I love a novelty record, which stands out and isn’t like anything else. And then I discovered that I really liked K-pop, because bands like Girls’ Generation of Wonder Girls had taken the Girls Aloud template: largely five-piece female bands with really good dancefloor singles, and really great choruses.

 

Then I was writing a book set in the world of K-pop, which gave me excuses to immerse myself in Korean culture: movies, books, history, North and South. I also became obsessed with North Korean music – which is something we won’t go into now, but one of my proud moments was watching that Michael Palin series about North Korea. He was in a cafeteria there, and I recognised the song that was on in the background. It was ‘Let’s Work’ by the Moranbong Band. That made my day.

 

Then my wife Jenna really got into K-pop, we watch K-dramas together, and she’s a massive BTS fan, an expert in fact. I’m less a fan of BTS as a group, but their solo stuff… they were a rap crew but in various rap teams and their solo mixtapes are astonishing. They’re downloadable for free. If you just put ‘BTS solo mixtapes’ in Google, you can get the one by Agust D which is actually Suga from BTS. There’s a brilliant song called ‘Daechwita’ which I can’t pronounce.

 

This is quite common now, but about four years ago, I went into HMV in Maidstone, and I was shocked to see a separate K-pop section in there. All these big boxes, costing £30, containing a CD, often just an EP and photos and notebooks and stuff. My wife tells me that BTS get in trouble with the charts for that because including promotional material makes your album non-eligible for chart status. The sales of CDs are not counted. Also, BTS have released their new hits compilation with four unreleased demos on CD, which is doing the fans’ nuts in because they haven’t got CD players – because they’re kids.

 

But because of these K-pop boxes, they don’t integrate into the rest of the shop, and it makes K-pop look separate in the way that The Beatles were.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

What’s your perception of how British media treats K-pop?

 

DAVID QUANTICK

I’ve seen two approaches. The NME one, which is the current way of treating everything in the same breathless news way. And there’s the way the posh broadsheets treat it, which is like the sniffy way they used to treat pop. I’ve seen reviews of BLACKPINK and I start screaming at the computer. They don’t mention that none of the tracks from the last EP are on the album. They don’t mention the multiracial mixed line-up of the band. All they do is write, ‘I don’t really like this kind of music, but it reminds me a bit of something I do remember from the 90s’. It’s like reviewing The Osmonds. The sneer is back.

 

But what really gets on my nerves is that television still makes these documentaries where a light entertainment presenter goes to Seoul and has some weird food and says a few words of Korean and then goes to a karaoke bar… It just drives me absolutely spare. We’re still doing the funny foreigner approach?!

 

I like K-pop, not just for me to keep up with new music, but also because I find, due to my age and the circles I move in, that you’re always being dragged down by the hands of the dead. It’s so much easier for me to fill my iTunes with old stuff. I just bought a Bryan Ferry live album in 2020 in which he perfectly recreates some songs from fifty years ago. I just bought some Luxuria because I hadn’t heard much Howard Devoto stuff. I’m constantly buying old music that’s nice to have on the computer, but really I would like the percentage to be reversed: to buy 5 per cent old music, and 95 per cent new music.

 

But when you listen to the average pop single now, if you take off the vocals, it sounds like something John Peel would have played in 1983. Cutting things up, raps, post-post-post-sampling, post-post-Pop Will Eat Itself. Pop music now is NUTS. What I’ve been recently doing is driving around with Radio 1 on, and the records stop sounding the same when you hear them all together in a bunch.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Radio 1’s great at the moment, I think.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

The DJs are generally quite funny and, at worst, unobtrusive. An afternoon with Radio 1 is quite interesting these days. Yeah, there’s a lot of generic stuff, but even so.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

My two favourite radio stations now are Radio 1 and Radio 3 and although they’re entirely different in presentation, I like that both stations are playing about 80 per cent stuff I don’t already know. Radio 2 drives me up the wall a bit. They have a habit of turning records you used to love into wallpaper.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

If you turned on Radio 2, now, any time, what’s playing? What’s the record? I’ll tell you mine.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

It feels like it should be ‘We Built This City’.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

See for me, it’s ‘You Keep It All In’ by The Beautiful South. I’ve got no evidence for this.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

In the early 90s, when Radio 2 was still quite MOR, it felt like any time it came out of a news bulletin, they’d start the next hour with ‘Going Loco Down in Acapulco’ by the Four Tops. [Laughter]

 —

ANYTHING: PADDY MCALOON: ‘I’m 49’ (2003, from I Trawl the Megahertz, Liberty Records, reissued under Prefab Sprout name, 2019, Sony Music)

JUSTIN LEWIS

Was this Paddy McAloon solo record a big surprise to you, given how different it was from usual Prefab Sprout records?

 

DAVID QUANTICK

It wasn’t a big surprise because I’d got used to the idea of artists doing something completely different and there were loads of reasons for Paddy doing it, to do with his health.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Now reissued under the Prefab Sprout name.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

That repetition of ‘I’m 49, divorced’. The way Paddy had slowed the voice down to make it sound more melancholic. It was like a Gavin Bryars record.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

It really is reminiscent of ‘Jesus’ Blood Never Failed Me’.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

With Prefab Sprout, I hadn’t really been a fan. I liked some odd songs by them, ‘Cruel’, stuff on Swoon, the first album. But it sounded a bit old school – corporate and irritating at the same time. Like I loathe Steely Dan and that kind of jazzy pop. But then I heard ‘I’m 49’ and it was brilliant. Makes me like Prefab Sprout a bit more.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

At one point on ‘I’m 49’, in this mass of sampled voices from radio phone-ins, there’s a sample of someone going ‘What’s wrong?’ Which I thought sounded not unlike your voice, strangely enough. Turns out it was apparently Jimmy Young [then of Radio 2, doing the Jeremy Vine phone-in slot]. And it also makes me think of Chris Morris’s Blue Jam series on Radio 1, which of course you wrote on, and I don’t know if Paddy had heard that. That mixture of comforting music and disturbing voices.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

It reminds me of Different Trains by Steve Reich as well. The voices cutting in like a countermelody. But with I Trawl the Megahertz as a whole, I’m a bit like the person who went to see David Bowie in 1970, just so they could hear ‘Space Oddity’. I play ‘I’m 49’, but I don’t really play the rest of the record.

 

It’s so out of character, for Paddy McAloon to do something that’s not song based, because he’s such a song obsessive. It’s obviously to do with the way he felt at that point. Middle-aged pop stars either ignoring it like Mick Jagger, or to start eating yourself like Bowie referencing himself on The Buddha of Suburbia. Or McCartney making Britpop with the Flaming Pie album. But what Paddy McAloon does here is express the way I felt about being middle-aged. Ironically now, because that was 20 years ago. But now it’s a really brilliant, really effective piece of music. The whole record, you only need that slowed down sample of a man saying, ‘I’m 49, divorced.’

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

There’s a new film you’ve written, Book of Love, and the composers have actually soundtracked your film with original songs. They didn’t just choose stuff from a back catalogue of hits. What was it like having your screenplay as a sort of jumping off point for their work?

 

DAVID QUANTICK

It was really nice to have a soundtrack. I had no consultation at all with the composers, because once they started making this film which was in Mexico and I couldn’t go, I was kind of outside the process. When I was writing the screenplay, I had different music in mind, a lot of reggaeton. But I love the soundtrack we’ve got. It’s an odd mix, but it works quite well because you know, it’s British and Mexican, and romantic and comedy as well. Romcoms are weird because you know it’s a comedy but it’s also a ‘rom’ so you have to have romantic scenes.

 

I do sometimes listen to music when I’m writing. With my novel, All My Colors, which was meant to be a Stephen King pastiche set in the 80s, I just listened to the Stranger Things soundtrack and that just led me to John Carpenter. When I wrote another novel, Night Train, that was fun because I listened to train songs, and none of the songs have got anything to do with each other except that they’re all about trains and quite a lot of them go dig-dig-dig-dig-dig.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Obviously you’ve also been a song lyricist – Spitting Image as far back as the 80s, and more recently 15 Minute Musical (for Radio 4) and other things too. What’s your approach to writing musical lyrical parody?

 

DAVID QUANTICK

I don’t know what my approach is. Brevity. It’s restrictions, really. With 15 Minute Musical, there was one, which sounds insane now… about Julian Assange being in the Embassy and it was set to a pastiche of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.

 

When I wrote lyrics for Spitting Image songs, I wrote a song parodying U2, ‘I Still Don’t Know What I’m On About’ [1987], Bono talking in meaningless phrases. I wrote that solely for the one line, ‘You can change the world, but you can’t change the world.’

 

And I’m really pleased I wrote a rejected Pet Shop Boys parody for Spitting Image. When I told Neil Tennant the lyric, he claimed to be entertained. ‘Let’s run away together if we’re willing/Those eclairs are never a shilling.’

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Very good.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

As they’ve written at least two songs in which Neil Tennant tells somebody else that they should run away together.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

‘Two Divided by Zero’ and…

 

DAVID QUANTICK

‘One More Chance’.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I’m presuming with the songs, like the sketches, you weren’t on the writing team, you just sent stuff in as a freelancer.

 

DAVID QUANTICK

Yeah, I remember being invited up to the studio by the producer, Geoffrey Perkins, who kindly paid the train fare, and I went to see the U2 item being filmed. So I met the Bono puppet – and I was quite impressed, because they’d only just made it. They hadn’t done many groups because once you’ve made an Edge puppet, what the fuck do you do with it?

 

And that connection with Geoffrey led me to a weird period when I was a music suggester for Saturday Live and Friday Night Live, the Ben Elton vehicles. Geoffrey and the other producer, Geoff Posner, said, ‘You’re a music journalist. We don’t really know what bands to get.’ It was great, because their idea of a new band was not mine, and not the NME’s, so I would suggest people like The Pogues and Simply Red. I think I got a credit and fifty quid, something like that.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

You’ve got a family now, obviously. Do your kids introduce you to music you’ve not heard before yet?

 

DAVID QUANTICK

They like The Beatles and they’re starting to like BTS. They really like The Wombles. That’s probably me pushing a bit because I know Mike Batt and I wanted to show off that I know Mike Batt.

 

But one of the things I loved about writing on TV Burp was that Harry Hill had older children, and was pretty up on the pop scene, and he would drop a lot of references to contemporary hits into his work, and it was nice because it wasn’t just indie. Working in comedy in the 90s for me, because I was a music journalist, all the stand-ups would make me mixtapes. And it was horrible because they just made me NME-type tapes. Don’t ever talk to a stand-up about their music collection, because it’s all fucking Pavement.

 ——

David Quantick’s novel Ricky’s Hand was published in August 2022 by Titan Books.

Book of Love can currently be streamed at NOW TV Cinema and Amazon Prime. It triumphed at the Imaagen Awards 2022, winning Best Primetime Movie.

The second series of Avenue 5 began airing on Sky in the UK in autumn 2022.

David has now written three series of BBC Radio 4’s Whatever Happened to Baby Jane Austen? starring Dawn French and Jennifer Saunders. In both 2023 and 2024, it won the British Comedy Guide’s Award for Best Radio Sitcom.

In late 2024, he began co-hosting The Old Fools, a very funny podcast series with fellow comedy writer Ian Martin and special guests every week. You can listen to it at Apple here, or wherever you listen to podcasts: https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast/the-old-fools/id1774465485  

For tons more on David’s life, career and news, as well as regular new short stories, his website is at davidquantick.com

You can follow him on Bluesky at @quantick.bsky.social

—-

FLA Playlist 6

David Quantick

(For the time being, this site and project uses Spotify for the conversation playlists, but obviously I disapprove that Spotify doesn’t pay artists and composers properly, and other streaming platforms are available, as are sites to buy downloads and buy recordings. For consistency, you can also listen to the selections via YouTube (where available), and links are provided in each case, below.)

Track 1: THE GOONS: ‘Ying Tong Song’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=33-fVsL5Kdc

Track 2: NAT ‘KING’ COLE: ‘Dance Ballerina Dance’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rlsy4te7jY4

Track 3: CARPENTERS: ‘Goodbye to Love’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YarvI9eCa8Q

Track 4: WINGS: ‘Mull of Kintyre’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Plhtk_XJqhM

Track 5: THE MOTORS: ‘Airport’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aS7dnNVidjA

Track 6: THE AUTOGRAPHS: ‘While I’m Still Young’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o5xBh8ELOfY

Track 7: MIAOW: ‘Break the Code’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9gzX2kNa7O4

Track 8: BUZZCOCKS: ‘Are Everything’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fNX59sdaPcw

Track 9: PSY: ‘Gangnam Style’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cGc_NfiTxng

Track 10: AGUST D: ‘Daechwita’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8TWQg4z9Ic8

Track 11: BLACKPINK: ‘DDU-DU DDU-DU’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IHNzOHi8sJs

Track 12: PADDY McALOON [now credited to Prefab Sprout]: ‘I’m 49’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cenwtYd7HFo

Track 13: PETER EJ LEE, MICHAEL KNOWLES, JENNIFER KNOWLES: ‘Book of Love’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QCg3PQuTNzw&list=PLyW-9UYLk9O2fSb_HYzGfl45t771DSTvD

Track 14: RED ONE, DADDY YANKEE, FRENCH MONTANA AND DINAH JANE: ‘Boom Boom’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2a4gHAiXo7E

 

FLA 5: Fenella Humphreys (03/07/2022)

(c) Matthew Johnson

Fenella Humphreys is one of the most acclaimed, technically dazzling and imaginative violinists in Britain. In 2018, she won the BBC Music Magazine Instrumental Award, and her performing and recording career has seen her playing a wide range of concertos, chamber music and solo work. She has collaborated with numerous other artists including the pianists Martin Roscoe, Peter Donohoe and Nicola Eimer, singers Sir John Tomlinson and Sir Willard White, the oboist Nicholas Daniel, and the conductor (and previous FLA guest) Lev Parikian.

She is committed not just to keeping the music alive of such established composers as JS Bach, Vaughan-Williams, Tchaikovsky, Sibelius and Paganini, but of championing new works – the many composers whose works she has premiered in her career include Sally Beamish, Sir Peter Maxwell Davies, Adrian Sutton and Cheryl Frances-Hoad. A typical concert of hers, and indeed a typical CD running order, will pinball between the past and the contemporary, to terrific effect, and her recordings regularly receive five-star reviews in the classical music press.

Fenella’s working schedule is almost as jaw-dropping as her playing, and so I consider myself very fortunate that she took time out to talk to me on First Last Anything about her music career. As well as discussing her choices, we talked about her working life as a contemporary musician, about the pros and cons of perfectionism, about how to practise music, about how the memory of music can survive ‘in one’s fingers’ – and about how lockdown changed her perception of concert audiences for the better.

I learned such a lot about music performance and interpretation in this conversation, and I hope you find it as interesting and enlightening as I did.  

 



FENELLA HUMPHREYS

My dad was a painter, an artist, he worked from home, and he listened to Radio 3 unless the cricket was on, in which case it was Test Match Special. For him, anything that wasn’t classical music was not music! He hated pop music, he hated anything else. He loved Mozart, he loved loads of later composers, but [for him] the best music was Bach – after Bach it went slightly downhill! But he had an enormous record collection, and he wanted me to listen seriously to classical music.

 

He was always giving me music to listen to. The first recording that really made an impression was the Britten Violin Concerto. I remember sitting in the car on the way to borrow a new violin from a trust, and listening to it, mind blown. It remains one of my favourite works to perform. He also used to take me to the Festival Hall, so that’s always a special place to be. Just that walk across the bridge from the Embankment to the South Bank, with him holding my hand, just the two of us. If life is being difficult, I will go and stand on that bridge – because there’s a sense of comfort standing there, with those memories.

 

But really from the beginning, he would sit me down at home, to play me something, and every week it was something different. Very occasionally, it was Shakespeare plays – but mostly it was music. And he was very much choosing the piece of music. For years, he wouldn’t let me listen to Beethoven’s Violin Concerto because he thought the music was so perfect, and he didn’t think I had the attention span or that I would understand it. He thought that I shouldn’t be allowed to destroy it for myself by listening to it when I wasn’t yet ready for it. It became almost a block for me – it was too perfect to go near. But when I learnt it, I thought, ‘It’s wonderful music – no question about that, but no more perfect than a lot of other pieces of music, it’s just a bit longer.’

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Did it feel like, ‘Right, you’re ready for this piece, now you’re ready for that piece’?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

There was a bit of that. But with Beethoven, for my dad, that one work was on such a massive pedestal that he was scared to let me break it.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I got a bit stuck with perfectionism, especially when I was young, and especially with playing music. That I could never be quite good enough.

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

Perfectionism makes me think about Mozart. When I was growing up, everybody would say how perfect he and his music was, all so beautiful and crystalline… and so I grew up thinking you couldn’t put a foot wrong with Mozart, and so I never played Mozart well. Then I had some coaching with [the conductor] Colin Davis, who had the absolute opposite attitude: Mozart was a human being. The characters in his operas have huge variety, and if you’re so trained on never being wrong and always being perfect, you can’t explore those characters. But also reading Mozart’s letters, you discover he was not this saintly, godly person… [Laughs] …quite the opposite. So, without that humanity, you’re never going to play it to the best of your ability, and certainly not to the best of the music’s ability. That was an amazing lesson to me, and it changed everything for me overnight when that happened.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

How old would you have been when you had that epiphany, roughly?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

Probably about eighteen or nineteen. It was brilliant to suddenly think, Oh, you’ve had it wrong all these years. Now you can go and enjoy playing Mozart! [Laughs]

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Your latest CD recording, Caprices, was, I believe partly inspired by overcoming another block. That a violin teacher when you were younger told you that you ‘couldn’t’ play Paganini. Do you know why he said that?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

He was kind of old school. Once, four of us from school went on this amazing concert tour abroad, and we were discussing what repertoire we were taking. And when I said, ‘I really want to play this piece’, he said, ‘No, because people I know are going to hear you, and basically they’ll judge me on the way you play.’ That really knocked me – I spent the whole tour worrying that I was going to give my teacher a bad reputation, just by playing the violin. Which I find both shocking, that any teacher would say that to a student, but also funny, to be teaching with that attitude. So, with Paganini, I’d already been playing that with a previous teacher, but he didn’t think I was good enough. And then later, I did one Paganini caprice with him – and it was like pulling teeth. So, rather than just sucking it up and going away and practising, I stopped doing it. But I was perfectly good enough to be doing it – when I look at the other repertoire I was doing at the time. It wasn’t any different – it just didn’t have Paganini’s name attached to it.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

As I’m somebody who doesn’t play violin, can you explain what it is about Paganini that is so difficult, or at least is seen as so difficult?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

He built such a name for himself, and became world famous by being such an extraordinary virtuoso, and having this amazing stage presence, like a rock star. It wasn’t that nobody did technically difficult stuff prior to him – because they did – but maybe not quite in the same way for a while. The thing is, it’s a very specific show-off technique, and his caprices really are the pinnacle of that sort of virtuoso work. There are great virtuoso works from people like Pablo de Sarasate (1844–1908), later on, but there’s certainly not anyone from Paganini’s era who’s remained in our knowledge of that history. Paganini’s still a household name, and none of the violinists who followed him were. So there’s that massive spotlight shone on him, for very good reasons.

 

When you think about works like Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto [composed 1878], which comes a bit later, which was seen as unplayable by the person it was written for, Leopold Auer, I don’t think it’s probably all that less difficult than Paganini. But with Tchaikovsky, you come to it thinking about the music, whereas certainly growing up, with Paganini, you think it’s all about the technique. So there was that block for me, that it was all about the virtuosity, not the music.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

A more contemporary musician and composer you’ve recorded for Caprices is the American Mark O’Connor. How did you come across him?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

That was recent. I knew of him as a bluegrass violinist. My producer Matthew Bennett had been concerned that an album of caprices would be all fast and loud and virtuosic, and I knew I had to be more and more searching in my attitude to the programming. I spent a lot of time on Google, and found the O’Connor Caprices. I was so excited, and I realised you could download the music from his website. I played some friends the beginning of each track to choose one, because I couldn’t decide, and I could only have one on the album. But they’re all really good. He’s an amazing musician.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I first saw him, funnily enough, on a TV series in the 80s called Down Home. It was Aly Bain, the Scottish fiddler, doing a travelogue documentary series…

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

Oh!

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

…You’d love it. Don’t know if it’s online now.

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

Someone will have uploaded it.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I hope so. A compilation CD came out as well [The Legendary Down Home Recordings, Lismor Recordings, 1990]. It was him visiting Nova Scotia, the Appalachians, Nashville, Louisiana and finding and playing with all the fiddlers who lived in these places. And that’s how I first saw Mark O’Connor.

Aly Bain and Mark O’Connor, from Down Home (Pelicula Films for Channel 4, first broadcast Mar/Apr 1986)

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

I discovered people like Aly Bain at music college, when I met Seonaid Aitken, whose work also appears on Caprices. She introduced me to Scottish fiddle music – we’d sit in corridors and she’d teach me tunes. I would love to take a year’s sabbatical, and go and learn how to play fiddle music properly from different people. But it’s never gonna happen – it’s a language to them, and I’m always going to be ‘a classically trained violinist who’s trying to play fiddle music’. So I guess I try and find a mid-ground, almost the way I approach Bach. With both Bach and Scottish fiddle music, I know how the people who know what they’re doing play it. I know I have a specific technique that’s very hard to walk away from. And I don’t want to play it in the way that my contemporary classical training tells me I should play. 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Do you think the nature of classical music, whatever the instrument, is the interpretative nature of it? That it’s still notes on a page, and folk is generally taught aurally?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

It’s like, if someone’s been classically trained, in ballet, and they try and do another dance form, there’s almost this stiffness, and trying to break out of that would be extremely difficult. Similarly, if you’ve been classically trained as a violinist, you’ve been perfecting this technique for years, and suddenly somebody’s saying, ‘Yeah but forget all that, because that doesn’t work here’, and so it’s finding new ways. But for instance, playing the really fast triplets in some folk fiddle reels – if I try and do that with my classical bow technique, I can’t do it. I have to find a new way of holding my bow, holding my arm. It’s something way more relaxed, that isn’t focused on projection. Letting go of trying too hard, actually.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

And it’s a risk. You’ve spent all this time, this is your career, this is what you’ve wanted.

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

But then Seonaid is an incredible classical violinist, and also an incredible folk fiddler. And I met this incredible Finnish violinist, Pekka Kuusisto, on a music festival course when I was still in college. In Finland, they have both traditions and he’s as comfortable in either. He did this amazing performance at the Proms where he played some Finnish folk music and got the audience singing along.

Pekka Kuusisto: Encore – My Darling is Beautiful (BBC Proms, 5 August 2016)

JUSTIN LEWIS

In 2022, as well as Caprices, you’ve also released an album with the pianist Joseph Tong, of violin and piano music by Sibelius. I adored that album. You mentioned to me that you came across those when you were a student.

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

This is Pekka again! [Giggles] At that same festival, he said to me, ‘Didn’t you know that Sibelius wrote all of this music for violin and piano?’ I knew the [violin] concerto, the Sonatina, and the Humoresques, but nothing else. So I looked up all this other music, very expensive, but I ended up slowly piecing together all these collections and sets of music, and programming and performing them. And everybody was loving the music, but nobody ever performs it, although the ‘Romance’ (Opus 78) is often given to students. Maybe it’s expensive to buy the parts. But because nobody plays it, you don’t hear it, therefore you don’t know that it’s there. That was the case for me. So when Joe asked me to record it all, I was definitely going to say yes to that! Until Opus 81, Sibelius wrote them as bread-and-butter music, salon pieces for his publisher, so he could earn a living. Once he’d got his stipend, he didn’t have to worry about feeding himself, he was always going to be looked after, so everything after that, he wrote because he wanted to. They get really odd, but in a really wonderful way.

—-

FIRST: R.E.M.: Out of Time (1991, Warner Bros.)

Extract: ‘Shiny Happy People’

JUSTIN LEWIS

Going back a bit, let’s talk about your first purchase.

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

As I say, my dad wouldn’t listen to anything non-classical.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

This was a rebellion for you.

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

Absolutely. I think I was in upper fifth at school, and we had a common room where Capital Radio was always on. But already, before that, in the art room, our art teacher had a record collection, and would let us put music on to listen to. He had loads of 60s and 70s stuff. That was my introduction to Police and Sting… and loads of non-classical music, while at home, I would play generally-loud-and-annoying pop and rock in my bedroom. I felt like a mega-rebel for buying an REM album, from HMV. I think someone in my class at school had played it to me. And I just wanted to keep listening to it, which meant having my own copy.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Did you listen to much pop subsequently?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

On youth orchestra tours, I was introduced to Beatles albums on the coach. I know Beatles 1 very well. [Laughs] And then I went to study in Germany, where I was listening to German radio a lot, but I was mostly buying things like Rachmaninoff playing Rachmaninoff, and the great pianists of the first half of the twentieth century. Ancient music!

 

I went through a period of not being very happy, and the more unhappy I was, the less I listened to music. Although little things shone through. I played in a tango festival, and the double bass player copied me some CDs, one of which was John Coltrane’s Ballads. I listened to that relentlessly, and I still go back to that album whenever I just need a hug.

 

Then about six years ago, my whole life kind of changed, and as I was coming out of this darkness, I was really beginning to listen to other music I didn’t know. When I started seeing my boyfriend, one of the first things he did – because he couldn’t believe I didn’t know loads of music – was he did a Spotify playlist for me of all his favourite tracks. It introduced me to so many bands, so many musicians, got me going out, buying albums, and listening to this whole wealth of music that I just didn’t know about. It just makes life so much more colourful.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

It sounds like what’s happened to you with pop, discovering more, has happened to me with classical. I knew bits, but not lots. And sometimes, you’re just looking or listening in a different direction anyway. It’s not like you can be immersed in everything.  

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

When you’re doing music for a living, you can get to the point where, if you’ve been focused on playing music all day, you don’t want to listen to any more, even another sort of music… Quite often, I want to veg, and if I’m listening to classical music, then I’m concentrating.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Is it possible for you to listen to classical music and not have an analytical head on?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

I have to be in the right frame of mind, listening to musicians I really trust so I can sit back from that analytical mindset. When it’s people I don’t trust, that’s more difficult, and I start thinking, ‘Why did you do that?’ I hate that attitude, though – if we all came and did the same carbon-copy performance, it’d be no good for anybody. At the same time, when something then becomes nonsensical because of musical decisions or because they’ve ignored something in the score, the performance isn’t going to make sense. But I love concerts, where I can just sit. Especially with new music you don’t know, or with supporting composer/performer friends. You’re sitting there waiting, to listen in a generous way. You’re not going to sit there, picking them apart!

LAST: ELLA FITZGERALD: Best Of (Decca)

Extract: ‘It’s Only a Paper Moon’ (1945 recording, with the Delta Rhythm Boys)

ENELLA HUMPHREYS

I’ve taken to trawling the charity shops for LPs, mostly for jazz albums. The last I got was Best of Ella Fitzgerald. When I was young, when my dad wasn’t looking, we’d get my mum’s little box of records out: Tom Lehrer, Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. I loved them all, but all the jazz standards were amazing, and Ella and Louis doing songs from Porgy & Bess were so great. When I was twelve or so I started learning some Jascha Heifetz arrangements of the Porgy & Bess songs on violin, and then I could listen to their recording as much as I wanted! But I was in love with the quality of Ella’s voice – it was like nothing else. I did have some of these on CD later, but it wasn’t the same. So now when I see them in vinyl, I grab them.

—-

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

On your Patreon, you share clips of some of your practice sessions. I don’t know if this is how you see it, but it feels like a demystification of practice. Because I think of people such as yourself, and think, ‘You’re amazing’, but obviously when you’re in practice mode, it’s still always, in a sense, work in progress. I’ve started practising the flute again recently, after a very long break away from it, and it’s been very inspiring, from watching your practice videos, to realise that it’s about slow improvement from wherever you currently are. You’ve been a big inspiration!

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

Oh, thank you. It doesn’t matter who you are, what level you’re at, it’s all about the practising – and little and often. Obviously, for me, it’s dependent on what my day brings – not every day can be, like, seven hours of practice – but for kids learning or adults coming back to music, five minutes of good, solid work a day is way better than one hour, one day a week. However good that hour is. Because with five or ten minutes, you’re training your brain, your fingers, your ears, in a really concentrated way. With practice, as long as it’s done in a focused, thinking, ears-open sort of way, you’re always improving. Even if it doesn’t feel like it in the minute, and you feel like you’re going one step forward, two steps back… If you don’t do that, then nobody – whether you’re a beginner or Itzhak Perlman – can get away without doing the work.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Your Twitter bio reads ‘mostly chained to a hot violin’ – is it about keeping the instrument warm?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

There is a saying in the music world: You don’t practise one day, you can hear it. You don’t practise two days, the critics can hear it. You don’t practise three days, the audience can hear it. There’s a real truth in that. If I don’t play today, and I go and do a concert tomorrow without having practised, I’ll really know about it.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Even if nobody else does?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

I don’t think anyone else would. But I’d know about it. If I go in with the approach of ‘Don’t be hard on yourself, if you mess anything up’, then you probably won’t mess anything up. But if I know I haven’t practised, the flexibility in my fingers doesn’t quite feel the same, or the way the strings feel under the fingers, or the way the bow feels in my hand. I’m sure a lot of it’s psychological. Because how, when you’re doing it constantly, could two days of not touching the instrument have that effect, and I’m sure it can’t. But we’re so used to the idea of ‘you can’t go on stage if you haven’t put the hours in’…

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Especially when everything is so demanding, technically.

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

Yeah. And everything is on this tiny knife-edge. The increments, for something to be right or wrong, on the violin, especially the higher up [the fingerboard] you get, and with so much double-stopping as well, running around like crazy, lots of massive shifts… There’s such a tiny difference between something being right and wrong. So you have to give yourself the best chance of it being right.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

When I interviewed the conductor Lev Parikian in episode 1 of this series, who’s worked with you a lot, he mentioned a phrase you use when discussing repertoire or programming a concert: ‘Let me see if it’s in the fingers.’

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

Yes.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Now, that ties in with what you were just saying, about the link between the brain and the hands. You’ve got the mental memory of the repertoire, in your head, much of it you’ve probably carried around for many years, but also there’s the memory that’s in your fingers.

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

Yes. When you talk to people who know anything about science, or psychology, quite often they’ll tell me that everything I say is complete nonsense, but I know how it feels! For example, yesterday, I had to play this very virtuosic piece by Sarasate called ‘Navarra’, which is for two violins and either piano or orchestra. I’d been asked at quite short notice to do this – and I thought, I’ll make it work, because it was at Buckingham Palace! I’d not performed inside there before – I had been to the galleries but that’s all. I decided I’d do it, and I remembered the piece being really tricky, but I could vaguely remember it by ear. So I got them to send the music to me, because my music’s in storage at the moment.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

It hadn’t seemed like a priority piece?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

No, there was no sense that I would ever have played it again. They sent me the music, I started reading through it, and I thought, ‘It’s like I played this last week.’ But I hadn’t since I was 13, maybe 14. Yet somehow, my fingers remember it so well. And I would never have played it very well as a kid, I don’t think, because I wasn’t good enough at that age. I find that just utterly random – that your brain has internalised something so well, from when you were a child…

 

Whereas I recently went back to a Bach concerto that I studied very seriously with my first proper teacher. My old copy was so full of markings I could barely read the music, so I got a new copy. I was practising it, thinking, ‘Why am I shifting like this? This is very strange.’ I checked my old copy, and clearly written in the music is my teacher telling me exactly how to do that shift. So even the mechanics of something like that can be retained by your muscle memory. Some people say muscle memory doesn’t exist, but it HAS to, because otherwise I wouldn’t have been doing that. Unless my subconscious is telling me.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I’m not a scientist either! Sometimes you retain unexpected versions of memory. With the flute practice I mentioned earlier, I’d kept all the sheet music from my teens. So I went back, opened the box. I’ve not had a lesson since 1990! When I was twenty. I’m being kind to myself at the moment: ‘Let’s get the Grade V pieces right first.’ And I was really surprised by how much I remembered, how much came flooding back very quickly. But all the way along, the past thirty years, my fingers have often been playing, without the instrument being there. That fingers stuff has still been there, subconsciously. Do you do that?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

All the time. Subconsciously, but also purposefully. Weirdly, if I’m struggling to get off to sleep, I find if I just sit and play something on my arm, I quite often find that lulls me. Which is the opposite of what it should be doing, of course. [Laughs]

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

But it’s a kind of release or reassurance, I guess?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

You can just lull yourself into a piece, and concentrate on it because you’re playing it, but gradually, quietly, it goes into your subconscious mind. Sometimes I’ll do it with something I’m actually playing, but often I’ll do it with Bach’s Chaconne, because even though the overall structure is huge and changeable, because there’s this repeated eight-bar ground bass line underpinning it all the way through, there’s something quite lulling about concentrating on that.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

So how quickly did you or people around you start to think, ‘You know what? You’re musical’?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

Musically, when I was teeny-tiny. We didn’t have a piano, but my dad was really into Early Music, and he’d made a kit spinet, like an early form of a keyboard instrument. And if I was teething, and grouchy, the only thing which would placate me was playing notes on the keyboard. A little bit later, somebody gave me one of these plinkety-plonk boxes, like a one-octave piano keyboard on the front. My mum says that nobody could figure out how to play a tune on it, but I’d just sit there for hours playing tunes that sounded like tunes.

 

And with the violin, my brother was learning, and I probably had tantrums about not being allowed to play the violin. So eventually they let me have lessons as well. [My first teacher was] a bit of a disaster, but when I went to the next teacher, who was a wonderful violinist, I think I was learning really quickly, and was obviously extremely keen, and loved it. When I was asked what I was going to be when I grew up, I’d always say, ‘I’m going to be a violinist, a pianist, a singer and a ballet dancer.’ Because I’d started dancing way before playing a musical instrument. I did ballet shows from when I was two. That was what I really wanted to do – but I wasn’t good enough!

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Has dancing helped you with violin playing, just in terms of movement and physicality?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

Definitely with posture, and stage presence, so I was used to presenting myself on stage. When I was little, in ballet class, they would bang on about how the first foot you put on stage is the beginning of your performance. If you slope on stage, like you’re sorry to be there, immediately that’s giving a certain impression of your playing to the audience. But also, anything that gives you knowledge of your muscles, knowledge of how to use your limbs, has to help.

—-

ANYTHING: JOSEF HASSID: Teenage Genius (2017 compilation, Digital Grammophon)

Extract: ‘Hebrew Melody’

 

 JUSTIN LEWIS

Growing up, were there particular musicians you regarded as role models?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

I tended to be interested in people who moved me with their playing. So when I was little, as far as the violinists went: Fritz Kreisler (1875–1962), and also this guy called Josef Hassid (1923–50). He totally changed my life.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I was just reading up about Josef Hassid yesterday. A Polish-born violinist in England who was diagnosed with schizophrenia when he was just seventeen.

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

What an extraordinary talent, and what an extraordinary waste. If he’d been born just fifty years later, when people had a bit more understanding about the brain, that the answer wasn’t always to cut bits out of it. You just think of what we lost.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I checked newspaper archives but couldn’t find obits. The Wikipedia page alone is a horrifying read. But the recordings I just sampled were remarkable.

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

There are just eight little pieces. That’s all we have left of him. But at least with those recordings, we can hear just how extraordinary that playing was – that vibrato, that sound. The whole musicality is just unforgettable.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Some of these recordings from so long ago can really cut to you. From the dawn of recorded sound. Obviously by the standards of later recording techniques, it sounds primitive but…

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

My dad had a lot of these recordings, not just Hassid, but much earlier ones. Unfortunately, a lot of the recordings from the early 1900s, people like Joseph Joachim, were of people at the end of their careers. You look at the writing of the time, people who knew Joachim, saying, ‘This is not how he sounded when he was playing with Brahms’, when they were working on the concerto together [in the late 1870s]. His hands were older, to some extent had seized up, so you can’t presume that’s how vibrato sounded then. That’s how an old man was playing vibrato. And we all know that, as we get older, and our hands seize up a bit, you physically can’t do it. The recordings are an amazing thing to have, but we can’t take them as what it was really like, or as a guide.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

It’s the closest we’ve got.

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

Yeah. I also loved the French violinist Ginette Neveu (1919–49) and I’m sure a little bit of that was ‘one woman in a sea of men’. For me growing up, there was no question that women shouldn’t be violinists, because there were so many contemporary women violinists with amazing careers… But I tended to listen to violinists from the first half of the twentieth century, and they were all men, except for Ginette Neveu.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

And she died very young, didn’t she, in a plane crash?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

Yes, with her brother, and I think there was a boxer on the plane as well. And then you get these people saying, ‘Oh yes and her violin was in the crash as well’ – well, if you’d lost the violin and kept the violinist, I’d be happy with that!

 

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I first discovered you and your work during lockdown in 2020, when you were doing concerts from your home. I can’t imagine the impact that lockdown had on someone like yourself, whose livelihood is performance. Presumably the idea to do home concerts online came from: Necessity is the mother of invention?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

Yes. Most musicians I know do some teaching, some session work, they had other things they could still earn money from, during lockdown. And I didn’t. All I had was performing – so when that stopped, I had no earning capability. When it was becoming abundantly clear that lockdown wasn’t only going to be a couple of weeks, I was panicked. So my boyfriend persuaded me into doing a livestream. He said, ‘Look, loads of people support you, loads of people suddenly don’t have their live music fix. If it’s awful, you don’t have to do it again. Try it.’ I didn’t want to put it all behind a paywall because I wanted to be accessible not just to people like my mum, but also people who were in the same dire financial situations as me. I wanted those videos to be available to everyone. So I put them on YouTube.

 

With the first video, the sound was decent because we had a good mic plugged in, but the video quality’s appalling. But we carried on doing them, learning the tech, because people were so supportive, and it meant that I could still pay the rent, and eat! The basics – because I had no money and nothing to fall back on.

 

So it was borne out of necessity. But I also wanted to make sure new music was represented in these home concerts, especially as it was unaccompanied violin music. Introducing people to composers they might not know, and younger composers. And people started sending me scores, and writing music for me. Normally in real life, pre-covid, you’d have to put your concert programme together a year, 18 months ahead. But suddenly, someone could send you a score on Tuesday, and you could play it on Wednesday in the home concert.

 

Having said that, I found those concerts incredibly nerve-wracking. A live performance, but no audience there. This constant fear of ‘Maybe nobody’s even listening’ – am I going through all this for nothing?! If you’re used to playing live in the In Tune studio (on Radio 3), where there’s a couple of producers and a presenter, but no audience as such, at least you’ve got used to that mentality. But in your own living room, there’s no acoustic, the microphone’s really quite close, and there isn’t a proper engineer dealing with the sound. So soundwise, it took a while to learn how to play well, but also… is anyone listening?

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

You’re communicating into the ether, and you don’t know if anything will come back! That must be very disconcerting.

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

It is. Doing those livestreams, I suddenly realised I had never stood back and thought about the role of an audience in my playing, in real time. Especially as I’d subconsciously always seen the audience as judging me. I’d had a very uncomfortable relationship with an audience, pre-covid. But when I started doing these livestreams, which I hated doing, all these people were, yes, sending money so I was able to eat, but also sending me beautiful messages. I realised all these people really cared about what I was doing, and that they genuinely wanted to hear me playing that music.

 

I had been very nervous doing those livestreams, and a part of me was worried that when I did start performing live again, I’d bring that discomfort to the stage with me. I remember the first concert after lockdown, at the Chiltern Arts Festival. I think it had been seven months since I’d had a live audience. I walked out onstage and I heard the applause and I felt this utter joy in my stomach – that there were real people to share the music with.

 

I realised then that my whole attitude towards the audience had completely changed. I didn’t go out there expecting to be judged, I just went out to enjoy performing. And I’ve been so much happier since – everything to do with my performance is now so much healthier. I mean, it’s stupid that it took that long to realise that, in a way, but I suppose when things have been inbuilt when you’re a child, and people are constantly judging you, it’s very difficult if you don’t realise that that’s how you’re feeling about it.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

As an audience member, I’ve only so far been to a few concerts this year, but I’ve felt – and you know this! – that most people who come, the vast majority, are there to have a good time. We’re not there with our notebooks. We love it.

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

I know. But five years ago, I’d have said that was what an audience member was there to do. Unwittingly, I’d carried this burden, of being judged, or being afraid of making a mistake. Because that’s what it was like at school! And I realise that I’d had that inside me the whole time. I had no idea – until it all changed! It’s that imposter syndrome that we all have. I knew I had it, but I assumed nobody else does. And then you realise everybody does.

 

Also, during the last few years pre-covid, I’d been learning how to do my own thing at concerts with unaccompanied performances. I wasn’t relying on anyone else. It was just me, and I learned how to have my relationship with an audience, and with different audiences in different ways. And I enjoyed not just playing the music, but also talking to audiences – it’s fun, actually. As long as they react! [Laughter]

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

So you introduce the repertoire, what you’re going to play?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

Yes, doing a solo concert, I always talk to the audience. Unless I’ve specifically been asked not to. Because what I’m playing can be challenging, but actually giving them things to hold on to.

If somebody’s giving you a way into it, you’re more likely to listen to it with open ears. I want to make sure there’s variety there – that people will come for something, but they’ll also hear something else. I still have imposter syndrome – ‘What are they going to think?’ – but as soon as I start performing, and I’ve developed that relationship with the audience, I’m usually fine.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Are you preparing for the fact it might go wrong, even though the chances of that are tiny?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

I suppose there is a bit of ‘You’re only as good as your last concert’. People might hate it. Suddenly, in the middle of everything, you might get an audience who can’t stand you. And part of it’s pure perfectionism. As a violinist, you grow up knowing that everything has to be perfect. ‘If it’s not perfect, it’s not good enough.’

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Do you think you’ve become such a spectacular, thoughtful musician because of that sense of perfectionism, or despite that?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

Definitely despite it. But you have to have perfectionism. For a start, you have to have that personality type who has that focus and drive and is willing to repeat something three billion times, to make sure it’s always going to be right in the context of a concert.

 

The real problem with perfectionism is when it creates blocks. With my first proper violin teacher – yes, it was about perfectionism, but it was also about building me as a human being, and as a musician, as a violinist. And that’s not damaging, because it makes you focus in practice. But if you get a teacher who says it’s a disaster if it’s not perfect – that can take a long time to get over. It did in my case.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Do you think audiences have changed – in the sense of being more receptive?

 

FENELLA HUMPHREYS

I love that I get to talk to my audience. I kind of miss that when I play a concerto, you can’t really go, ‘Hey, high-five!’ [Laughter] Although with something like Tchaikovsky’s concerto, I will often know at the end of the first movement if they like me, because quite often they’ll clap. But with a lot of concertos, I only really know for sure that they’re enjoying it right at the end of the performance.

 

Whereas when I am talking to the audience, I know immediately. Usually my first piece in a solo programme will be quite short – it gives people a way to get their focus started, rather than with something hugely long. If you’ve just walked off the street, after a long busy day, it helps to have something short and sweet at the start. So in most programmes I do, within the first five or ten minutes, I’ve already got that validation from my audience!

 

[So yes, the relationship between performers and audiences has changed.] Nobody would have expected Heifetz to talk to an audience. Can you imagine, in the first half of the twentieth century, if you’d had Twitter, and if you’d had all these Q&As after concerts?

 

(c) Matthew Johnson

Fenella’s Caprices album, released in March 2022, is available from Rubicon Classics. It went on to win the BBC Music Magazine Premiere Award in 2023. In spring 2024, another equally rich collection of unaccompanied violin works, Prism, was also released by Rubicon.

Her album of Sibelius: Works for Violin and Piano, with the pianist Joseph Tong, was released in January 2022, through Resonus Classics.

In June 2023, Fenella performed the world premiere of Adrian Sutton’s Violin Concerto at London’s Southbank Centre with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, as part of a celebration of Adrian’s career so far, called Seize the Day. Adrian wrote the concerto especially for Fenella, and she has since recorded it with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra and conductor Michael Seal. In April 2025, the recording won the BBC Music Magazine 2025 Premiere Award.

Among Fenella’s upcoming events during the summer of 2025, look out in particular for the premiere of Mark Boden’s violin concerto, Chasing Sunlight. She will be performing this with Sinfonia Cymru in Cardiff (twice on 5 June – as part of World Environment Day), in Bradford (6 June) and at the Southbank Centre, London on Sunday 6 July. See her website for information and links to these live events, festival engagements and latest news: Fenella Humphreys : Violinist. Do go and see her play – she truly is amazing.

During autumn 2025, Fenella will be Artist in Residence at the Wigmore Hall, London.

Fenella is represented by Cambridge Creative Management: www.cambridgecreativemanagement.co.uk/fenellahumphreys-ccm

You can follow Fenella on Twitter at @fhvln.

 

FLA Playlist 5

Fenella Humphreys

(For the time being, this site and project uses Spotify for the conversation playlists, but obviously I disapprove that Spotify doesn’t pay artists and composers properly, and other streaming platforms are available, as are sites to buy downloads and buy recordings. For consistency, you can also listen to the selections via YouTube (where available), and links are provided in each case, below.)

Track 1: BENJAMIN BRITTEN: Violin Concerto Op. 15: 1. Moderato con moto

Mark Lubotsky, English Chamber Orchestra: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sgJV0M_7l6o

 [NB Fenella also recommends the recording by Anthony Marwood, released by Hyperion. This was not on Spotify at the time of our conversation in May 2022, but it is now. You can also hear it on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d1SIbRJY8Io]

Track 2: MARK O’CONNOR: Caprice No. 1

Fenella Humphreys: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wc5neCQPQ9U

 

Track 3: SEONAID AITKEN: Glasgow Reel Set

Fenella Humphreys: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sKOeNX4HyNQ

 

Track 4: JEAN SIBELIUS: Four Pieces, Op. 78: I. Impromptu

Fenella Humphreys, Joseph Tong: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tbmGvl5ho2s

 

Track 5: R.E.M.: ‘Shiny Happy People’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JpOQoLZQUPc

Track 6: THE BEATLES: ‘Yellow Submarine’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZhxJAxa77sE

 

Track 7: JOHN COLTRANE QUARTET: ‘Say It (Over and Over Again)’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oRh0hxV1_SU

 

Track 8: ELLA FITZGERALD & THE DELTA RHYTHM BOYS: ‘It’s Only a Paper Moon’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rnx8bohIqkA

 

Track 9: J.S. BACH: Partita No. 2 in D Minor, BWV 1004: V. Ciaccona

Rachel Podger: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6XnXQOZd0ZI

 

Track 10: JOSEPH ACHRON: Hebrew Melody, Op. 33

Josef Hassid, Gerald Moore: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DmfCjgI50Fo

 

Track 11: JOSEF SUK: 4 Pieces for Violin and Piano, Op. 17: No. 1, Quasi Ballata

Ginette Neveu, Jean Neveu: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GbagMgNvr1E

FLA 4: Philip Clark (19/06/2022)

(c) Nina Hollington

In March 2020, almost the last event I went to for ages was the London-based launch of Philip Clark’s tremendous Dave Brubeck biography, A Life in Time, which subsequently won the Presto Jazz Book of the Year 2020. It’s been a while since we last met in person for a cup of tea to talk about music of all kinds, culture and other stuff, but in the spring of 2022 we did at least manage to do this over Zoom. During our conversation, not only did Philip discuss his First/Last/Anything choices, but also talked to me about his career in music, journalism and writing, including the beginnings of his next book on the music and culture of New York.

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

My dad is a painter. He studied at the Royal College of Art during the early 1960s with Peter Blake. Ian Dury was in his tutor group. He had, and still has, an impressive record collection and, when I was a kid, I didn’t recognise any musical divisions. I’d grab Schubert and try it out, I’d grab John Coltrane, I’d grab Bob Dylan. And my dad also had Stockhausen and Schoenberg, The Byrds, and for reasons he could never quite explain, lots of Jack Teagarden, the Classic jazz trombonist. Another item he had that really changed the course of my life was Dave Brubeck’s Time Out, which he painted to every night. The family mythology insists that I used to run into his studio and dance to ‘Blue Rondo à la Turk’, from the age of three or four. So that was the music that immediately resonated with me. My dad’s records seemed very exotic – sleeve notes about recording studios in New York and unpronounceable German names with a gazillion syllables. Although I grew up in 1980s Sunderland so pretty much anything seemed exotic.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

So all this music seemed to carry equal weight at home, but then you’d go to school and it wasn’t like that at all. Never mind pop music, not even jazz would be on a syllabus. Do you remember there were furious complaints in the Radio Times, when Duke Ellington was Radio 3’s This Week’s Composer in the mid-80s [1985, in fact]? People not just saying, ‘Well, jazz isn’t really my thing’, but being actively furious.

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

And assuming that anyone would care they don’t like Ellington. That’s hilarious. There’s a lot of that in the classical world. Classical music should really open your mind, you should never stand still. But sometimes it narrows people’s minds. People focus on the thing they like with laser precision, which is fine, but they can lose sight of a wider culture picture. The classical world at the moment seems fixated on the idea of the ‘neglected’ composer, but without much critical discourse about why some composers dropped off the end of history. Hearing a lot of this stuff, I think, ‘yes’, history wasn’t wrong to cast someone like Ruth Gipps into the wilderness. I’ve talked to opera critics who have no interest I could discern in anything that happened before Mozart or after Alban Berg. Let alone any vocal traditions from other cultures, or traditions that grew up in the twentieth century alongside opera, jazz or rock singing for instance. How anyone could be interested in the art of singing and not be mesmerised by Bob Dylan’s voice – the sheer sound of it, and how it operates – is beyond me.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

You’re that little bit younger than me – what do you remember about the music curriculum at school?

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

I remember an anthology of music that attempted to draw a line from the Renaissance onwards, but then petered out in the twentieth century. No Boulez, Stockhausen or even a relatively approachable composer like Britten. A bit of The Beatles, I think – ‘Eleanor Rigby’, which we were told with great fanfare used a string quartet and I thought, ‘So what’. There was an attempt to squeeze Indian music into the syllabus, but with a Western transcription of Indian music. Why they couldn’t bung on an original Ravi Shankar record, I don’t know. But I had a fantastic music teacher who knew he had to cover the syllabus but, at the same time, was listening to me improvise on the piano, me trying to copy Brubeck and Thelonious Monk. He started feeding me Bartok and Varèse, and those records opened things up exponentially.

 

Later I did music ‘A’ level at Newcastle College and one of my best friends there was the conductor John Wilson, who I hooked up with again once I’d moved to London in 1994: we happened to be living in the same neighbourhood. I’ve fond memories of that time. I was composing. I was also a pianist, and then I was a percussionist, playing in various wind orchestras and brass bands. I became very aware that music is good at teaching you to become a social animal. Playing in youth orchestras was the first time I’d met girls, outside my own family.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Yeah, it was one of the best things for me as a teenager. Orchestra was half-boys, half-girls, roughly.

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

You know you’re part of a collective, you’re responsible for your tiny little bit, and if you screw up, it affects everybody else, and that’s an important lesson. As a pianist you are on your own, but playing percussion, your sense of rhythm has to snap into place. Where you place the second beat of the bar really matters. Playing percussion was the best step I ever took in terms of developing my musicianship.

 

FIRST: LEONARD BERNSTEIN: West Side Story (1985, Deutsche Grammophon)

Extract: ‘Cool’

JUSTIN LEWIS

Talking of collaboration, it’s a good moment to talk about Leonard Bernstein’s mid-1980s recording of West Side Story. In preparation for this, I rewatched the ‘Making Of’ documentary with Bernstein and Kiri te Kanawa and José Carreras. And I don’t think I’d seen it since it had been on, originally. [Omnibus, BBC1, 10/05/1985: Kiri Te Kanawa – The Making of West Side Story Documentary – YouTube]

 

PHILIP CLARK

It’s just astonishing, isn’t it? My music teacher at the time brought it into school on a VHS tape. I was thirteen. It was the last day of term. Seeing Bernstein, this guy in a red jumper… He seemed like a magician. Making all these musicians pull these tricks, shouting at them when they got it wrong, the ecstatic joy when everything slotted into place. I was transfixed.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

When I watched it, I’m not sure I’d even seen the original film at this point, but I still felt I knew all the songs. And the orchestra on the recording of this was a contracted orchestra, they hadn’t worked together before, right?

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

They were handpicked players that Bernstein knew from the New York scene, from the New York Philharmonic and elsewhere. The question West Side Story raises immediately: what exactly is it? You need a good classical string section, but then, can a classical trumpeter really nail those jazz parts? Not necessarily. So immediately you’re into the idea of creating, by necessity, a piece-specific ensemble, which I find really interesting.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

And Bernstein himself using the word ‘funky’ to describe the work.

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

Well, he’s right!

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Because you can’t categorise it, and why would you want to, obviously!

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

Throughout my life, I’ve been interested in music where precisely you don’t know what it is. An argument about West Side Story persists – ‘is it a musical, is it an opera?’ But not being able to define it opens up the space musically. The fact that Bernstein, in his symphonies, and also Tippett and Messiaen in theirs, were willing to pose the question, ‘But can this be a symphony; and if it’s not, what is it?’, seemed more intriguing to me than composers adding to a pile of recognisable pieces called ‘symphonies’, like they’re buying into a franchise.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

The documentary is a brilliant, accessible way of showing you the method and the process. There’s not that much interviewing outside the recording session, they just let the session speak for itself, but in one bit Kiri te Kanawa says about how Bernstein was setting the tempo himself, and she says, ‘It’s like having a Mozart in the room.’ A luxury you don’t get that often, and another reason why living composers are so essential because they know how it should be played, or at least are there to guide you.

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

Bernstein has been heavily criticised for getting the tempo ‘wrong’ and there was a controversy about Carreras having the wrong voice to sing the part. Whatever. But when I was in New York a couple of months ago, to beat the jet-lag on the second night, I went to see the new film of West Side Story.

 

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Oh – which I still haven’t seen yet!

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

The only cinema showing the film was on 65th and Broadway, where Lincoln Centre is, and practically the first thing you see in the film is an old New York street sign for 65th and Broadway, because West Side Story is set where the Lincoln Center is now. When you see the songs in context, the whole piece knits together. There are some songs – like ‘I Had a Love’ – which I wouldn’t necessarily listen to outside that context – but then others that I would. Apparently, ‘Cool’ was inspired by Bernstein going to a jazz club and hearing the alto saxophonist Lee Konitz, who was very famous for inventing long improvisational lines that curled around each other. The piece is layered like a cultural lasagne. There’s Latin stuff, and Bernstein’s incredibly specific use of jazz – he doesn’t just use a generic jazz style – he’s very careful about the different types of jazz he alludes to. Then there’s Stravinsky, there’s Copland, and you can almost trace every single note back to some other source, to Mahler and even Gilbert and Sullivan. Yet it all sounds like Bernstein. I’m still very attracted to composers who allow different musics to coexist within a piece. Bernstein uses that augmented fourth in the opening bars of West Side Story as a motif throughout the whole thing, a real unifying anchor, with a rigour that would have made Schoenberg proud.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

And what did West Side Story lead to next, for you?

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

Anything with Bernstein’s name on it, I hoovered it up: Mahler, Beethoven, Stravinsky, Bach, Elliott Carter, his various collaborations with jazz musicians. When I interviewed Will Self, he told me that from his own parents’ record collection, he liked the Schubert String Quintet and the Miles Davis Quintet the most. So he thought the music he liked was ‘quintets’. Every record with the word ‘quintet’, he sought it out, no matter what it was. I was the same with Bernstein. I’d scour the second-hand record shops.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

You’re trying to make patterns, I suppose.

 

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

You don’t really have the connecting tissue to work with at that age, especially pre-internet. Bernstein was definitely a starting point then, and remains hugely important to me now, in terms of being a conceptual thinker who was able to put different sorts of music together, without fusing them. If a piece is chugging along in a recognisable style, throwing something else into the mix creates a fantastic tension, and why resolve that tension? West Side Story resolves harmonically, sort of, at the end, but in another way it’s a mess – and I don’t mean ‘mess’ pejoratively. The different styles stick out, attack each other. Then if you think of what the piece is about…

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Because the city is a complicated, interesting ‘mess’ of styles.

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

And gang tensions within a city, and I feel that cities aren’t really about resolutions. Fundamentally, I have to say, I dislike musicals. When Sondheim died, I tried a couple of things, but I had to switch them off. So mawkish and emotionally manipulative, a peculiar, faked profundity. I’m not that interested in music that tells a story. I’m into in music because of sound, and the least interesting about West Side Story for me is the plot. What really interests me is the deeper story of what’s going on in the body of the orchestra, inside the fabric of the music, and how Bernstein builds conversations between different styles of music. Bernstein’s Mass, first performed in 1971, is a real pivot moment for twentieth-century music. At the beginning it sounds like Luciano Berio, with atonal electronic fragments dispersed around the speakers, and then, suddenly, a guitar chord leads into a song that’s pure Simon and Garfunkel; and there’s marching bands, rock bands, jazz bands, atonal orchestral writing and carefully worked out montage and collage. Every-fucking-thing is there, and in terms of compositional consistency it doesn’t even begin to work. But that’s not what Bernstein was trying to achieve. It’s a meta-modernist construction of different styles that I find very truthful.

 

When I was in the thick of writing music journalism, I became known as someone who wrote a lot about central European modernism – Boulez, Stockhausen, Xenakis, Kagel, Ligeti, Lachemann, Cardew, Messiaen, Donatoni et al – and when I’d write about my love of Bernstein some people would think I’d lost the plot. I even had emails on the subject: I remember an especially condescending one from a leading British composer, who shall remain nameless, who told me I was letting the side down. Well, screw him. Bernstein fits the pattern: a composer not just ‘doing’ music but asking questions about what music can be. What happens when you put the fabric of music under the microscope, and investigate it?

 

 

—-

LAST: MORITZ WINKELMANN: Beethoven/Lachenmann (Hänssler Classics, 2022)

 

Extract: ‘Marche fatale’ (Version for piano)

PHILIP CLARK

Radio 3 was, of course, an education in itself. It was through Radio 3 I first heard about, for instance, Morton Feldman and Peter Maxwell Davies, and also Michael Finnissy who would later become my teacher. I’d tape Music in Our Time programmes, what Radio 3 called their new music programme during the 1980s and ‘90s, obsessively. And I also discovered Helmut Lachenmann through Radio 3. I was immediately drawn to his soundworld, although it was only when I did my undergraduate degree at Huddersfield University that I was able to lay my hands on some scores and properly grapple with Lachenmann’s music and approach.

 

Lachenmann, like Bernstein – not a sentence you’ll hear often – is interested in questions of musical identity. He is famous for orchestral textures that whisper and seem to exist on the very point of crumbling, as though making a point that structures composers have inherited from the nineteenth century, even the earlier twentieth century, can no longer stand up for themselves. Lachenmann’s music is at the same time very elemental, but also incredibly refined and strikingly beautiful, like a fine-spun thread. He has unpicked ideas of conventional instrumental technique; conventional technique might dictate that a violinist puts their finger at a certain position on the fingerboard to produce a certain note or effect. But what happens if the same violinist puts their finger one millimetre to the left? What does that do to the sound? That is the wildest of simplifications of course, but think about a situation in which Lachenmann asks, say, thirty violinists in an orchestral piece to play one of these extended techniques. If just one of them puts their finger in slightly the wrong place, this carefully worked-out sound is lost. So Lachenmann deals in a whole other sort of preciseness.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

It’s surprising how just changing something just a tiny bit, in any artform, can result in something new.

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

By imposing yourself in the cracks of normal technique a new kind of musical experience can be found. Improvisers know this, and jazz musicians know this, and rock guitarists who distort sound know this. In Lachenmann’s other piece on this disc, ‘Wiegenmusik’, the music seems to inhabit the resonances and the sustains rather than the hitting of the notes, which becomes somewhat incidental.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Of Lachenmann’s work I only know the two pieces on this disc, so far, both of which I really liked. What would be a good orchestral piece that demonstrates something like what you mention?

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

His piano concerto, ‘Ausklang’, would be one. It’s a mammoth fifty-minute piece for piano and a massive orchestra. There are a few moments when it erupts, but most of it dwells in a hinterland between moderately soft and moderately loud – soft louds, and loud softs – with intensely subtle deviations of texture and sound. It took him decades to work all that stuff out, and it’s a real triumph of what someone can do with musical notation. You take relatively conventional annotation, tweak it a bit, and get musicians to behave in a completely different manner and change their habits. Fantastic.

 

 

—-

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

So how did you get into writing about music in the first place?

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

I had rent to pay! I was a composer, I had a teaching job for a year which I absolutely hated, and then I won a composition competition held by Classic CD magazine. This was before email, so I faxed the editor of Classic CD to say, Dave Brubeck – who I already knew a little bit – is touring the UK, and I’d be interested in interviewing him, if he’d like an article. He said yes. To this day I remain convinced he thought I was somebody else and got the names muddled. Anyway, I submitted the article and then he rang a week later and said, ‘What are you doing for us next month?’ So I wrote a piece about Charles Mingus and it snowballed from there. Classic CD led to a magazine called Jazz Review, which led to The Wire, which led to Gramophone; and years later to newspapers and, eventually, the London Review of Books. I was starting to make a living, and then a decent living, but that was never my intention.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I wanted to ask you about the kind of music criticism you’ve written. I sort of understand how pop music criticism works – I’ve done that a little bit myself – but I wouldn’t know how to write your kind of analysis, especially about a new piece of music.

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

Depends really. I wrote about a lot of standard classical repertoire during one period, which requires a very different approach from new composition or improvised music. With standard repertoire, there are certain givens about whether, say, Simon Rattle does Brahms 3 slower or faster than Herbert von Karajan. He either does it faster or he does it slower, and that’s that. And from those givens you have to extrapolate interpretative ideas about how a conductor is dealing with a piece; how they are dealing with structure, and the relationships of material within a movement. Is the conductor working within a tradition? Is the conductor trying to push a piece away from the tradition with which it’s most associated, taking a revisionist view? Are they being faithful to the music? Are they disrupting the music?

 

Then there are technical questions. How successfully are they balancing the sound within the orchestra. Can you hear everything? Some composers, though, think in terms of layering the orchestration, each layer adding to the whole. Is the conductor simply emphasising a melody line, and losing everything else?

 

But with a new piece, all that becomes secondary. Hearing a premiere, I want to be entranced by the composer’s inner-imagination. Is he or she merely re-mapping – or simply cribbing – some model that already exists? Using familiar landmarks, in exactly the place where you would expect to hear them? Or is this composer trying to do something more daring, really challenging their own pre-conceptions, dancing with the unknown?

 

Harrison Birtwistle, who died a few weeks ago, his ‘Tragoedia’, essentially his Opus 1, encapsulates everything he did over the next fifty years, like he wrote one big piece from the 1950s to the end of his life, observing the same material from a million different angles, finding things that work in microcosm in one piece which he then allowed to blossom in the next piece. With ‘Tragoedia’ everything is in there: orchestration, harmony, the way the harmony informs a structure. I’ve been dealing with Elliott Carter’s music again recently after a long time. The music he wrote during the late 60s, you hear him grappling with his material, like he’s trying to find the technique he needs to write the piece through the experience of writing the piece: the ‘Concerto for Orchestra’ and ‘Double Concerto for Piano and Harpsichord’ in particular. By the mid-70s, though, he’s worked out the music he wants to write, and of course it works, and the technique is supremely fluid, but I find the pieces far less engaging, and sometimes just boring.

 

One of the reasons I stopped doing classical music journalism was that, after twenty years, I came to care less and less whether Rattle’s Brahms 3 is faster than George Szell’s. There are bigger cultural issues with which to deal. At a time when classical music is being squeezed inside all sorts of culture wars, and major labels are issuing absolute crap that masquerades as classical music, and the prevailing culture often seems positively hostile – let’s not even mention that dipstick Nadine Dorries and her attacks on the BBC, and the asset-stripping of arts courses from schools and universities – the classical music press here often feels dismally supine and unengaged, carrying on like it’s business as usual. Where’s the anger? The itch to question where classical music has come to stand within our culture compared with where it was even twenty years ago? If I was them, if my whole life was about classical music, I’d be worried and want to take some sort of stand.

 —–

 

ANYTHING: DAVE BRUBECK: We’re All Together Again for the First Time (1973, Atlantic)

Extract: ‘Truth’

JUSTIN LEWIS

Let’s talk about your Dave Brubeck book, A Life in Time. Award-winning, acclaimed and rightly so. In the introduction, you mention you were in Spain on holiday. There’s something about buying a record on holiday – I think often your mind is somewhere else.

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

Yes, it was a family holiday. I was 16 or so. We had just visited the Salvador Dali Museum in Figueres, and I’d bought this cassette in a second-hand record shop nearby, which we put on in the car. And the sound and energy of the first track, called ‘Truth’, pulled me right in. I’ve thought about and analysed and intellectualised what the music does since – probably too much! – but back then it was: ‘Shit! What is this?’

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

When I was listening to it, it felt like a very long way from what I thought I knew about the earlier recordings.

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

Yes and no. If you go back to the Brubeck of the mid-50s, when he was recording for Fantasy Records, before moving to Columbia, the Fantasy guys were quite happy to record concerts and release them more or less unedited. Those early records contained huge, long improvisations – a quarter of an hour on standards like ‘These Foolish Things’ and ‘The Way You Look Tonight’. Brubeck’s solos are extraordinary, the way he darts between romanticism, Bartók-like clusters and stride piano – finding ways to allow different things to coexist within a piece of music. His disjoints, his mismatches and the cross-cutting between different styles stood in complete contrast to the bebop pianists – who were all about sustaining the flow of the energy and keeping the momentum on the move.

 

Dave’s solo in ‘Truth’ opens in very strict jazz time, then, after a little while, the left hand deviates just slightly, and then the left hand and the right hand move apart. Countable time and pulse fizzle out and he ends up floating on a slipstream of sound. The harmony accrues clusters of notes and Dave’s chords get thicker and denser, and the pulse crumbles even further, and a point is reached where you think, he just can’t go any further. Yet he keeps on pushing further and further – obstinately and wilfully. When we got home from holiday, I ran to the piano and started testing these same kinds of clustery sounds, making them for myself. When I played them to my piano teacher she was absolutely horrified. ‘Those sounds don’t exist’ – those were her exact words. Yet I had recorded proof that they did, and that indeed I could do them. Within a week of hearing that Brubeck record, I was checking out Cecil Taylor and John Coltrane and Albert Ayler and Ornette Coleman. Free jazz opened up for me. And also Stockhausen and Boulez and Varèse; just the sound of that Dave Brubeck record changed everything for me.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

And obviously on that same record there’s a much longer version of ‘Take Five’ than most people will be familiar with.

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

Sixteen minutes. The first ‘Take Five’ from 1959 established a white canvas for future explorations. They just about managed to get through it in ‘59. It’s edited very heavily. Dave puts the vamp down to keep the quartet together, and sounded rather nervous doing so, because it kept falling apart. But that 1972 version, in contrast, is positively anthemic. The same vamp that had been holding the piece together in 1959… as soon as he starts playing it, the audience go crazy. ‘Take Five’ is in E flat minor, and Dave, in his solo, plays in the major over the chords. The left hand keeps the ‘five’ going, but he’s superimposing four and three over the top. Really he’s playing everything but 5/4 and E flat!

 

That performance roars towards a fantastic drum solo by Alan Dawson. Joe Morello, the drummer during the years of the ‘classic’ Dave Brubeck Quartet, came out of big band and swing. But Alan Dawson, who essentially took Joe’s place, was more of a free jazz drummer by instinct. Before joining Dave, he’d played with Sonny Rollins and Jaki Byard, and brought a free jazz energy to the Brubeck group. Listen to the way he plays against Dave’s vamp at the beginning. He spring-loads the beat – like he’s on tiptoe. By the 70s, Dave could do whatever he wanted with ‘Take Five’. So long as he played that vamp at the beginning, he could play as free as he liked. I asked Dave later, ‘Do you ever get tired of playing it?’ And he said, ‘No, it becomes a gauge of where we are as a group every night.’ Every night, they’d view it from a different angle. He knew how to keep it fresh.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

It’s an ideal position to be in, though to have a piece like that where you can play it every night and you’ll never get bored of it because there’s always something interesting and fun in it.

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

It’s infinitely flexible. That oscillating two-chord vamp – you can do anything with it – put anything against it. It’s going to work.

 

 

—-

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

You’re very interested, aren’t you, in how all these elements coexist in the context of a city.

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

Indeed. Take London, in the mid-1960s, for instance. I’m passionately interested in free improvisation, this British musical movement that emerged around 1964/1965, mainly in London, although other things were happening around the country. In 1965, you have the start of AMM – Eddie Prévost, Keith Rowe and various other people – who were all interested in jazz, but also trying to come up with an authentic homegrown idea of what improvised music in this country could be. They workshopped their music at the Royal College of Art. In Covent Garden, there was a little venue called the Little Theatre Club, which is where the Spontaneous Music Ensemble found its feet, and they were, again, trying to deal with the aftermath of jazz. The guitarist Derek Bailey came to London at the same time, who also came out of jazz, but also Anton Webern. All this activity is happening around free improvisation. But around the same time, in Muswell Hill, The Kinks were starting – and they were dealing with this exact same question. How to place American culture within a British or London context. If you’re interested in The Kinks, how could you not be interested in free improvisation. Equally, if you’re interested in free improvisation, how can you not be interested in The Kinks? Yet very few people seem interested in both, but these are the connections I’ve always tried to make in my journalism and in my work.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Not only have you just worked with Dave Davies of The Kinks on his new autobiography, but also that you’re currently working on another book, this time about New York with a vast array of figures, that draws on different styles, different periods, but is designed to explore a big city of culture and how it can be all sorts of things.

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

It’s called ‘Sound and The City’ and it’s about what makes New York sound like New York, and not Paris, Berlin or London.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Or even another American city.

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

Indeed. The book deals with external factors like immigration, geology and architecture, which turn out not to be external at all. Edgard Varèse arrived from France, where all the music he wrote was destroyed – we don’t know any of it – but the impression left from contemporary reports is that it was hyper-romantic Richard Strauss, perhaps with a few illegal harmonies and sexy flourishes. Then he arrived in New York in 1916, and immediately became interested in the sound of sirens. But he didn’t use the orchestra to replicate or evoke a siren; he literally took the siren from the sidewalk and slammed it into the orchestra. The exterior becomes the interior. The physicality of New York imposes itself on people’s understanding of what they think music is and changes it. John Cage, Debbie Harry, Ornette Coleman, Television, Meredith Monk, William Parker: how are all these different musical personalities unified by the experience of New York, that’s what I’m exploring. I said earlier that I don’t believe cities are about resolution, but they are places where different musics find space to exist. I’m six months into what will be a three-year writing project, but already I’m gaining understanding of an underlying attitude towards music-making in New York; I’m beginning to perceive a lineage between say, Varèse and Wu-Tang Clan, and that attitude is more important than musical idiom or style.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I can remember getting The Best of Blondie for Christmas when I was 11, and there was this free poster, which went straight on the wall, of Debbie Harry wearing a T-shirt which read, ANDY WARHOL IS BAD, and I had no idea who Andy Warhol was at that point, but it immediately gave Blondie even more hidden depths. And it turned out that she had quite a past, she was already nearly 35. She had this music career going back to the late 60s, the world of psychedelia.

 

 

PHILIP CLARK

And after Blondie ended the first time, Harry started doing a lot of freeform jazz vocal improvisation, with the Jazz Passengers. Absolutely fantastic. The whole Blondie persona was just chucked out the window. Cross-fertilisation does happen in other cities, and that’s for other books, but with New York, the physical experience of being in that city does something to musicians’ sense of structure and pacing and the material they use. I want to find the unifying thread that links Edgard Varèse to hip hop, John Cage to Lou Reed. In Manhattan you’re forced to deal with this overload of sound, whether you want to or not. You’re on a compressed landmass, with these big buildings. The geology means they can sit there. So I’m not going to say the city is built on rock ‘n’ roll – but it is certainly built on rock! [Laughter]

 

 

 

Philip Clark’s Dave Brubeck: A Life in Time is published by Headline.  He worked with Dave Davies on his new autobiography, Living on a Thin Line, which was published in July 2022.

Philip’s next book, which we discussed at some length during our conversation, is titled Sound and the City, and is due for publication in September 2026. See here for an article he wrote when he visited New York as part of the book’s background research: https://blogs.bl.uk/americas/2022/04/sounds-of-new-york-city.html

He is represented by Curtis Brown: curtisbrown.co.uk/client/philip-clark.

You can follow Philip on Bluesky at @musicclerk.bsky.social.

—-

FLA PLAYLIST 4

Philip Clark

(For the time being, this site and project uses Spotify for the conversation playlists, but obviously I disapprove that Spotify doesn’t pay artists and composers properly, and other streaming platforms are available, as are sites to buy downloads and buy recordings. For consistency, you can also listen to the selections via YouTube (where available), and links are provided in each case, below.)

Track 1: THE DAVE BRUBECK QUARTET: Blue Rondo à la Turk: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vKNZqM0d-xo

Track 2: LEONARD BERNSTEIN / KURT OLLMANN: West Side Story: VIII. Cool: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-w_7oM3Ohs4

Track 3: LEONARD BERNSTEIN: Mass: A Theatre Piece for Singers, Players and Dancers I:

2. Hymn and Psalm: ‘A Simple Song’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VEcgy5vUtHI

Track 4: HELMUT LACHENMANN: ‘Marche fatale (Version for Piano)’

Moritz Winkelmann (piano): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kDXOBeckLpo

Track 5: HARRISON BIRTWISTLE: Tragoedia: IV. Stasimon

Melos Ensemble, Lawrence Foster: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GMwVxNxKHK8&list=PLB0TfWlJAdxZ3Zyu042uAZZIsnS7ldkdV&index=138

 

Track 6: DAVE BRUBECK: Truth: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n7E_AaGa9cE

Track 7: DAVE BRUBECK: Take Five (1972 version): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gt9sLIqQUkA

Track 8: SPONTANEOUS MUSIC ENSEMBLE: Club 66: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gz1xWcusg48

Track 9: THE KINKS: Autumn Almanac: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N3VDATV6dmY

Track 10: DEBBIE HARRY, JAZZ PASSENGERS: One Way or Another: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t-xODrjOtnU

Track 11: EDGARD VARESE: Varèse: Amériques: Kent Nagano, Orchestra National de Radio France: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P6E3pD8Uhtg

 

FLA 3: Meryl O’Rourke (12/06/2022)

 Joining me in this episode is the comedy writer and performer Meryl O’Rourke. As well as being a mainstay on the stand-up circuit and writing for other performers (notably Frankie Boyle), Meryl has created and developed two one-woman shows, Bad Mother… (2011), and 2019’s Vanilla.

Vanilla is a very funny and thought-provoking show about sexuality – especially female sexuality – in the modern age, and is still available to live-stream at https://nextupcomedy.com/programs/meryl-orourke-vanilla

Meryl and I recently had an entertaining and wide-ranging chat about the defining music in her life. In addition to discussing her First/Last/Anything choices, she talked to me about music at funerals, why 80s pop could be even more politically charged than you thought, and the thorny issue of sexual representation and imagery in current mainstream music – which is a major theme of Vanilla.   

 

CW: The middle section of this conversation contains some discussion about sexual behaviour and representation, relating specifically to music videos and lyrical content, pressurisation and consent. We both realised that it was near-impossible to have this discussion without mentioning certain explicit sexual acts and terms, and so some of these appear. Like all the other conversations in this series, it has been edited with the co-operation of the guest, but this is mostly for reasons of length and not content. Please also note the second of the three YouTube links, for the Megan Thee Stallion clip, is NSFW.

 —-

MERYL O’ROURKE

I don’t think my house was musical at all when I was a child! Now you’ve asked… Hmm… My parents were both comedy and literature fans. With music my dad liked, I have zero idea. He died when I was seven, and he was very ill from when I was about four, too ill to properly play with me, he could just sit in his chair. So, yeah, the music I associate with him would be when I would dance to the theme tunes he liked. So, The Rockford Files, I mean, of course, that’s some damn funky music… and When the Boat Comes In. He wasn’t from Newcastle, he was Irish…well…he was from Brixton, but he was so ghettoised amongst Irish people that he had an Irish accent, despite not being born there. So he used ‘mammy’ rather than ‘mum’, so When the Boat Comes In reminded him of the Irish dialect: ‘Dance to your daddy/Sing to your mammy’. Whereas my mum didn’t listen to music for pleasure. I remember her liking novelty things like ‘Telephone Man’ [by Meri Wilson]. Comedy songs.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I know that before you ever became a professional comedian, you were – like me – a big fan of comedy in your teens. But unlike me, you were able to go to live recordings in London of various radio and TV comedy shows.

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

Yes! I have totally lived my life backwards. The last concert I went to was an 80s festival. But in the actual 80s, when all my friends were going to see Spandau Ballet, I was going to Radio 4 recordings like an old lady. The Paris Studio, off Piccadilly in London, where BBC radio comedy shows were recorded. My mum was a huge comedy fan, as I say, but while you couldn’t take a child to stand-up, you could go to the Paris at fourteen – and it was free! We got tickets for everything when I was 14, 15, but the big one was Radio Active.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I loved Radio Active too. For those who don’t know or don’t remember, it was this very funny pastiche on Radio 4, of a local radio station, starring Helen Atkinson Wood, Angus Deayton, Geoffrey Perkins, Phil Pope and Mike Fenton Stevens. Which had lots of spoof jingles, and parodies, and pop group pastiches, and which later became KYTV on BBC2 in the 1990s.

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

I fell desperately in love with Phil Pope, who did the music for Radio Active and Spitting Image, and who was also in Who Dares Wins, a late night Channel 4 TV comedy show. I know he was an unusual choice for a first love, but he would chat to me after recordings and, well, he’s no odder than Tony Hadley who, frankly, looked like someone shaved a bull and took it to Dorothy Perkins. So I guess, in the 80s I regarded the people in Radio Active, Who Dares Wins, Spitting Image, as if they were pop stars. I mean Phil and Mike had a number 1 with ‘The Chicken Song’ during that time, so I WAS hanging out with pop stars! Spandau weren’t getting any number one singles by ’86 – SO WHO’S THE WEIRD GIRL NOW, STEPHANIE?

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

In the days before mass-produced video and DVD, there was a lot of merchandise for comedy: tie-in books, LPs… And all those shows did them. The HeeBeeGeeBees made albums! We should say the HeeBeeGeeBees were this group on Radio Active, involving Phil, Mike and Angus, who did parodies of all the big pop groups of the day – The Bee Gees, Status Quo, The Police, Duran Duran, etc – and Mike Fenton Stevens has mentioned that they got to tour Australia in the early 80s, and were practically treated like a real pop group, did loads of television, were playing rock venues. Especially as a lot of the real pop bands rarely toured extensively out there.

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

I think if you asked Phil Pope, ‘What are you?’, he would say, ‘A musician, who became an actor.’ I don’t think he’d even refer to himself as a comedian. He was a musician who was skilled at parody and became a comedy actor through that experience and association.

 

 

—-

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

I always feel awkward when I’m asked about first album, because the first one I bought was Rattle and Hum, but that was because Mum was a librarian, and so she would just bring everything home. So it wasn’t the first thing I LIKED. The big thing Mum brought home was a Depeche Mode album, in fact it was a greatest hits cassette [The Singles 81–85]. It’s meant to be very non-muso to have greatest hits albums, isn’t it?

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Greatest hits albums are fine! I’m a big defender of them. And anyway, in the case of Depeche Mode, lots of their singles weren’t on albums anyway.

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

‘See You’ was the first time I heard a record that made my whole body react, that made me lie down on my bed and let it wave over me. Which Martin Gore had written when he was fifteen, I think. It’s Martin Gore’s ‘Careless Whisper’.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

We’re talking about this not long after the very sad, sudden death of Andy Fletcher.

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

When Fletch died, I kept returning to ‘Shake the Disease’ which is about feeling that you’re always saying the wrong thing, and hoping the person you’re with loves you enough to forgive you for being a bit of a twat. That still speaks massively to me! And Gore constantly returns to that theme. ‘Enjoy the Silence’ on Violator is exactly the same theme. It’s quite interesting for a professional lyricist to constantly return to ‘I say stupid stuff – therefore, can I just not speak?’ Martin is quite known for the odd embarrassing lyric: ‘A career, in Korea, being insince-ere’ …but I guess because he kept writing about hating words, we, in the fan base, forgave him.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

There’s an interesting distance in that Martin is the lyricist, but he usually isn’t the singer. That’s Dave Gahan’s job. Like when you hear an Elton John song, you half-forget Elton didn’t write the words – it’s usually Bernie Taupin doing that. And at some level you know that, but you don’t think about it when you hear the song.

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

I’m constantly trying to link Elton John’s songs to his homosexuality, completely forgetting that the lyricist wasn’t gay. But in Martin’s case it was because Dave was already the lead singer, when Vince Clarke formed the group – though I’m a Depeche purist, very much Anno Vince. And Dave is almost quite a stereotypical frontman. Depeche Mode sort of channel through him, in a way. Some frontmen get annoyed by the fact that they are just looked at, as in ‘you look good and you sound good’ and it’s forgotten often they do write and play, but Dave is a conduit. His deep voice contrasts so well with the binky bonky electronica. Dave was very sexual, his hips would rotate throughout every song. One reason I stopped going to see them live… I went to see the ‘Songs of Faith and Devotion’ tour in the 90s, when we didn’t know Dave was on heroin, and he spent the whole show lying on the floor! He just lay on the stage. For one thing, I thought, ‘I’m here for the hips mate’ and on a practical level, if you’re standing at a gig, you can’t see somebody who’s lying down! Dave was hunkier, but it was Martin I got the crush on because of his brain.

 

Martin did soundscapes, that really felt like they enveloped you. Whenever I hear ‘Enjoy the Silence’, I remember my mum shouting, ‘Surely a song called “Enjoy the Silence” shouldn’t be listened to so loud!?’ A lot of bands, you have to turn the volume up, but with them, it’s about being immersed in a soundscape. One of my favourites, ‘Stripped’, starts with the sound of a car engine being turned on and engine just ticking over, which becomes the percussion of the song. ‘Stripped’ is one of Martin Gore’s many allegorical songs, along with ‘Master and Servant’, where he’s singing about sex, but he’s actually singing about capitalist society.

 

Rediscovering and properly listening to 80s music, I’ve noticed that because Thatcher was so censorious, a lot of the bands did songs that you thought were about sex but were actually about capitalism, like Heaven 17’s ‘Temptation’, ‘Labour of Love’ by Hue and Cry etc. Apparently even ‘Land of Make Believe” by Bucks Fizz is about Thatcherism!. Martin Gore was obsessed with two things – sex and industrialisation – so ‘Stripped’ is partly about ‘let me see you take your clothes off’ but the whole lyric is ‘I don’t want you watching television’, ‘I don’t want you with your earphones in’, “I want to be in a forest’, ‘I don’t want any of this horrible noise.’ And a lot of that came from them living in this very urban landscape of Basildon. When Fletch died, Alison Moyet tweeted, ‘We lived on the same council estate from the age of ten.’ So they lived in these very crowded situations, which is why Depeche Mode became a keyboard band. They were rehearsing in each other’s houses, and they couldn’t use acoustic instruments because the neighbours would complain. They could put headphones on and not upset their mums and dads.

FIRST: U2: Rattle and Hum (Island Records, 1988)

Extract: ‘Desire’

MERYL O’ROURKE

I remember thinking, ‘I need to just stop taping things from the library’. I was at a garage or motorway service station – ‘I am older now, I have some money, and I should probably buy this.’ So the impact of finally buying an album for the first time didn’t feel as special as it might have been for other people. I even remember thinking, ‘I need a “first album”.’

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Were you a U2 fan anyway?

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

With ‘Desire’, I liked that sigh at the start. I like alliterative music, stuff that sounds like what it’s doing. It’s called ‘Desire’ so I’m going to sound desirous. I like a track to do what it says on the tin. You know that wave of sad songs that sound happy? They piss me off!

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

If you’re going to convey doom, use doom.

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

With U2, you can hear the passion in the music. And like Depeche Mode, U2 are now not just unfashionable but derided. This trope of ‘how terrible it would be for U2 to do a surprise concert’.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Or drop a free album on to your iPod.

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

I often think the hatred of U2 comes not actually from the music but from how the band behaves. The things Bono says, etc.  My second boyfriend was a big muso, was at the Hacienda every weekend, and he hated U2, so I had to kind of keep it secret. But I don’t think anyone can deny the passion and popularity of the music.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

My main issue with them then, although this has largely dissipated now, many years ago, was that they were so ubiquitous. And in the sixth form, at school, they had this kind of image of ‘this is real music’. So I perhaps unfairly held them responsible for that.

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

Well, what’s ‘real music’? I liked both U2 and Depeche Mode, they both made noises that made my body react. If I’ve got my eyes shut, and the music’s making my body react, then I like it. What instruments you’re playing that on is less important to me. The Edge is hitting a guitar string or Martin’s hitting a shopping trolley – am I dancing? Yes.

 

—-

LAST: MEGAN THEE STALLION:

‘Thot Shit’ (1501 Certified/300 Records, 2021) (NSFW)

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

This was my last download because I played it as the audience walked in for Vanilla. I thought I’d hate it because the publicity was all her arse, but then I watched the video and it’s hilarious, it’s her saying, ‘We all have arses’, and the video is endless, haunting, relentless arse. Megan’s style of rapping is relentless and monotonous – it’s not melodic, it’s almost like percussion. ‘Thot Shit’ doesn’t go up or down or have a middle-eight, it’s just, ‘This is relentless, this is relentless, this is relentless’. I really like that. The problem is, the video has nothing to do with the lyrics, AS EVER.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

The style and content of contemporary music videos is a major theme of Vanilla, which people can now live-stream. I was trying to think of a way of summing up the show – shall I have a go? To me, it discusses the generation gap between your formative years as a growing sexual being, and now looking at the world through the eyes of your children about the same subjects. Are you okay with that?

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

That’s a theme in it, yes. As an overriding theme, it’s about whether female sexuality is liberating or oppressing. People tell us constantly that being very sexual is liberating, but our actual experience of that can be very oppressive, and it’s often used against us. I mean that’s what the ‘Thot Shit’ video is about: ‘accept it, get over it’. Vanilla is about the bullshit we’re told about sex, especially about female sexuality, and especially what young girls are told. So there’s a lot of stuff about music videos and lyrics that are just bullshit.

 

In the show, I talk about how now there’s some choreo where women put their hands round their necks because we’re meant to be into choking. Even if you are into choking, that’s the most dangerous method! With sex, there’s this really weird disconnect, there seems to be no desire to do things properly or safely. If you said, ‘I’m really into scuba diving’, that would imply that you were PADI-registered [laughter], that you’d had a few training sessions. But with ‘I’m really into choking’ – well, have you looked up how to do it safely, and which things not to do, because some things can kill you? Or have you just copied ‘WAP’?

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

As Vanilla does reference music video and pop songs, you’ve had to keep revising and updating the show. I first saw it during the first lockdown, online, in about April 2020, which predated the song ‘WAP’.

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

There’s no point still talking about Little Mix getting their bits out at the BRITS when it’s a year later – pop music moves by so fast, and I had to talk about ‘WAP’. And all this stuff about how they’re the first female rappers to rap about sex! No they’re not! Salt-N-Pepa made an entire career out of rapping about sex but it’s like they’ve been erased. Sometimes I think they must have upset Stalin. When you go through their lyrics, Salt-N-Pepa were pretty explicit: ‘He keeps me open like a seven-eleven’ [from ‘Whatta Man’].

 

In ‘WAP’ they talk about being choked, tied up, spat on – and at the same time, we’re saying to people, ‘This is liberating’. I understand the nuance of ‘It’s liberating to say I’m submissive’ but we’re not telling young people that. We’re telling them, ‘You are dominant when you’re submissive’. But there are never any dominant songs by women about tying up the men. When I was researching, I asked people if they could think of any songs where the man is tied up. And we literally had to go back to the fifties: Elvis Presley’s ‘Teddy Bear’. And could you believe I was so distant from Depeche Mode I’d forgotten about ‘Master and Servant’! Which is absolutely about Martin being submissive. He was very visibly submissive – he would wear bondage gear on stage. He’d cause shock wearing black nail varnish, and now Little Mix wear bottomless leather harnesses and we put them on little kids’ sticker sets?

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I also remember about three years ago, you were tweeting about Stormzy’s record ‘Vossi Bop’ and it being played at breakfast time on Radio 1.

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

Oh, you remember that! I phoned Radio 1, such a Karen.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

As someone who’s now unarguably middle-aged and clearly not the main target audience, I sometimes hear records like this and think, ‘What do I do with this?’ Whereas the fourteen-year-old me would have imagined me celebrating it as ‘the new “Relax”’ or whatever.

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

But it’s horrible.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

It is. And apparently there are two versions of ‘Vossi Bop’, an uncensored and a clean version, but even the clean version appears to have a line about ‘giving a facial’ in the chorus. I suppose that there’s an argument for saying that’s not swearing, but…

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

I think being the mother of a teenager helps in these situations. When I phoned Radio 1, the woman I spoke to was also middle aged, and I said to her: ‘As middle-aged women, we might think Stormzy’s singing about putting on a mudpack and some cucumber over his eyes… but the teenagers know exactly what he’s talking about.’ People seem to feel that the most urgent issue with ‘…that’ is not questioning why as an act it’s become so mainstream, but giving it a name that means it can be discussed at breakfast. That seems to have been the main priority here.

 

But also, in the lyrics, he’s facialising this girl as a punishment, because she was ugly and she was somebody else’s girlfriend. The thing is, I didn’t want to be disappointed in Stormzy. I love Stormzy [agreement], he’s south London, and I’m south London. There’s a rap bit where he mentions a bus route that I use – it’s so exciting when he mentions things that I know about. And politically, too – the stuff he said after Grenfell. So I didn’t want to complain about him: ‘Hang on a minute, that is the chorus of your song, and it’s being played at breakfast time on Radio 1?’ But at what point can we say, ‘This is not okay’? Because every time we do say, ‘This is not okay’, we’re told we’re being oppressive.

 

There’s a bit in the show where I talk about J-Lo’s very explicit Superbowl show, and I have to make it very clear that I’m not slut shaming. She mooned the world’s children, and she knows that’s not okay, because if you did it out of the window of a school bus you would get detention. And we’re so obsessed now with looking after these adult women’s sexualities that we are completely forgetting about the children who are their fanbase.

 

I find Megan Thee Stallion difficult, because I am fifty-one and I’m surprised by how much I love her. But I was watching Ellen one day, and there was a bit where Megan visited a children’s hospital, and you think, ‘Mate! You rap about wanting someone to tie you up and fuck you. Don’t go to a children’s hospital!’ I really admire the artists like Rihanna and Miley Cyrus who have both said, ‘I am not here for your children. Do not bring your children to my concert.’ And then I see people like Megan Thee Stallion and Nicki Minaj who are very explicit – they’re welcoming kids to their concert. It makes me… uncomfortable. We don’t have that line anymore – and a lot of Vanilla is asking to have that line back. You know, 9pm. It’s impossible, so we have to find a new 9pm.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Watching that Megan Thee Stallion video, it occurred to me how rarely I actually watch music videos now. If I hear ‘Sledgehammer’ or ‘Take on Me’ or ‘Ashes to Ashes’, it’s impossible for me to hear those songs without picturing the videos. I am quite removed now. I may listen to lots of new music, but I don’t really watch new music. But it sounds like you do. Now, is that because you have children?

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

It’s because I was writing Vanilla. And I don’t write without researching. And if I’m going to write about what our children are experiencing, then I need to find out what it is.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

With ‘Thot Shit’, I’ll probably have to flag it with NSFW in the link.

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

Which by the way: if you watch it on YouTube, there is no way to stop your child from watching it.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

No age restriction! I know, I was surprised.

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

A huge problem I have with female music videos is they pretend sex is political, to make it ‘okay’, but just by mushing it all together unnaturally – which I suppose is the essence of sex. Ha-ha. I talk about ‘God is a Woman’ where the video is quite deep and has a lot of feminist imagery – Ariana Grande with a huge hammer smashing a glass ceiling. But the song is just about shagging. The premise of the song is: She is so good in bed, you will forget the existence of a patriarchal god. I mean, she says she’s good in bed, she can’t even wrap her tongue round a consonant…

 

And then you go on to ‘Run the World (Girls)’ by Beyoncé. Which has very feminist lyrics, but the video is just Beyoncé rolling around in dirt, in her knickers. And people might say, ‘Well it’s feminist to do that’, but it’s naïve to think that’s not distracting people away from the lyrics. But to show you actually on your hands and knees in your pants, jerking about, whilst you’re singing about equal pay… You know very well that men are not watching that video thinking, Wow – I really must increase the wages of my female staff.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Yes, if there’s that many levels of irony to get to that point, the message hasn’t really succeeded.

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

‘Run the World (Girls)’ is very clever, in its knowledge of what men and women are aroused by. So men, biologically respond to images, women to conversation. We might not like it, but it’s science. So Beyoncé is managing to excite both genders. The lyrics are having a conversation, bigging up women – ‘Look at what you’ve done, and you can do this and this and this’ – but the movements are saying to her male fans, ‘Look at how sexy I am.’ So both groups of fans are aroused, and both groups of fans enjoy the song but possibly whilst totally ignoring the other’s reasons. One of the things we forget about the music business is, it’s fucking clever. You are constantly being manipulated by every single successful pop group, including the ones you love.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

And the people behind them. That’s fascinating – the different messages different audiences are getting.

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

I think a lot of younger pop stars are groomed. They’re constantly told, ‘You want this.’ In the Jesy Nelson documentary, she has this dual thing in her head, wanting to be beautiful and being told, ‘In your underwear, you are powerful.’ But at the same time, she doesn’t feel powerful.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

So she’s been told what to do.

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

There’s a bit in the making of one of the Little Mix videos, and Jesy Nelson’s being cinched into a corset, and she says, ‘I hope that the girls who watch this don’t think this is comfortable.’ But they do because the band spend a lot of time talking about how powerful their clothes make them feel. She was getting up at five in the morning to wash her hair and do her make-up so that her boyfriend never saw her without her hair done or her make-up done. It was heartbreaking. These levels of ‘want’ – ‘we want this’, well… do you want it ALL the time? I want to look beautiful now and then, for that day, but I don’t want to get up at 6am, so that I have to look like that all the time. A lot of younger pop stars are being told, ‘You are very powerful when you do this, when you wear as little clothing as possible.’ So they say to their fans, ‘This will make YOU powerful.’

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

It’s like they say, ‘We want to do this’, but really it’s ‘There are people who need me to do this.’

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

The trouble with publicising Vanilla is I can’t really talk on radio stations about the music videos my daughter was watching. Like just now, we were saying, for this interview, ‘Can we say “facialising”?’ Because us old people are still living in a nine o’clock watershed world. I’m sorry, but kids don’t live in that world. They’re on TikTok, on YouTube. We are adults but we’re not having the conversation that children are having. Children are accessing this stuff, so if we can’t implement physical censorship, we have to start prizing euphemisms, rapping like Salt-N-Pepa did.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

A revival of innuendo, perhaps?

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

Yeah, it’s almost as if ‘Push It’ wasn’t about hill-starting a Morris Minor…

 

——-

ANYTHING: JOHNNY DRILLE FEATURING AYRA STARR: ‘In the Light’ (Mavin Records, 2021)

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

I am the kind of white, middle-class, handwringing liberal who is quite worried about how much I’m allowed to like Afrobeat.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Although it’s not as if it’s in the mainstream, is it, in this country?

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

Johnny Drille is incredible. His music is beautiful, beautiful love songs. I always refer to him as the African Ed Sheeran. And his voice is almost too perfect. I think he won the Nigerian version of The Voice or something like that [Project Fame West Africa, in 2013]. There is literally no reason why he shouldn’t be played on Radio 2, let alone on 6Music that does world music. That he’s not world famous is a disgrace. He’s a balladeer. Though! On his new album, he’s got this song about the government in which he employed a death metal artist – it’s hilarious there’s suddenly this guy shouting ‘TTAAKKEE IITT BBAACCKKK’. His stuff is beautiful, beautiful though. And he released the new album by having a pyjama party, with a brass section on stage, with all his teenage fans wearing onesies, even his manager is wearing one. There’s something about his music that’s both passionate and sexual but also accessible. Your kids could listen to it. You don’t worry about those teen fans.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

You’d think that, given the rise of K-pop and J-pop and lots of Latin music… that there’d be more global music superstars from Africa, but there haven’t been many.

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

Fela Kuti, and he’s from… how long ago?

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Youssou N’Dour – again, though, from years ago.

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

And the thing is, Afrobeats is a very specific part of African music. It’s a particular beat. Johnny Drille sings ballads. They’re not all actually Afrobeats. It’s like if you took every musician from Brooklyn, and called them a rapper because they’re from Brooklyn – even if they’re playing classical music. And it’s a whole continent, Africa – it’s like calling any music from Britain ‘Europop’.

 

I discovered Johnny Drille because he did a duet with Simi, who I’d already been listening to. She is quite interesting as an artist. She’s married to Adekunle Gold, who’s quite hard Afrobeats and playlisted on 1Xtra in this country. And she apparently produces most of his music. She, though, has a very cute voice, she has a song called ‘Gone for Good’, with these delightful little trills in her voice. And ‘Jamb Question’ about street harassment which is hilarious – she just makes fun of the guy who’s harassing her. ‘Jamb Question’ is slang for not just ‘stupid question’ but ‘the stupidest question’. He’s asking her things like ‘Did I go to school with your brother?’ and it’s sarcastic but still very sweet.

           

But recently she brought out a single, ‘Woman’, and it’s much harder and political. She swears on her new album.  A lot of her male fans have been like, ‘How have you written this angry song when you’re such a sweet girl?’ ‘Woman’ is literally about women being whatever they like and they’re telling you can’t change. Missed. The. Point. She’s very opinionated about the industry. As a personality, as a spokesperson, in terms of navigating herself through this industry, she’s very interesting.

 

——-

 

MERYL O’ROURKE

When my mum died in 1995, our rabbi was on holiday, the rabbi my mum had grown up with was too ill, and the rabbi I had grown up with, Rabbi Julia Neuberger, was on a book tour. My mum wasn’t religious but we started going back to synagogue when Julia was there, I think she was the first female rabbi to have her own congregation. So my mum started going back to synagogue as a feminist statement. But I didn’t want a stranger taking my mum’s funeral – that just seemed wrong, and I’d seen it go wrong before. So Julia just talked me through doing it on the phone, how to take a funeral. In 1995, that was very unusual. But it was nice – I can see why people do it now.

 

Mum not being a big music fan made choosing the music easier! I knew her favourite songs were ‘Can’t Take My Eyes off You’ by Andy Williams and ‘Somethin’ Stupid’ by Frank and Nancy Sinatra. For the service, I’d planned the music to just be ‘Somethin’ Stupid’, but the funeral director said to me, ‘It’s difficult to time exactly when we’re going to start… walking down the aisle? That sounds like a wedding! But… that…’

 

So at the service we just played the whole album – Nancy’s greatest hits – on a loop, for people as they come in. But because Lee Hazlewood’s music was really gothic, it was perfect! My mum was actually carried in to ‘Friday’s Child’, which is so depressing, so deeply miserable. It’s got the perfect beat, this really slow 1950s bluesy swing beat! ‘Hard luck is her brother, her sister’s misery’ – so it was a suitably dramatic gothic entrance. Nancy’s very chatty on Twitter and I did actually get to say to her, ‘Your greatest hits album was played at my mum’s funeral’, and she was like, ‘I’m …sorry??’  

 

 

Meryl O’Rourke’s Vanilla is still livestreaming at: https://nextupcomedy.com/programs/meryl-orourke-vanilla

Meryl continues to perform stand-up sets all over Britain. Check her social media or ents.24 for latest news.

In November 2024, the first reading took place of Meryl’s play Thrown by Giants, at the Arts Depot in North Finchley, London. The play was inspired by her mother and grandmother’s experiences of the internment camps on the Isle of Man in the 1940s. A further table read of this play will be taking place at The Glitch in London SE1 on Wednesday 16 July 2025. When tickets become available, I will add a link here.

You can follow Meryl on most social media platforms – just search for @MerylORourke, although on TikTok you can find her as @MerylOR.

 

FLA Playlist 3

Meryl O’Rourke

(For the time being, this site and project uses Spotify for the conversation playlists, but obviously I disapprove that Spotify doesn’t pay artists and composers properly, and other streaming platforms are available, as are sites to buy downloads and buy recordings. For consistency, you can also listen to the selections via YouTube (where available), and links are provided in each case, below.)

Track 1: Royal Northern Sinfonia/Alex Glasgow: Dance to Your Daddy: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Edl8b_efyNU

Track 2: Meri Wilson: Telephone Man: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TuiDjROPR0s

Track 3: HeeBeeGeeBees: Meaningless Songs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T-gZKRKNy4w

Track 4: Depeche Mode: See You: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zuWQitNlvf0

Track 5: Depeche Mode: Stripped: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qU8UfYdKHvs

Track 6: Depeche Mode: Master and Servant: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IsvfofcIE1Q

Track 7: U2: Desire: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z8rQ575DWD8

Track 8: Megan Thee Stallion: Thot Shit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KynkMn5Hv3Q (NSFW)

Track 9: Salt-N-Pepa, En Vogue: Whatta Man: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5vgV_dVkXN4

Track 10: Beyoncé: Run the World (Girls): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VBmMU_iwe6U

Track 11: Johnny Drille featuring Arya Starr: In the Light: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SrPv3xoTnTU

Track 12: Johnny Drille: Lies (To Whom It May Concern): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nX7Gwitq_kg

Track 13: Simi: Jamb Question: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xYDXuk4s5Mc

Track 14: Simi: Woman: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=udnkr-pMRa8

Track 15: Nancy Sinatra: Friday’s Child: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LUpPOugzhos

FLA 2: Suzy Norman (05/06/2022)

Painting, photography, acting, poetry, novel writing and singing – Suzy Norman does the lot. We first encountered each other online nearly 15 years ago when both of us had other blogs (don’t look for them, they’re not there anymore), and whenever we meet or talk, we regularly find ourselves discussing music, writing and general creativity.

In April and May 2022, we had a couple of conversations, encompassing not just her First/Last/Anything selections, but also the sound of silence in the big city, the physicality of music, and getting into trouble in GCSE music class. Suzy has an excellent singing voice, and often cannot help bursting into a song at the mention of its title. Maybe this should have been a podcast after all.

——

 SUZY NORMAN

I’m interested in how what you’re into develops. At any age. When I was younger, before the age of twelve – I was really into anyone female: Clare Grogan, Toyah, I loved Hazel O’Connor… And then I really, really liked boys, so… Duran Duran, Adam Ant, the handsome ones.. And then, I was just going all over the place, really. Tina Turner and Taylor Dayne, I really loved Cher – ‘Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves’…

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

The belters.

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

Yeah. I liked a lot of joyful stuff. But in tandem, I loved REM and even started listening to things like Mudhoney. Mudhoney and Taylor Dayne!

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

If you like leftfield stuff but you like chart stuff as well, you can never get bored. I’ve never understood why people take musical tribalism into adulthood… And I didn’t even really understand it at school. The peer pressure thing – never quite got it.

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

My older brother’s always had quite a forceful personality, so he’s always influenced me more than my sister – but did he influence me, or is it just that I had to listen to a lot of his stuff? The Jam. Or Madness. The ‘boys’ stuff. Which I still don’t particularly like, to this day – but you just heard it a lot, didn’t you?

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I’ve come round to The Jam a bit more, I can separate it now, but the people who liked The Jam at school were the ones telling you they were always better than the pop music you were listening to.

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

Ye-e-es. I loved the Police, though.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I quite liked The Jam, but I liked lots of other groups too. And people were the same with The Smiths for a bit, weren’t they? ‘This is the only group that matters.’ One aim of this series is to remove the remnants of shame of music.

FIRST: RACEY: ‘Some Girls’ (RAK Records, Single, 1979)

JUSTIN LEWIS

In terms of age, your first record purchase is going to be hard to beat for future guests. Short of them being a baby! You were, what… four?

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

This is the weirdest thing. I have corroborated this with my mum and dad, that I couldn’t have been four, and yet I remember buying it, but then I think, do I misremember buying it? But I did buy it. That’s how early I was into music. At that age, you’re not influenced by anyone – it’s just the cheesy stuff that you like. Like Racey.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

So you went out and bought that yourself? Can you remember where you got it from?

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

Woolworths, Chepstow High Street. My dad took me. I had money left over from Christmas, I suppose.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Have you heard it recently?

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

Yes, I listened to it again last week. It’s alright! [Starts singing chorus] I mean it sounds dead old-fashioned, like the fifties.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Do you know who covered ‘Some Girls’ a couple of years later? Barry Manilow.

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

Good old Bazza.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Sounds like the same backing track!

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

I was also three years old when ‘Mull of Kintyre’ came out, ‘77. And I adored it. My auntie bought it for me, actually, as a little single – I literally wore a hole in it. I remember getting the record, and being excited because it was my first record. My mum says that I was just obsessed with it. I used to be in love with Paul McCartney, when I was about seven, I had delusions I was going to marry him.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

This is the reason I’ve gone with first last anything rather than favourite record. The trouble with favourite record is it pressurises people to think what sums them up. But if you say, What’s your first record, people could fib about it, but on this, I’m not judging anyone’s choices, because it makes for a more interesting chat.

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

I’ve always liked a lot of old shit! [Laughs]

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

So have I. I think there’s a lot of truth in that Noel Coward quote, ‘the potency of cheap music’. The things that make memories flood back to you are often quite disposable. ‘Give It Up’ by KC and the Sunshine Band, there’s almost nothing to it, about twenty words in the whole song. But that’s the sound of a holiday I had when I was about thirteen. When you look back on days gone by, sometimes what you remember are records you hated at the time. That mindset of, I like this record, or, I hate this record, gets less simple as you get older.

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

I think holidays are important to the memory because they’re so visceral. The first time we went abroad, we went camping in the south of France in 1982. And that was when ‘Come on Eileen’ was around – so that song, for my entire family, represents France. Also, ‘Tainted Love’. And the Minipops, which was a single on the jukebox on the campsite.

LAST: KATE BUSH: Aerial (EMI Records, CD, 2005, remastered 2018)

Extract: ‘Aerial’

SUZY NORMAN

I just think she’s a genius! And the older I get, the more I think there’s no-one else like her, and there never will be. I love the fact she does kooky stuff. But I wasn’t really into her until I got married, I think Phil, my husband, probably got me into her. We had the Hounds of Love album, with ‘Cloudbusting’ on it, and I think we’ve got another earlier album – Lionheart. I really liked those two, and then it was announced that she had a new album out.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

It was her first new one for twelve years. The structure of Aerial is quite similar to Hounds of Love – the 24-hour cycle. I thought of you, when I was preparing for this, because in terms of subject matter and vocabulary, Kate Bush takes all these little bits of inspiration from literature and art and history and music itself. On Aerial alone, there’s references to songs like ‘Little Brown Jug’, ‘Autumn Leaves’ – there’s even a bit of the title track where the laughter echoes ‘The Laughing Policeman’.

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

I love that laughter and I love the birdsong. And being a visual person, I love the videos, they date brilliantly. They’re fascinating to watch – she’s really interested in dance and choreography.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I get the impression she never wanted to be famous, she just wanted to get to a point where she had a studio to make new music. ‘I don’t have to tour, I can just put out a record whenever I’m ready to, and make sure it’s as good as I can possibly make it.’

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

I think, on a personal level, she’s enigmatic, and I like that. I’m really intrigued by people who keep themselves to themselves – like Julie Christie does. I just love people where you don’t know what they do. Do they even do anything?

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Supposedly the first disc of Aerial – we should say it’s a double album – is a collection of unrelated songs, but I’m not quite so sure. A lot of it is about family – there’s a song about her son, one about the passing of her mother – but then there’s a song all about the decimal placings of pi. Can you just sing numbers? Can you sing the phone book? And ‘Mrs Bartolozzi’ – a song literally about doing the laundry. Making art out of something apparently mundane.

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

Can you imagine trying to write a song about our mostly banal days? I can’t. I was listening to Aerial a lot when I was recovering from an operation – and I couldn’t really get out of bed, I was almost paralysed – but I was thinking of movement: acrobats and people dancing and twirling. And I just couldn’t wait to put my leggings on and stretch because I do dance around quite a lot at home, and it’s an important part of my yoga practice as well – I just wanted to stretch, and that album sounds like stretching.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

You don’t often hear Kate Bush’s music discussed that much in relation to the physicality of the music. But there’s a lot of rhythm in what she does, always.

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

I love her song ‘The Dreaming’, the one with the dijeridu on it. I wanted to call my second novel The Ground is Full of Holes ‘The Dreaming’. I was set on that for a couple of years, in fact. So I must have been thinking about her when I was writing that, in a way. But I decided not to do that because it wasn’t original enough. But that was the working title of it for about four years.

 

My first novel, Duff, was initially called ‘The Edge of Rain’, and it was shortlisted for quite a major prize, the Dundee International Book Prize. Which was very encouraging to me. But I went back over it a year later, and I changed a lot of it, made it a lot more light-hearted. The essence was the same, but it turned into a little bit of a romcom, a slightly episodic novel where a man is trying to get his wife back, and to do so, he suggests a road trip from Wales up to Scotland. So that’s the premise.

 

The Ground is Full of Holes is also about a marriage breaking down, but it has a mature theme, I feel it goes deeper. I find first-person writing much easier, much freer – which is how I wrote Duff – but I wanted to challenge myself so this one was third person, omnipresent, or third person close [ie concentrating on one character, but written in third person].

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

As we’re talking about music and sound, how do you approach those elements – and maybe even silence – in your writing?

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

I feel that my books are quite silent anyway. But I do put certain sound under a microscope. For example, there’s a scene in The Ground is Full of Holes when one of the key characters, who’s an anaesthetist, is sat in an adjoining room to the operating theatre and he’s listening to the sounds going on in there. I find that kind of thing really interesting, and I wanted to try and make that come alive on paper because it’s a nice contrast to his isolation. The cut and thrust of his responsibilities next door, which he’s actually ignoring at that point.

 

There’s some semi-autobiographical and musical references in that book, too. I chose The Sundays, ‘Here’s Where the Story Ends’, because it was very evocative of me being a teenager, and I was seeing this guy – and that was the song I remember playing on his radio in his room.

 

My books are very quiet, but I feel that’s intentionally so – because I live in quite a quiet world myself. I live in Central London, but I do my damnedest to make my life as simple and quiet as I possibly can.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

What struck me, reading The Ground is Full of Holes, was the feeling of quiet in the big city. With a city like London, you think of bustle and traffic, and a lot of this felt like nocturnal silence.

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

I think that’s the kind of London I would like to live in. This is what I experienced in lockdown, a beautiful experience, you know. I wonder what it would be like for me to live somewhere quiet. I think I might find that very strange. I think I would rather create my own quiet in a noisy environment rather than the other way round.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

It’s nice to be able to make that choice.

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

Yes. I feel I have control over how busy I want to be. If I want to step out of my flat into a busy street, then I can. I worry about that option not being available at all, and the feel of the city is very energising. And to take that away might feel a little glum – I’ve never done it as an adult, I’ve never lived outside of a city as an adult. So I feel that a lot of what I create is my own fantasy of silence.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

The way that we use music now in the twenty-first century: if we want noise we can find it, but we don’t have to have it. That control of whether it’s on or off. Whereas, years and years ago, where music wasn’t a constant soundtrack – in fact, it was even quite hard to find sometimes. Sure, there was Radio 1 but that was all there was! And the idea of music or noise you wanted on tap. And now, it’s tempting to think, There’s too much noise – but you can choose now.

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

You can turn it off.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Just to go full circle with titles: you mentioned you originally titled the novel ‘The Dreaming’, linking back to Kate Bush. But where is the actual title The Ground is Full of Holes from?

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

It’s an Edna O’Brien quote. I say ‘quote’ – it’s in a novel of hers. Because Irish literature is my thing.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Would your passion for Irish literature extend to Irish music?

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

Very much so, yeah. I’m not an expert on it at all. But I listen to it rather a lot.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Irish rock, Irish folk?

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

Oh, definitely not rock, although I love Van Morrison. Yeah, folky stuff. I don’t admit to it, because it’s a bit naff (Laughs) but I love it. The Dubliners, The Chieftains. It’s all fiddle-dee-dee.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

And you’ve been to Ireland a number of times?

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

Probably more than anywhere else.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Have you sat in pubs while this music was being performed live?

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

Yes, I have. In Dingle, and in Galway as well. I love the sound of the music. I love the drums. It’s a romantic thing. It’s an Ireland that doesn’t exist anymore, only exists in pubs. Even though I would never have experienced this Ireland even when it did exist, even if it existed ever. But that’s the power of music, isn’t it? You can imagine an Ireland that’s something else, I suppose. Rather than the reality. The history is another thing I’ve had to educate myself about, partly because we’re not taught about it in schools. It’s the whole picture. They’re highly intelligent, creative people. They have a lovely vocabulary, that we perhaps don’t have over here sometimes. And that might stem back to going to church… The Irish people I’ve met have quite a forcefulness to them, a confidence about the language they use, the diction they use, which is interesting to me.

ANYTHING: JESSYE NORMAN: Henry Purcell – Dido and Aeneas: ‘Dido’s Lament (When I Am Laid in Earth)’ (Philips, CD, 1986)

JUSTIN LEWIS

It sounds like this was the moment for you when you properly connected with classical music.

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

I can’t believe how old it is, basically! [It was composed in the 1680s.] But it has this slightly modern tint to it – Sinead O’Connor could record it. And I guess the lyrics are very clear and very raw. And I just thought, What a wonderful thing to have at your funeral. I just love it. Salome Haller’s version, I heard first of all, and I’ve heard many versions since – but Jessye Norman’s is best, for me. She’s incredible. I heard her before I saw her, and I was actually surprised to discover that she was Black. I had no idea.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

She’s been quite a role model for many performers since, especially in the States.

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

I’d assumed it was mostly a white woman’s game.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I think it’s changed quite a bit, especially recently. Why classical music is still here at all is due to people looking forward. One reason it stalled in the public consciousness was that, unlike popular music, which had this linear progression, the popular perception of classical music was: you get to the twentieth century, and… then what? Whereas it’s living and breathing. But you would have to be listening to a fair bit of Radio 3 and attending concerts to know how much is there. If you said to a lot of people, Name ten composers, they might name one or two after 1900. But generally, they’re going to go, Bach, Beethoven, Mozart etc…

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

When I was writing every day, I listened to a lot of Radio 3. I discovered how much I loved opera! But my introduction to classical music is very often through TV drama as well. There’s this brilliant piece of music from The Crown – it’s when Princess Margaret gets married. ‘Dies irae’ by Zbigniew Preisner. That blew me away too. Again, it’s very slow, and very sad. Debbie Wiseman’s Wolf Hall soundtrack… is beautiful, and I listen to that quite regularly. So not so much radio now, but a hell of a lot of TV drama. I’ll hear something, look it up, find out more about that composer or whatever. That tends to be how I do it.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

But that constant Radio 3 listening was from when you were writing pretty much every day.

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

Yeah.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

And I think when you are doing anything like that, you’ve got a routine in place, you’ve got your writing head on. Radio 3 has this element of surprise about it, but not one that’s going to put you off your stride, when you’re working.

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

It’s lovely, it’s like going into a library, and you don’t know what you’re going to get, but something will be on display in the main entrance… that’s what the radio is. You don’t really get that with Spotify because you have to select what you want to listen to. Unless you listen to a playlist, but in general I wouldn’t trust anyone else’s playlists! (Laughs)

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Just on that point of how much you like melancholy music… has that always been the way?

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

It depends on the mood I’m in. The last ten years, I’ve probably listened to more upbeat music, quite a lot of pop music, things like Justin Bieber. But before then, it was sad stuff… sad Bob Dylan and Neil Young. Maybe I was a bit sadder then. But now, maybe life’s a bit more to be celebrated, though that said, I am listening to more sad music once again – but because I find it very relaxing and beautiful, for no other reason than that.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Recently, I went to see a piano duet recital in Cardiff. They played Schubert’s Fantasie in F, devastating piece it was, almost the last thing he wrote, might have been the last thing he wrote actually. It’s got this finale of doom to it, but as with a lot of sad music, it is life affirming – ‘I am overjoyed to be here listening to this now’.

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

It’s: We’re all mortal. And we’re here to reflect on the sadness of life. To be a complete human being – it’s not all fun fun fun.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I wonder if that’s why classical music – particularly in the past – slightly failed with a lot of younger people because as you get older, you realise that a lot of this music is about being an adult. Which is not to say pop music can’t be about that.

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

You have to have experienced loss, you have to have experienced disappointment. Nick Cave – he’s had a lot of tragedy the past ten years. But it’s still great music. I wouldn’t say it’s better for it. But it’s good enough.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Yes, it’s what you can do with the material that life has given you. And if you’re a real artist, it’s about trying to reflect that as honestly and as imaginatively as possible.

 

 —–

 

SUZY NORMAN

I grew up in south Wales, but for a while, I went to school in Princes Risborough [in Buckinghamshire] which is not far from London. So there were lots of wonderful experiences which I didn’t have in my Welsh school. Things like playing clarinet in the orchestra in the House of Lords, and seeing theatre in London… It wasn’t a great school but they did have a lot of extra-curricular stuff like that. And I really made the most of it, I think.

 

When I moved back to Wales, I dropped the clarinet… but I did choose GCSE Music – for only one year because I dropped out. It’s a shame that happened because I loved it, we studied The Beatles’ Help! as a form, we learned how to conduct a song, that’s when we learned about middle-eights, intros, all that. And I am a singer, so I was a confident singer.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Did you sing solo?

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

I did. I remember singing ‘That Ole Devil Called Love’ with the teacher on piano and me singing.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I’ve heard you sing that informally. But did you ever try songwriting?

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

I did actually write some songs in my mid-twenties. I’ve always been creative in that sense. I’d just got back from Australia, where I’d spent a year, and I was staying with my parents while I was saving up enough money to not live with them anymore. So I had a lot of quiet evenings when I just did that. I wrote about four, on guitar, and recorded them on a tape player. But god knows where they’ve gone. I didn’t notate them.

 

But here’s why I dropped GCSE Music after a year. We had a homework task, which was to compose a song, and even though I could play about ten chords on the guitar – which as we know is enough to write millions of songs – could I be bothered? No, I couldn’t. So I took this filler track from a Rick Astley album – one where I thought, ‘Well, no-one’s going to give me an A+ for this.’ It was called ‘The Love Has Gone’. I thought it would go under the radar. I went in and I sang it acapella, and the music teacher took me into a side room. And she said, ‘Suzy I’ve got to tell you – I’m really impressed with this, in fact I think it’s the best one in the class.’ And then she pressed ‘play’ on her tape player… and it was Rick Astley.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

That is brutal.

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

It’s malicious! (Laughs) It’s a really sadistic way of doing it. I was mortified. So I never finished the course. My parents never noticed. I don’t think they even knew I’d been doing Music GCSE! So I didn’t have to explain myself.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Parents weren’t involved with their kids that much in those days, were they. They didn’t know what we were doing. Can I put that Rick Astley song on your First Last Anything playlist?

 

 

SUZY NORMAN

Definitely! It’s the story of my life in a playlist…

 

 

—–

 

 

Suzy Norman’s two novels, Duff and The Ground is Full of Holes, are published by Patrician Press. You can find them both here: Suzy Norman books and biography | Waterstones

You can follow Suzy on Twitter at @suzynorman.

 

 

—–

FLA Playlist 2

Suzy Norman

(For the time being, this site and project uses Spotify for the conversation playlists, but obviously I disapprove that Spotify doesn’t pay artists and composers properly, and other streaming platforms are available, as are sites to buy downloads and buy recordings. For consistency, you can also listen to the selections via YouTube (where available), and links are provided in each case, below.)

Track 1: TAYLOR DAYNE: Tell It to My Heart: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ud6sU3AclT4

Track 2: CHER: Gypsies Tramps and Thieves: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uuA_gCMiw0E

Track 3: RACEY: Some Girls: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JY3pkagVP64 

 

Track 4: KATE BUSH: Mrs Bartolozzi: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tRiJ1xrZQ80

Track 5: KATE BUSH: Aerial: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vCw796Qz4M0

Track 6: THE SUNDAYS: Here’s Where The Story Ends: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=slNYveNnQTg

Track 7: THE CHIEFTAINS & SINEAD O’CONNOR: The Foggy Dew: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jrrO4I-E8oY

Track 8: HENRY PURCELL: Dido and Aeneas, Z 626: Act 3: ‘Thy hand, Belinda… When I Am Laid in Earth’

Jessye Norman, English Chamber Orchestra, Raymond Leppard: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jOIAi2XwuWo

Track 9: ZBIGNIEW PREISNER: Dies irae: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ADFroKeDlw

 

Track 10: DEBBIE WISEMAN: Monstrous Servant: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QHhzribmXoc

 

Track 11: RICK ASTLEY: The Love Has Gone: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V8AvyCpCVJI

FLA 1: Lev Parikian (29/05/2022)

(c) ADRIAN CLEVERLEY

It was such a privilege to have Lev Parikian as my first guest on this series of conversations. He is a birdwatcher, an author, a musician, and a conductor, as well as one of the finest, most dryly funny tweeters I know.

One morning, in April 2022, we talked about his musical background and career, and about his First/Last/Anything musical choices, which encompass: one of the best-loved pop groups; a formidable and imaginative soloist and collaborator; and a pioneering composer in the world of animation.

We also discussed some of his experiences as a conductor, but we began by talking about his father Manoug Parikian (1920–87), one of the most celebrated British classical musicians of his day.

 

LEV PARIKIAN

My dad was a violinist, so my early life was listening to him play the violin very, very well indeed.  One of my memories is of sitting cross-legged on the floor of his music room, just listening to him practise. So that obviously goes in at a kind of deep level. There were times when he was away and not around, but at other times, he would be rehearsing with other very fine musicians, so there was music being made to a greater or lesser degree quite often.

And we had a record player, you know, so 33s and 45s and 78s, on which there would be things like Colin Davis Conducts the Highlights of The Marriage of Figaro, or Beethoven 9 conducted by… Karl Böhm, I think it was. But interestingly my dad wasn’t a recording fetishist; he made recordings, though not as many as he might have done, and he recorded quite a lot for BBC Radio 3, a lot of which has been deleted over the years. But when those were broadcast on the radio, he’d record them on reel-to-reel tapes. So, from the parental side of things, it was very much a classical upbringing.

But I was a child, this was the early 70s, and my brother is four years older than me, so I’d get influences from him, and we’d listen to Radio 1 and the Top 40 on Sunday afternoons. Later, by around 1977/78, my brother was very into new wave and punk, and played bass in a band, and I was twelve, thirteen, and had been listening to things like Genesis’s The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway. So suddenly I’m listening to Siouxsie and the Banshees and The Clash and the Ramones, and listening to John Peel at night, thinking, Okay, this is good music. And then my brother suddenly did a complete right turn, and started listening to funk and soul – and that has really stuck with me, I remain a big fan.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Were there crossovers between your parents’ taste in music and yours? Did your dad ever poke his head round the door, and go, That’s rather good?

 

LEV PARIKIAN

He never did that. I do remember that on Thursday evenings, he would sit down with us to watch Top of the Pops. He didn’t really go for it. And then, in my teens, I was getting into jazz. We had had these eight-track cartridges for car journeys – one by Louis Armstrong, and one by Herb Alpert and His Tijuana Brass – so I got it into my head: ‘Oh! He likes jazz.’ But I started getting into more outré, difficult jazz, and when Carla Bley (certainly more ‘difficult’ than Louis Armstrong!) was on the telly late one night on BBC2, I assumed because Dad listened to Louis Armstrong, he’d be well into Carla Bley. But he said, ‘I don’t really like it.’

Dad’s musical tastes really were straight classical. Mozart was revered above all else. But he was also a great champion of contemporary British classical composers.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

So did he commission people with new works?

 

LEV PARIKIAN

He did – there were some commissions that were written with him in mind as a soloist: Sandy Goehr, Elizabeth Maconchy – and Hugh Wood (1932–2021), who died recently. Dad recorded his violin concerto in the early 70s, and while Hugh was writing it, he basically came on holiday with us! He was a bit Douglas Adams with deadlines. ‘If we spend two weeks with him, then he will have to [finish it].’

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

You didn’t have to lock him in his room, did you?

 

LEV PARIKIAN

No, we didn’t have to have a bodyguard for him, like Adams did! But I remember, much later on, ten, fifteen years later, Hugh wrote something for my dad’s piano trio, and that literally came page by page. Hugh was a lovely man. When I started conducting, with the Brent Symphony, our local amateur orchestra, he used to come to my concerts. This was at the church on the St John’s Wood roundabout, which was his local church. And after the first half he would come into the vestry, where I was changing, knock on the door, and say, ‘Very good, very very good…. So far…’ [Laughter] Puppy-like enthusiasm, but: ‘I’ve got my eye on you’. He became a friend of mine after Dad died. As I grew up, we kept in touch.

FIRST: ABBA: ‘Waterloo’ (Epic Records, Single, 1974)

JUSTIN LEWIS

So, where do ABBA fit into all this, then? How did you get to buy ‘Waterloo’ as your first record?

 

LEV PARIKIAN

1974, I was nine years old, and I had pocket money, and they had probably just won Eurovision, and it was being played everywhere, and I wanted to have my own record. We had some things knocking about that my parents had bought. But that’s not the same, you know.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

It’s a decision you’ve made.

 

LEV PARIKIAN

‘This is my record.’ That ABBA choice has stuck with me, those early records of theirs I think of as my favourites. They can really divide people – I know people who say, ‘Oh god, they’re so tedious’ or ‘I hate that big sound’, but I always found them incredibly life-affirming and uplifting. I had no idea how they made that sound, and how they constructed their songs – but something about it definitely stuck.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Yes, the arrangements. I’ve come to realise that one of my obsessions is with arrangements, and yet it’s the aspect that is often overlooked. People tend to discuss lyrics, or the tune…

 

LEV PARIKIAN

Sometimes harmonies, ‘that’s a beautiful chord progression’, or the hook or ‘the middle eight’s brilliant’. For an obvious example with ABBA: ‘Dancing Queen’. The decisions that they make at every stage of recording that song, of how they’re going to build the sound. It’s multi-tracked, all sorts of things are producing that big, bright, completely infectious sound, and it’s quite hard work to build something like that. It’s not just going into the studio and playing and recording it and that’s what comes out. Instead, it’s voicing this, and doubling that line, even quadrupling it.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

You know what one of the inspirations for ‘Dancing Queen’ was? It was that George McCrae record, ‘Rock Your Baby’.

 

LEV PARIKIAN

There’s nothing original under the sun, is there?! And around the same time as ‘Waterloo’, there was Cozy Powell. ‘Dance With the Devil’. And I just loved the rhythm of it, the drums.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Well, you became a percussionist…

 

LEV PARIKIAN

This is all foreshadowing! I was eight, so it obviously started somewhere. Because I was playing the piano a little bit, in a desultory kind of way. I started with the violin when I was four or five and that was a dead loss. Listening to my dad doing it, and thinking, Well I’m never going to be able to do that.

But with percussion, in the first instance, I think I got a term’s worth of free lessons because they were starting it up. I went to the local prep school in Oxford, I’d been singing in the choir, and they’d started teaching percussion lessons. I thought, A term of free lessons – great, and I get to hit things.

During my teens, I was dabbling with a drum kit – not well, but enjoying it – and I was playing timpani and percussion in orchestras. And then there was a sort of moment of revelation – I was about to do A levels, had been doing no work at all, was predicted really bad results. And I was playing in a concert, playing the timps and thought, Oh – this is good. I like doing this. I was already 17, 18. So I wanted to get into music college, but realised how good you have to be, to get in. So there was a period of hiatus, in between leaving school and going on to the Royal Academy. Playing in a jazz band with friends in Oxford where I lived – but also trying to get into music college to do classical percussion.

 

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Let’s talk about conducting. How did you make the leap from being a musician to being a conductor?

 

LEV PARIKIAN

I was studying at the Royal Academy of Music, and I wanted to be a freelance orchestral timpanist, percussionist, whatever. They’d also just started a jazz course there, and I was dabbling in that, and playing in the big band, but when you’re playing timpani and percussion, especially in the classical repertoire, you’ve got a lot of bars’ rest, a lot of time sitting around. So you could either be pissing around, which I did a lot, or just gazing into the distance. Or observing the orchestra and the conductor, and I don’t think I did it consciously, but I think I must have noticed the difference that conductors make.

We played Mahler’s First Symphony, and Colin Davis came to conduct it, and we’d been playing other stuff – not just with student conductors, but with the regular conductors of the Academy. And you just suddenly go: This sounds like a different orchestra. They’re the same people that were playing last Tuesday but suddenly it sounds like a better orchestra. How did that happen? Because it’s just one person at the front. So there was an interest there.

But also, I remember an earlier conversation with my mum, when I was going through my terrible teen years of doing nothing at all. I wanted to give up playing piano – I wasn’t getting anywhere, wasn’t doing any practice, and [my parents] were paying for my lessons and it was just kind of pointless. And my mum said, ‘Well if you’re not enjoying it, then obviously you shouldn’t be doing it, but it’s a shame because I think it’ll come in useful – because I think you’re going to be a conductor.’ And this is when I was fourteen.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

That’s fascinating.

 

LEV PARIKIAN

Yes, it is, but I don’t know whether that implanted the seed in my head or whether she had the foresight… Whether she turned me into a conductor via a time machine, you know?

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Have you ever analysed what you had that turned you into a conductor? Did people ever say, or have you worked out what you had?

 

LEV PARIKIAN

I don’t know. They might have seen that I was not dedicated enough to really master an instrument [laughs]. I was dedicated to playing percussion in orchestras, which is a slightly different thing. I think, also at that time the idea of being a solo percussionist – multipercussion and marimba and so on – was very fledgling and niche. But I just think they probably they spotted some sort of musical curiosity.

Being a drummer in a band meant being the driver of things, and I suppose that links to conducting. And in the same way that a really good drummer drives without being obtrusive, then a really good conductor will do a similar sort of role.

I also remember when I was about sixteen, I became fascinated by Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring, by the sound of it, the size of it. My dad had a shelf full of miniature scores, and he had a score of that. I couldn’t read scores at all and a lot of it’s really complex, but there’s one bit which is just kind of repeated chords, changing a few notes at a time, and I just played that over and over again at the piano, reading the different staves. So it was clear that I was interested in orchestras and that was the direction that it could go.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Studying music at A level was the first time I’d ever really seen full scores of things, which you’d follow as you listened. Prior to that, as a soloist or an orchestral player, you’d mostly only see your own part. Obviously you were listening to what else was going on and you’re watching the conductor or whatever, but you never really saw or heard what the conductor sees or hears, which is basically everything. As a conductor, you’re a director, but it’s like being a film director.

 

LEV PARIKIAN

Yes. And part of the job, if you’re equating it to directing a film or theatre, is to tell the whole story. There are different techniques at your disposal. On a pragmatic level, you’re the one that’s best placed to hear everything, because you’re standing in a position where the musicians are around you, and you don’t have an instrument underneath your ear. So you’re in the position that’s closest to what the audience is hearing. Often the job is just to make sure that the balance is right – it’s a producer’s job.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

With the baton, it’s like you’ve got this series of faders.

 

LEV PARIKIAN

And of course the better the orchestra, the better their ability to do that for themselves and so the better your ability has to be. Obviously there’s spotting mistakes and correcting rhythms and encouraging certain facets of the music by what you say and what you do. But a lot of it is boringly pragmatic, in a sense! [Laughter] It seems kind of unromantic to say it – it’s so easy to think of the conductor as some sort of magician, with the tailcoat and a wand. What we do is so intangible, people might think, Oh it’s some sort of magic.

There is obviously an element of inspiration, personality on the music. But if you take away a conductor from most orchestras, even amateur ones that I mostly work with, you’ll see they can play pretty well without a conductor. Especially if the music is familiar, and it doesn’t have complex tempo changes, they can play pretty well at least 85, 90 per cent of the time, without a conductor. But then your job is to know: What is that 10 per cent? How can you add to it?  

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

With non-professional or amateur orchestras, by the way – do we say ‘amateur’?

 

LEV PARIKIAN

‘Non-professional’ can encompass students and youth orchestras and so on as well. ‘Amateur’ is fine – a good thing in my view because it comes from ‘to love’ in Latin. Although, also as an amateur cricketer myself, I understand the connotations of the word amateur!

LAST: FENELLA HUMPHREYS: Caprices (Rubicon CD, 2022)

(Extract: Niccolo Paganini: Caprice No. 24 in A Minor. Fenella Humphreys (violin))

JUSTIN LEWIS

This was one of my recent purchases too. It’s phenomenal, a collection of solo violin works, but I hadn’t realised it was crowdfunded.

 

LEV PARIKIAN

I was one of the crowdfunders. I have probably worked with Fenella more than any other soloist over the last ten years at least. So we’re friends, and we’ve always got on really well musically and socially – but I was thinking about what makes me want to keep working with her as an artist. She plays the violin brilliantly, that’s the first thing, but what makes her playing special is that blend of intellectual rigour and showpersonship – I don’t know if that’s really a word, and it’s clumsy, but you know what I mean – so she’s a performer.

There’s also that word ‘collegiate’, she’s a great collaborator. She gets the amateur orchestra ethos –she always plays with the musicians who happen to be in the room. She understands what we’re doing.

And Fenella is flexible and spontaneous, with strong musical ideas, and as a conductor and collaborator, I never worry, working with her, ‘Oh god, is this going to be okay? There are moments that in a spontaneous way can be quite exhilarating, but you just feel like you’re in safe hands and so you can just relax, and know that the musicians in the room play better as a result. And I think that’s quite a rare thing.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I first became aware of her when she was performing concerts from her home during lockdown. And then I discovered her recordings. I find it fascinating how some musicians just find a way to your heart. Because, obviously, there are loads of brilliant violinists but there are ones who you find really, really special, and you think, I really want to hear them play that concerto. And she’s one of them. (And that doesn’t mean the others aren’t good!) But I see the range and volume of repertoire she performs at concerts, and it’s completely different stuff at each one. Now, is that common? I don’t get the sense it is. 

 

LEV PARIKIAN

Well, she’s pretty driven!

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

She must have the most incredible memory for a start.

 

LEV PARIKIAN

And it’s not that she’s taking these things on, and going to give them half measure. And my treat – and this applies to any concerto accompaniment – is I get to stand right next to it. There’s something quite special about standing next to a really good musician when they’re playing. And for me obviously the violin is extremely important because a good violin sound has been in my head for 50 years from my dad, so even though I don’t play myself, you know it when you hear it. And she’s got it in spades.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

So with the Caprices album itself, I mean. What stands out for you? Can we discuss the sequencing? There’s so much variety.

 

LEV PARIKIAN

What’s great to see is so many young, contemporary, and living composers in there. It’s slightly disconcerting to see birthdates from the 1990s.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Yes, that keeps the ego in check. But with a number of names on that, I think, I must check more of their work out. And some surprising choices too. And Paganini himself, who I think sometimes gets a rough ride, gets dismissed as fluff.

 

LEV PARIKIAN

‘It’s all flashy.’

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

But I certainly don’t think that’s true of the 24 Caprices. I first properly heard them when I was about eighteen – I borrowed a CD out of the library, I think it was Michael Rabin’s version. First you hear the fireworks, and then…

 

LEV PARIKIAN

There is depth there, yes, and they are incredibly difficult and technical. They could just be this monumental technical exercise: ‘I can play these sixths, I can play the thirds, I can play the octaves…’ But to actually make a coherent musical piece, I think that’s an art as well. And that’s true of all 24 of them.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Fenella’s performance is just fearless. Completely liberated. And as well as the inclusion of the 24th Caprice, probably Paganini’s most famous piece of music, you get a sequence of brand new variations of that theme, each one contributed by a contemporary composer or artist. All extraordinary in their different ways. Rounding off with a gypsy jazz interpretation composed by Seonaid Aitken. 

 

LEV PARIKIAN

Yes, the ordering on the disc is interesting. It’s great to see some people I know a little bit and have heard before and have followed their careers. It’s seeing her playing all this new music and just saying: this is great music and it all lives together. Like her Bach to the Future discs, this is innovative, interesting programming for a CD – it makes sense as an album. Listening through this with shuffle turned off is rewarding. It’s not just a case of: Here’s a nice one, and oh here’s another nice one.

ANYTHING: SCOTT BRADLEY: Tom and Jerry and Tex (Apple Music, digital download album, 2010)

Extract: ‘Tom and Jerry: Downbeat Bear’ (1956)

JUSTIN LEWIS

Obviously I’m familiar with the music of Tom and Jerry.

 

LEV PARIKIAN

If someone said, ‘Tom and Jerry music’, you can hear the shape of it, the feel of it, the character of it. In the 70s it felt like Tom and Jerry was on every afternoon. And the Christmas one, every year, and they were funny and brilliant, and fast and slapstick.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Did you know that before BBC1 started showing Tom and Jerry, April 1967, it had never been on television before, not in Britain anyway. Just cinema.

 

LEV PARIKIAN

Really? That’s fascinating. And because you watched the credits, you’d see Fred Quimby’s name, the producer, with that little flourish on the Y. And the name of Scott Bradley, who composed the music for all of them. 

I don’t know a lot about composing music for cartoons, but what was brilliant about it, even at the time, was how the music fitted and dictated the action on the screen. You’d get BANG and what sounded like a swanee whistle but was actually two clarinets going up on a glissando, in semitones – or playing ‘the Petrushka chord’, I now understand! I was watching one of them earlier, ‘Putting on the Dog’, and there’s just a tiny little thing on the trombone when it goes boooeerrroom, and it’s the glissando bar from Stravinsky’s Firebird.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

That’s a defining cartoon, ‘Putting on the Dog’. Certainly musically.

 

LEV PARIKIAN

He uses twelve-tone techniques in that as well. So he does Schoenberg – ‘here’s a bit of Schoenberg, but you don’t know it’s Schoenberg’ – and he’s got the Petrushka chord, twelve-tone stuff, and a bit of the Firebird, as well as these popular songs in great zippy arrangements.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

You can hear ‘Old McDonald’ in there, and I noticed there was one Tom and Jerry cartoon called ‘Downbeat Bear’ from 1956, which seems to have not only a section of The Blue Danube in it, but also – fleetingly – ‘Rock Around the Clock’, which had just come out.

 

LEV PARIKIAN

And it all happens in two seconds, and it’s gone. And it’s all completely associated with the action on the screen, so it’s not him showing off, he’s demonstrating how to portray that moment of slapstick on the screen in music, which is all played with breathtaking brilliance by a group of twenty musicians. I know people who played in the John Wilson Orchestra who did that compilation at the Proms [2013]. And they said, ‘You have no idea how hard this is. This is the hardest music I’ve ever played in my life.’

JUSTIN LEWIS

I was watching the clip – rows of string players playing for their lives.

 

LEV PARIKIAN

And you don’t even realise it, because you’re watching Tom and Jerry. If I ever need to be cheered up, then that Proms clip is seven or eight minutes of pure joy.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

I love that this music is so light on the face of it, and playful, but played seriously and absolutely straight. Have you ever had to conduct anything like cartoon music?

 

LEV PARIKIAN

For years, I had this idea we should play Tom and Jerry music live to the cartoon. But as far as I could find out there was no way to get hold of the musical materials – if they even existed at all. So the idea never came to fruition. But luckily John Wilson was rather more committed to the idea than me!

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

The Proms performance is a compilation, isn’t it. Helpfully itemised on YouTube.

 

LEV PARIKIAN

I’d still love to do it, but you need players of the highest calibre.

 

—-

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

As a conductor, what do you think is the biggest misconception about the profession?

 

LEV PARIKIAN

A lot of people simply don’t understand what a conductor does, why they exist, and what is difficult about it. And I include in that, not just non-musicians but also musicians – and also, dare I say it, some conductors. [Laughter] With a violinist, it’s obvious what the job is – you play the violin. With a writer, you write books, or plays, or sketches or whatever. But with a conductor, it’s not entirely clear what they’re doing and what would happen if you took the conductor away.

Do you remember the programme Maestro (2008)?

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

In which celebrities learned to conduct an orchestra.

 

LEV PARIKIAN

Yes, David Soul, and Goldie… and Sue Perkins won it, and they had the BBC Concert Orchestra playing. I know a few people who play in that orchestra, and one of them told me: ‘Obviously they’re making it for telly so it’s a broken-up process, but the one thing they never did at any stage was to just take all the conductors away and allow us musicians to play by ourselves without a conductor.’ Just to show people that this is what an orchestra can do – so the job of the conductor, especially as the playing level gets higher, becomes more about the ears, and is about how to get a group of people to play better – by whatever means that takes.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

Reality TV covering music generally can be a problem, because it’s never about music, it’s about television. A completely different thing.

 

LEV PARIKIAN

They had quite a big audience on BBC2, and it was an opportunity to slightly demystify what the job is, but it didn’t seem to me that they really did that. And I can’t remember how many conductors they had on the panel, but they had orchestral musicians on the panel, so the focus was on the relationships between the mentors and the pupils, and the journey of the pupils. But it kind of underestimated its audience – it never actually addressed what they were doing and why. It never explained, ‘This is why this gesture doesn’t work, and why this gesture does work’, you know?

 

—–

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

We touched on this earlier, but in the 70s, you had pop over there, jazz over there, classical over there. They were like islands that weren’t connected. And now – they’ve almost connected round the back somewhere.

 

LEV PARIKIAN

I think this is a good thing, and speaking as a bloke in my mid-fifties, I’ve noticed that younger musicians in general I think are much more into cross fertilising in what they’re exposed to, the things they play, the things they listen to. That’s definitely changed since I was young.

At the Royal Academy in the early 80s, when I was studying timpani and percussion in orchestras, I was also interested in jazz. I was listening to quite a lot of funk and I remember listening to Level 42 quite a bit – partly because of Mark King’s bass playing. Their drummer, Phil Gould studied percussion at Royal Academy of Music a few years before me, and apparently, what happened – he’d put together a kit from a suspended cymbal and a snare drum and other bits, and started playing around, and the reaction was, ‘We don’t do that here.’

Meanwhile, this jazz course had been started by Graham Collier, who had also been instrumental in starting the [big band/orchestra] Loose Tubes. So that was a fledgling thing that I was well into, and I know several musicians, friends of mine who were also there as classical players, but were also in big bands and small bands. And nowadays I think it’s just taken for granted that classical musicians will not just be interested in Mozart and Beethoven.

 

JUSTIN LEWIS

When I used to go to concerts, when younger, I used to find it quite a difficult experience in that I didn’t feel like I belonged there. To go now, you feel much more welcome. There isn’t that formalised restriction anymore. Sometimes, the musicians now will talk to you, introduce the music they’re going to play.

 

LEV PARIKIAN

For some players that can be quite a daunting thing. I do talk to audiences at concerts, sometimes very briefly, but fairly recently, I did a film music concert, with nine big pieces of film music, each one of them benefiting from an introduction. And for the last two minutes of any piece I’m conducting, my mind is already thinking: Okay. What am I going to say about the next piece? I didn’t want to do that nine times, so I thought of Neil Brand, because we were doing [Bernard Herrmann’s] Vertigo suite, which is his favourite thing – he’s done a whole thing on his YouTube channel about it. I thought, What this needs is Neil Brand telling us what the music is doing before we play it. It was brilliant – it just took the pressure off me, and he was focused on communicating the music.

But yes, musicians talking to audiences, even if we just say, ‘Uh, hello, thanks for coming. It’s lovely to see you all. I hope you enjoy this. It’s eight minutes long.’ [Laughter]

 

 

Lev Parikian’s book, Light Rains Sometimes Fall, was published in paperback in 2022. His other books include Music to Eat Cake By, Into the Tangled Bank, and Why Do Birds Suddenly Disappear?

Since our conversation, Lev’s superb and highly acclaimed book Taking Flight was published by Elliott and Thompson in May 2023, and was shortlisted for the Royal Society Science Book Prize.

He also writes a lot about birds, and his regular Six Things round-up at his Substack: levparikian.substack.com

Much more at levparikian.com, and you can find him on Bluesky as @levparikian.bsky.social.

———————

FLA Playlist 1

Lev Parikian

(For the time being, this site and project uses Spotify for the conversation playlists, but obviously I disapprove that Spotify doesn’t pay artists and composers properly, and other streaming platforms are available, as are sites to buy downloads and buy recordings. For consistency, you can also listen to the selections via YouTube (where available), and links are provided in each case, below.)

Track 1: WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART: Violin Concerto No. 1 in B-Flat Major, K.207: I. Allegro moderato

Manoug Parikian, Orchestra Colonne, Walter Goehr: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bgQHvH-cWMI

Track 2: HUGH WOOD: Violin Concerto No. 1, Op. 17: II

Manoug Parikian, Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra, David Atherton: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kpmlo7D3uyY

Track 3: ABBA: Waterloo

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sj_9CiNkkn4

Track 4: COZY POWELL: Dance with the Devil

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7IpfZnBvBF0

Tracks 5, 6, 7: IGOR STRAVINSKY: Le Sacre du Printemps (1947):

Introduction / Adoration of the Earth / The Augurs of Spring / Dances of the Young Girls / Ritual of Abduction

Pierre Boulez, Cleveland Orchestra

(Track 5): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3gfnF6gdNi8

(Track 6): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pc1wX7MTRaI

(Track 7): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LvQ1aTlPqe8

Track 8: NICCOLO PAGANINI: Caprice No. 24 for Solo Violin

Fenella Humphreys: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Vx-jsXx4h4

Track 9: SEONAID AITKEN: Paganini Caprice No. 24 for Solo Violin Variation: Gypsy Jazz:

Fenella Humphreys: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y11pZfeMdII

Track 10: SCOTT BRADLEY: Tom and Jerry: Downbeat Bear

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rRBU0nS9W4A&t=58s

Track 11: SCOTT BRADLEY: Tom and Jerry at MGM

Performed live by the John Wilson Orchestra, BBC Proms, 26 Aug 2013

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kYrUWfLlYI0

Track 12: BERNARD HERRMANN: Vertigo – Prelude and Rooftop

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RPSZuzW5IG0

 

Track 13: STUART HANCOCK: Violin Concerto: I. Andante maestoso – Andante semplice:

Jack Liebeck, BBC Concert Orchestra, Lev Parikian

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oireCP8yLrE

FIRST LAST ANYTHING: ABOUT

Conversations about Music

with Justin Lewis

About First Last Anything

This isn’t a podcast. It’s a textcast.

A series of conversations about music with people who make music, think about music, or simply love music. Or a combination of them.

I decided on a format that was a shift away from ‘all-time favourite records’, like turning one’s collection into a museum piece. I thought it might be more interesting to focus on not only the past but the present. Not only, where you’ve been with music, but also where you might be now. And where you might be going.

And so FIRST LAST ANYTHING came into being. (The working title was The First The Last My Anything, after the Barry White song, but that seemed a bit cumbersome.)

The rules – they’re not even ‘rules’ exactly – are so simple. I invite guests to select:

FIRST – The first record they bought (or remember buying)

LAST – The most recent record they bought (or downloaded)

ANYTHING – A wildcard selection, but broadly speaking: a record that expanded their taste or opened a door in music, or just something they changed their mind about.

Then we talk about those, and other matters relating to their life so far consuming music.

That’s it.

Between May and September of 2022, the first run of First Last Anything welcomed sixteen special guests.

A further eight special guests appeared for a second run in June to August 2023.

There are plans for a third run later in 2025. In the meantime, all 24 conversations will be reuploaded at this new location, and can be found under the category of First Last Anything.

Hope you enjoy them.

Justin Lewis

May 2025

WHICH REMINDS ME

I firmly believe that the iPod Classic, introduced twenty years ago last month and scandalously now discontinued, is the finest invention of the 21st century, apart from obviously all the pioneering and lifesaving developments in medicine. For reasons that are best left to another post, I don’t want all my music on a phone, I don’t like being interrupted, so the Classic was the ideal format for storing a ton of music. And perhaps its greatest feature, apart from its portability, was its shuffle feature, very common on devices now, but not then.

I have usually been just as interested in current music as for what I suppose what is now called ‘heritage music’, oldies and classics, and so the iPod was an ideal fit for me, and the shuffle function performed an ingenious, new way to listen to music. It was like having one’s own radio station, where your whole collection lived on top of each other, and would interrupt each other, in an endless stream of unexpected segues. The juxtapositions used to amuse me, but they could often be moving – suddenly you’d be whisked back to a family holiday or that friend you’ve lost touch with or that person you fell in love with, or even a more troubling incident that you’ve more or less worked through now. In that circle of randomised tracks lies the inventory of your life – your constantly evolving memories and your continually unfolding present day.

As with nearly everything, I was fashionably late to the iPod Classic – it was 2008 when my brother Jonathan bought me one as a Christmas present, my name engraved on the back with love. And it seemed a logical present, given how deeply music lay in our bones. We had a father who filled the house with music, music of all genres, and while he was critical of so much, the one thing he was, was eclectic. And so were we.

The first two singles that Jonathan ever bought, if I remember correctly, were Dennis Waterman’s Minder theme, ‘I Could Be So Good for You’, and David Bowie’s ‘Fashion’ – both purchased in late 1980, when both were in the top ten. I don’t know if he’d thank me for listing some of his early singles and LPs, but I think there’s something enlightening about the randomness of record buying, pre-internet. Because records could be bought on a whim, or the sign of an obsession, or just a passing enthusiasm, or even just ‘it was reduced in a sale’. Record collections are often a series of accidents rather than a careful curation of taste. And this was never more true than when you’re ten or eleven, and have yet to cave in to peer pressure. ‘Pass the Dutchie’, ‘Ebony and Ivory’ and the first Wham! album were all things he bought and soon lost interest in (though I quickly nabbed that last one for my own collection).

And then, before I did really, he became interested in the album rather than the single. Tin Drum by Japan was a constant sound in our house – particularly ‘Canton’ for some reason – and soon, as he became involved in the local surfing culture, his often much older friends would lend him albums. It’s hard to remember now which albums in our house were bought and which ones were borrowed, but – to give you an idea – Talking Heads, Sex Pistols, the Clash, the Beat, INXS (the latter long before they had any hits in Britain).

And AC/DC, who along with Pearl Jam were possibly his all-time favourite band. There was a period in the mid-1980s, when we were teenagers, when you knew when Jonathan was getting up for school. You’d hear the slow tolling bell heralding “Hells Bells” by AC/DC. It was like the thrilling alarm of doom at about 7.45. But then we had a noisy house. Three of us had loud stereos, my dad’s being the loudest of the lot. And then on a Sunday, as a family, we’d listen to the Top 40 when we had our evening meal, and would argue about the merits or otherwise of the current hit parade. It was my idea, but I’m grateful they indulged me.

Jonathan died ten years ago. The day before he died, I was sitting in his room, next to his bed. An iPod playlist had been set up, on shuffle, all the mellow favourites. And everything set off a memory. Stevie’s ‘Pastime Paradise’, the soundtrack to West Wales holidays in the late 70s. ‘Is This Love?’ by Bob Marley, which was on a tape of the Radio 1 Top 20 we played endlessly around the same time, before we got round to buying our own music. And then ‘Our House’ by Crosby Stills Nash & Young, a song of quiet contentment, and an unwittingly cruel track to hear in such a context – ‘Life used to be so hard.’ I can never hear it in the same way again, and a few months after he died, some TV ad for a DIY store did their own abysmal cover version, which managed what I thought no piece of music could possibly achieve: it made me laugh and cry at the same time.

In those days I was still living in south London, but for a variety of reasons – and that was one – I soon moved back to Wales. But I continued to visit London, often to housesit for friends who were still there.

In April 2014, I was housesitting in south-east London, not far from Peckham, and was visiting a friend in Crystal Palace. As ever, I travelled around everywhere – bus, train, tube, on foot – with the iPod Jonathan had given me. That night, I caught a taxi ‘home’ to where I was staying. The following day, to my horror, I couldn’t find the iPod. I suppose it feels strange to call it an heirloom, but it certainly felt like a prized possession given by someone who was no longer around.

I phoned every place I’d been the day before: the pub, all the shops, Transport for London, even the cab company whose driver had taken me ‘home’. But to no avail. God bless my amazing friends – above all, Alasdair and Becky – who crowdfunded to buy me a replacement iPod for my birthday a few weeks later. When they presented it to me – with probably thirty people in the room – it was one of those evenings I will never forget. My incredible friends. X

I probably used to be less judgemental about music than I am now. Maybe it comes with age, it’s not just that you accept that people have different tastes; it’s more that music is a soundtrack to your life, and that includes stuff you thought you barely noticed, even stuff you thought you hated, even stuff you actually hated. It’s all part of your life.

Early June 2014. Another housesit – different house, same area of south-east London, though. I went out to central London that Saturday, and in the evening met Alasdair and Becky and several other friends in Crystal Palace. We asked the restaurant to call me a cab, as the others prepared to get their buses and trains. On the way back, I answered a few texts, and the driver and I exchanged a few words, but little more than that. Until we were nearly ‘home’, about two streets from my destination.

‘I think I’ve driven you before,’ he said.

‘Oh really? It’s quite possible.’

One street away.

‘Are you Justin?’

‘Err, yes?’

(Bit worried now.)

We had arrived. He pulled over and stopped the car.

He opened and reached into the glove compartment, and then he turned to me.

‘Is this your iPod?’

——-


I.M.

Jonathan Lewis 1971–2011

Rebecca Taylor 1980–2014

Vivian Lewis 19381994

WHEN IS BIRTHS, AND WHY

IMG_2656 (Edited)This blog has been almost entirely dormant this past year. The short answer is, I’ve been busy elsewhere.

Just over a year ago, I created a daily account for social media platforms, which I came to name When Is Births. Every single morning, I have been posting a photograph of a card, filled with the names – sometimes as many as fifty – of prominent people born on the day in question. Some are household names, others relatively obscure. Some are very much alive and well, while others are long gone, but fondly remembered. I posted the very first one at 8am on Monday 25 September 2017. Now, over 10,000 names and nearly 366 entries later (because those with a 29 February birthday still count, even in a non-leap year), the one-year circuit has been completed.

Sometimes, an idea hits you in an instant, and you wonder where on earth it came from. Only later, stepping back, do you realise that idea is the sum total of several seemingly disparate elements, all of which have been bubbling in your subconscious. You often read about songwriters saying how their biggest hit was written in ten minutes, and while you don’t dispute that claim, that kind of flash of inspiration can be a culmination: a combination of life experience, revisiting obscurities or false starts, and as a reaction to what’s going on.

One Sunday afternoon, in early September 2017, while travelling back from London to my home in South Wales, I was thinking about Twitter, and how many people I knew on the platform (myself included) always seemed so jaded and miserable first thing in the morning. It wasn’t just that the news itself was depressing – we really ought to know some of the awful things that are going on in the world – but more that certain public parasites were capitalising on this misery and, through ignorance and hatred, sought to make money off the back of that negative energy. To a lot of us, it felt like a rank in-joke that had long become tedious and unfunny.

I wanted to do something else, but I wasn’t yet sure what it was. I knew I wanted something constructive, regular, challenging, but finite. Every day, if possible – and the day’s date seemed a logical starting point. A blog or a podcast seemed way too much graft for something that few people might sample, and certainly not every day. How about an image, though? I thought about many of the blogposts on this site, and how, rather than use photographs, I’d upload a specially created image, usually showcasing my handwriting skills in some way. I remembered one image in particular: a wall of almost 200 names of much-loved figures who had all died during 2016 representing all the deceased celebrities, from George Michael to Carrie Fisher, David Bowie to Victoria Wood, Prince to Leonard Cohen.

In about ten minutes, I’d worked out my new daily concept. Over the next couple of weeks before launch, I drew up dummy versions, tried to see which colour schemes worked, and which ones clearly didn’t. And I told almost nobody what it was. Instead, I just posted little teaser tweets to my Facebook and old Twitter account, which attracted 160 people even before the first post went live. By the end of 25 September, there were 300 followers; after five days, around 700. As the year is up, we’ve got nearly 2,400. Considering I am basically obscure, that’s not bad. (The name ‘When is Births’, by the way, is a nod to ‘When is bins?’, a question I once annoyed Toby Young with on Twitter, and which became the name of this blog in late 2016.)

IMG_1949I have to tell you, it’s nerve-wracking when you’re about to launch anything, especially when you know it’s going to take up a lot of your time. But I was right to say nothing ahead of launch day, I think. Because it would be an image, it seemed free of one specific interpretation. If someone wanted to just glance at it for a few seconds, that was fine; equally, you could read all the names and count up how many you recognised; you could even, if you wished, investigate the unfamiliar names, and seek out clips, songs and reading matter. I liked this most of all. And because everyone has a birthday, everyone gets a turn. Lastly, I chose to list the names for each day in alphabetical order, not least because it seemed the best way of accidentally ensuring amusing juxtapositions.

People have said some lovely things about the account. I’ve had so many people thank me, and tell me how it’s brightened their morning a bit. And from time to time, some of those people have said, ‘Do you intend to do anything with this idea?’

The answer is: yes, albeit in stages. The first part of the plan is to offer personalised cards (see below), written from scratch, where the recipient’s name is specially inscribed in the namewall. In time, I hope to mass-produce prints in some way, and maybe other spin-offs too, but in any case, the daily postings will continue, free, for the foreseeable future.

Finally, for now, a thank you to everyone who liked, everyone who retweeted, everyone who shared, everyone who said nice things, everyone who politely corrected or suggested omissions. I hope you feel it’s all been worth it.

Meanwhile, there will be something new in January 2019, and more on that when the time comes.

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The 366th and last When Is Births will be published on Monday 24 September, before the cycle starts again on Tuesday. A website will launch at some point in October 2018.

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IMG_2652 (Edited)

ENJOY THE MOMENT: OXIDE GHOSTS

24879974_10154830109296086_3117380731159129930_oMichael Cumming is one of British television’s foremost comedy directors. Over the past twenty years, the Cumbrian has worked with Mark Thomas, Lenny Henry, Rory Bremner, Matt Lucas and David Walliams, Matt Berry, and Stewart Lee. But his career in comedy began in the spring of 1995. Chris Morris’s Brass Eye, which took eighteen months to complete, drew on Cumming’s versatility on a wide range of programmes, from documentary inserts to corporate videos, from children’s magazine shows to Channel 4’s post-pub yoof sneeze, The Word. His wide range of experience gave Morris’s project – somewhere between experimental media satire, sketch show and hidden camera – an authenticity. As with The Day Today, Morris’s previous series with Armando Iannucci, Brass Eye didn’t look like a comedy show.

As I wrote on this blog earlier this year, 20 years after it finally made it to air, Brass Eye had a difficult gestation. With the fragmentation of multi-channel broadcasting and the Internet, it seems unlikely that a single comedy series will have that kind of impact again, especially as television is more cautious with humour now. But fortunately, there is now a chance to sample Oxide Ghosts, an hour-long compilation of mostly previously unseen material from the six-part series, selected and completed by Cumming, but with Morris’s approval.

The only catch? You have to go out and see it, at a cinema or arts centre, where Cumming appears in person, to introduce his film, and then to take questions afterwards. Recording the event is strictly prohibited, and the film is extremely unlikely to be commercially available or downloadable. This is a deliberate decision; some of the footage is legally sensitive, but in any case, both Cumming and Morris felt that there was something alluring about a once-only viewing. After all, though many of us (myself included) made sure we had videotaped the original series off the telly, it felt much too outlandish and extreme to ever be reshown, let alone be released on video and DVD. (Even though it eventually was, and it eventually was.) Because Brass Eye was about impact – at the time it felt like a once-only experience.

And so, Oxide Ghosts, even for people who thought they knew every frame and line of the series (already way too much to absorb and process in one viewing) is not so much a completion of Brass Eye as an added bonus, something we thought we would never see. Included in Cumming’s film are extended versions of familiar material, what you might call “deleted scenes”, and two or three clearly outrageous moments presumably never intended to be broadcast (designed to distract Channel 4 and the ITC from the stuff the programme makers actually wanted to be included in final edits). There are even some outtakes and bloopers involving Morris and other cast members; there’s one particularly memorable moment when one of the tensest scenes in the entire series dissolves into joyous catharsis in the studio. It’s still unlikely to be on It’ll Be Alright on the Night, though.

As someone you might call a ‘comedy historian’, I might once have found this kind of event frustrating. Obsessed with archiving every moment became almost too easy with the Internet, but there was something fantastically liberating about knowing that the showing of Oxide Ghosts I saw last night in Cardiff is likely to be the only time I’ll ever see it. Even then, like the series on first viewing, there was too much material to process (you couldn’t even hear every line, such was the density of footage). But that’s okay. Just to see it at all felt like a massive privilege. Hopefully, if you have not been able to see it, Cumming may tour it again one day.  But for me, one showing is actually enough. And that is not a criticism. To quote the poster outside the event, I chose to ‘enjoy the moment’.

Oxide Ghosts is being shown in Newcastle and Blackpool on 17 and 18 December. Further details at Michael Cumming’s website, which is here.