The Murphy Variations

A few notes on the musical bonbons here set forth, by His Grace the Earl of Killorglin. LIFE AS WE KNEW IT: In this age where the miniaturisation associated with the digital realm has become commonplace and a fellow could arrive at a recording session only to find that he had left the 'studio' in his other trousers, it is perhaps easy to forget the logistics that the enterprise involved only a few years ago. And so it was when we came to leave this song for posterity by rearranging particulates of oxide on plasticised tape of many hundred yards length. A pantechnicon delivered to the designated hall our crated apparatus and appurtenances, a 'Revox' D2759 tape machine, the 'Rolls Royce' of recorders, a 'Scorpion' 36.24.16 mixing desk, 100 metres of heavy duty multi-cored cabling, 14 'Neumann' U87 microphones with powerpacks, 8 Urie steam compressors, a steel reverberation plate of many dozens of square feet and all the rest of the gadgetry and contrivances needed at that time, not least of which, and it may astound the junior recording artist who can pluck any sound effect from the internet ether in a second or two, was four hundred yards of cobbled trackway and a horse to walk upon it. The owner of this thoroughbred had exacted the most solemn of promises from us as to his nurture and maintenance, but since my colleague Chris Cornetto was adamant that only the sound of equine hooves would conjure up the setting for our composition, so be it. The assembling of our paraphernalia took the best part of the morning and when we decided to break for lunch Mr Harrison, Miss Kraabel and I opted to visit a local eatery whilst Mr Cornetto, at his own insistence, would stay behind to tend to our equipment and livestock. We were bemused then, upon our return, to find the vast hall echoingly empty! We stumbled out dazed with incomprehension until an old woman who lived nearby pointed us in the direction of the high street and an establishment there which is the insidious friend of the down-at-heel musician, the pawnbroker! And indeed, eyeing us from the window of that place was a very sorry looking palomino. It took all our powers of negotiation and £28.50 in hard currency (a lot of money in those bygone days) to retrieve our materiel and horseflesh. We did not see Mr Cornetto for some days, and when we did the look he gave us from under his thunderous brows made it very clear that we should not mention the incident, and we never have. SHOPAHOLIC: to hear the plangent horn sound in this piece or the doom-laden piano work of his other compositions for the Murphy Variations one might think that Cornetto's work has always been freighted with dolor, but it was not always so! Dean Brodrick, who met him early in his career has left a remarkable pen-portrait from that time unveiling a different side to this unique personality: "He was a true little fop, all spick and span in a well-fitting uniform, well groomed, his hair carefully brushed, his hands perfectly manicured. He spoke mincingly, interlarding his sentences with French words. He was very popular with the ladies. At parties, he would sit at the piano, and with coquettish gestures play bits from 'Trovatore' or 'Traviata', while around him all sat entranced, murmuring 'Charmant!' 'Delicieux! 'De Trop!'." Such was, at the age of seventeen, the man who, fifteen years later was to write the grim, deeply stirring music of the 'Murphy Variations', whose uncompromising starkness and daring originality came as a rude shock to polite society and also to the musical world at large. FANTASIA 7: As Cornetto and I crouched in the wings of the Wigmore Hall clutching our Telecaster guitars we were perfectly aware that our fate would be to suffer a torrent of critical abuse from the claque that had aggregated in those prestigious environs. What we did not anticipate was the murderous physical attack that followed our rendition of Henry Purcell's Fantasia no. 7. A certain rhythmic hesitancy can be heard in our performance as we became alert to the fact that the normally appreciative and pacific audience were producing from their pockets and handbags knuckle-dusters and shillelaghs rarely seen outside the most blighted inner-city sink estate. As the last chord died and the baying mob moved towards the stage, their eyes wide with bloodlust, I turned to Cornetto only to find that he had already absented himself. A subsequent period in intensive care gave me time to reflect on the folly of taking innovation to the vicious Radio 3 'crew' without being adequately 'tooled up'. CRAP ACTOR: This 'homage' to David Bowie was conceived in a light hearted spirit not matched by David and his entourage of high powered lawyers who slapped an injunction on the totality of our activities and had us speedily in court indicted for heinous libel. We defended ourselves of course (a strategy I no longer recommend!), but our defence of each blaming the other for those baseless slurs was seriously undermined by the non-appearance of the defendant Cornetto. His Honour the Procurator Fiscal, perhaps influenced by my pitiful representations and the quantity of tears and snot emanating from myself, did not impose the maximum sentence in his power and I must say that during my months in solitary confinement at Her Majesty's pleasure I was extremely grateful to him for that lenience.