Sunday 28 October 2012

There have been lots of tributes (but not nearly enough) to the great Michael Marra this week: his writing, his voice, and well … just him really. I’ve written here before about the sheer joy of hearing Michael sing Schenectady calling Peerie Willie Johnson: a song about the power of music, and technology and tradition and locality, perfectly woven into a true story. 

Working with him was always something to look forward to, and to remember with fondness. He could find performing a frightening prospect (he preferred not to know too much about his upcoming gigs in case he got too nervous) and he was initially very wary of collaborating with the likes of us, who had a ‘classical’ background. What convinced him to pick up the phone the first time was hearing our version of Frank Zappa’s Echidna’s Arf – common ground!

I wish we’d had a chance to record his devastating singing of Parcel of Rogues – he sang it very slowly, and had wanted to stand at the front of the stage with his hands behind his back to deliver it ‘like Liam Gallagher’, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to conjure up the required self-confident swagger, and sat behind the piano (without playing it) instead. He could leave these vast holes between the phrases, but still you knew exactly where the next beat was going to come – I can’t think of many classical singers who have that keen an awareness of musical time, and can create great big open spaces without any loss of nerve: it was very powerful indeed.

He was one of the many artists who came to play at Stewart Cruickshank’s BBC leaving party, and as I had my harmonium on the stage he invited me to join him. ‘Aw, I’d love to, what do you want to do?’ ‘Frida Kahlo’s visit to the Tay Bridge Bar.’ (I didn’t know it then) ‘Uh, OK, what key’s it in?’ ‘I’m not telling you.’  So he introduced me as ‘the harmonic … David McGuinness’ and while he was delivering his wonderful tale of Kahlo’s brief return to earth, out of the corner of his eye and ear he was enjoying the spectacle of me desperately trying not to look or sound stupid, while feeling my way into a song that most of the other people in the room already knew. I got my good-natured revenge by getting him to play fortepiano at the Edinburgh Festival a few years later (see the photos in our Late Night Sessions CD booklet for proof).

And of course he was an actor, sculptor, painter, and video artist too. He made songs that were invested with great depth of meaning, whether hilarious, deeply moving, or both simultaneously.  Who else would come up with a scenario whereby Frida Kahlo is sent to the Tay Bridge Bar by St Peter to pass the time, while he pumps weights to build up his strength to deal with the Pearly Gates being rusted shut through lack of use … and who else could make the resulting song so tender and touching?  That would be the lovely wee guy from Lochee with a huge brain and a mischievous smile.