How Literature, Cinema and Art Shape Simon Fisher Turner’s Music

Transmission 086: Interview with Simon Fisher Turner

Simon Fisher Turner (born 21 November 1954) is an English musician, composer, and producer. Initially gaining attention as a teenage actor, Turner shifted his focus to music in the early 1970s, releasing his debut album. Throughout his career, he has recorded under various aliases, including The King of Luxembourg and Deux Filles, and was briefly associated with The The. Turner is particularly noted for his work as a composer, especially his collaborations with director Derek Jarman on films such as Caravaggio (1986) and Blue (1993). His music frequently incorporates experimental techniques, blending field recordings with classical and modern elements. On 2 August 2024, he released Instability of The Signal, on Mute Records, an album that marks his return to vocals and continues his exploration of sound, combining audio snippets with piano, strings, and field recordings to create a complex sonic landscape.

Related article: Interview with Isao Yamada

Instability of design marks your return to vocals. What sparked that decision?

I had been working on the tracks and felt they needed singing. It’s as simple as that. I just really wanted to sing. I think I had a lot on my mind because COVID had ended, and I wanted to clear my brain. Initially, it was really just about that. Once I started singing, Luca Perry, the engineer (fka Francine Perry) began recording the vocals, and we realized this was what I wanted to do. I wanted to create lyrics on the spot, and I really like harmonies. I just wanted to get my voice going again because, you know, how you sing in the shower, in the bath, or hum while walking down the street. It was time to sing again, not just for my voice, but to express things politically and personally. It was like a cleansing.

Were there any specific events or personal experiences that influenced the creation of this album? 

The backing tracks were created with David Padbury, who sent me very small slivers of sound that I turned into tracks, generally between two and three minutes long. COVID, because we were all so isolated, made me concentrate on working with David’s sounds. Gradually, over the course of three years, as COVID-19 unfolded, I realized I had a lot of work that needed to be developed naturally at a slow pace. By the time I called Daniel Miller to discuss the vocals, much of the music was nearly finished. During COVID, I made these backing tracks, and after COVID, I did the vocals and added the guitars. Everything else—sound effects, pianos, and strings—was compiled during the COVID period.

So, I knew I had everything pretty much in place, and I just needed to record the vocals. That’s when I called Daniel, told him about the idea, and explained how the album had developed. I felt it was very complete, but I just needed to sing. Apart from the singing and the guitars, everything else was ready. However, I had never played it to anyone. I did some tests with Luca, who recorded the vocals. We did two days of tests, sent the tapes to Daniel, and he said he enjoyed them. He asked what else I wanted to do, and I said I wanted to continue recording more vocals. Singing-wise, it was a way of releasing a lot of emotions. The album was almost an act of frustration during COVID because we couldn’t do much else.

Do you have plans to perform these new tracks live? And if so, how might you adapt them for the stage?

When it comes to live work, I don’t really do that many concerts. But, for instance, I’m going to do a session here in New York next week. The thing is, I don’t like to recreate projects live. So, when I do play it live properly, I’ll take the backing tracks and, depending on the situation, I’ll definitely sing and probably play the piano and guitar, rather like the album.

I mean, the tracks can be made into different things. I can make them much longer. There’s a good possibility that I could play them live; it’s just figuring out how to do it. For instance, it would be easy to do them live if they were adapted with strings—live, with cello or, you know, with strings. It would be easy and interesting to do it with percussion players. So, there are many ways it could go live. It could also just be me and a guitar and a piano.

So, you know, I think I’m going to do a session for a radio station here in New York on Monday at  WFMU. I’m not quite sure what I’m going to do, but I suppose I’m almost going to do a kind of concert, live on the radio. But I’ve sung a couple of them before, a couple of the songs before live, and they change. I’m not very good at repeating myself, and I’m not very good at, you know, just playing the songs exactly as they would be on the LP. I tend to rearrange them.

How does literature such as the work of William Burroughs influence your music and lyrics?

Well, the whole cut-up concept came from William Burroughs through David Bowie, of course. When I was growing up, David Bowie was talking about artists in the ’70s. That’s when he was doing Ziggy Stardust and started giving interviews. He always mentioned William Burroughs, the cut-up techniques, and using different approaches.

I tend to grab a few books and can improvise lyrically pretty easily. I like to jot down notes and enjoy the idea of improvisation in both music and lyrics. I’m also a fan of the editing process, whether in words or music. Holger Czukay from the band Can was a great influence on me when it came to editing music. He always said to me, “Simon, you are so serious that you must make a funny record.” So I’m glad to say that the track Toast on the record is quite light-hearted because I can be a bit serious. But Holger‘s advice was, “Hey, loosen up a bit, make something funny.” I thought that was good advice from Holger.

And what’s the comic you are reading in the video?

It was Commando magazine. It’s about Second World War stories. When I was 16 or 17, I used to ride the bus to school and read all these war comics. I would ride around London in a pair of jeans, and back then, you didn’t have to lock up your bike. So, that is completely autobiographical.

I attended modern dance school and went to a ballet school. My mother hated me reading comics because she thought I should be reading Shakespeare. Everything in that scene is autobiographical, from when I moved to London from the countryside at 14. I used to take the bus to school, which was primarily a ballet school, focused on ballet, drama, and modern dance. In the mornings, we did dance, ballet, and tap dancing. In the afternoon, we might have two hours of history, math, or geography. I wasn’t very academic, but I was very interested in drama and dance. I loved modernity. I’m a big fan of dancers and movement.

And can you tell us about the early musical influences that shape your interest in creating music?

I would say my influences change almost every day. I was brought up on classical music, so that was my first love. Then, of course, there were The Beatles and David Bowie. Those are three big ones, but I’ve always loved music from all over the world—be it from the Middle East, the Far East. I have to admit, I don’t know much about South American music, but I particularly like music from the Middle East, especially from Syria and Egypt.

My mother was an archaeologist, and she used to drive from London to work on archaeological discoveries in Syria. She would bring me back cassettes from Syria, and I always asked her to bring back tapes whenever she traveled. Once, she drove to India, and I asked her to bring back music from there. So, I’m influenced by lots of things. For example, on the way here today, I went into a shop and heard a piece of music I liked by a musician called Gas—they are German, and the music is from 1990.

Strangely enough, I’m not really into jazz, though I love jazz musicians and putting musicians together. I remember when I was recording an album for Mute, and Scott Walker had just put out an album called Tilt. It was remarkable, with its slabs of sound and orchestration. Scott Walker turned out to be an influence, even though I didn’t really like his voice when I was younger. But his last few albums were astonishing and very brave.

I’m a bit of a magpie, picking up influences from all sorts of things. I’m a people person and love working with musicians. If I met someone tomorrow who played the ukulele, I could happily sit down and make music with them. My influences change constantly. It might sound crazy, but I’d love to make an American hip hop-style album. I remember being blown away when I first heard Public Enemy. I’m a bit of a sponge; if I went to Spain, I could make an album in Andalusia.

I haven’t recorded an album in New York for a long time, though I did a lot of music for films here in the ’80s. It was always great finding musicians in New York. So, my influences are far and wide.

What inspired you to transition from acting to music? And was there a specific experience that led to this decision?

When I was 14, I was probably a good little actor. By 15, I was probably OK. But by the time I was 16, I thought I wasn’t a very good actor. I continued acting until I was about 24, and by then, I was hating it so much that I called up my agent. I had worked continuously from 14 to 24, earning a lot of money doing TV, but I wasn’t enjoying it. The more I immersed myself in music, the more I realized that’s what I needed to pursue.

So, when I was 24, I called up my agent and said, “If Robert De Niro or Marlon Brando calls, I’d be really interested in working with them. But otherwise, I’m just stopping acting. I don’t want to do this anymore.” I decided to stop acting and focus on building a music career on my own terms. I wanted to make music that came from me and my friends, not copying anyone in particular—just doing my own thing.

I wanted to hang out and make music. One of the great things about making music is that you can start with absolutely no idea what you’re doing, and then, whether it’s five minutes or five hours later, you’ve written a song or part of a song. It’s like filmmaking—music-making is a collaborative process.

What was your experience like being a member of The Gadget and later joining The The?

Well, The The was Matt Johnson and his friend Colin‘s band. The Gadgets—I wasn’t really involved with Matt, Colin, and a guy called John. They were The Gadgets, and I came along after The Gadgets. By then, Matt had started calling himself The The. I think he had just made a solo album for 4AD called Burning Blue Soul.

I met Matt because I was working at Cherry Red Records, and I was introduced to him. I can’t quite remember how it happened, but the three of us started playing live. This was before Matt‘s solo album, which is considered the first The The album, Soul Mining. We were a three-piece band: Matt, Colin, and I. Later, the band grew much bigger, including Marc Almond, JG Thirlwell, Zeke Manyika from Orange Juice, Colin, and me. I just couldn’t cope with so many people—it all became a bit crazy, to be honest.

I’ve stayed very good friends with Colin, and I see Matt from time to time. It was a great experience. I really like Matt‘s songs, and I enjoyed playing bass in The The. That’s mainly what I did, and I really liked playing bass. Matt is a fantastic guitarist.

How did your collaboration with Derek Jarman begin? And what was the creative process like working on his films?

It was all an accident. I met Derek after he’d completed the film Jubilee. He had a solo art exhibition in Chelsea, and I started driving him around. I met him through a friend and was offered a job, so I took it. I had a driving license, which meant I could drive anyone around, so I started driving Derek since he didn’t drive.

When he made The Tempest, I was in the office when they got the money to make it. Derek turned to me and said, “Simon, you’ve got a driving license. We need a driver. You’re in.” So, on The Tempest, I looked after a ton of things. I was like a runner—I’d do anything. That was my first experience with a film from beginning to end, and it was really good fun.

Then, when it came to Caravaggio, I was working in the production office again. Someone asked if I wanted to be in it or work on it, and I said, “I’d like to be in the film, please.” I looked after the extras, and later, Nigel Terry asked me to be in the film. At the end, Derek asked if I could do the music for it, and I said yes, even though I’d never done music for a big movie before. I relied on really talented musicians to help.

Our working relationship was strange but natural. Derek was very good at describing what he wanted and then just let me get on with it. I always liked working with musicians, and the whole thing with Derek was sort of accidental. For instance, on Caravaggio, it was the first time he worked with Tilda Swinton. Tilda‘s father was in the Army, Derek‘s father was in the Air Force, and my father was in the Navy, so we joked that we had all the services covered—Air, Army, and Navy.

We all had similar backgrounds and a good work ethic. Derek knew I liked to put people together, work hard, and take on challenges. He was almost like a father figure to me. My father, from that generation, wasn’t terribly close, and as someone in the Armed Forces, he was never at home. Derek and I became really good friends.

Our relationship was often about him talking about things I had no idea about, so I’d question him. I’d never heard of Caravaggio or Yves Klein before meeting Derek. He taught me to be curious, which helped us work well together. We never sat down and talked about things terribly seriously. When we were supposed to have big meetings at Prospect Cottage about working on a film, we’d end up talking about anything but what we were supposed to discuss. We didn’t need to explain things to each other; we just knew what needed to be done and did it.

And which film soundtrack project was the most challenging for you and why? 

Well, Blue was the most challenging. The thing is, there were no images. What we had with Blue were the poetry and the words, which inspired the music. But every film was different. For example, The Last of England was incredibly difficult to put together musically.

With Caravaggio, I kind of knew what I was doing a little bit, but I was relying on a lot of classical musicians. The Last of England involved a lot of early sampling and working with musicians, and I wasn’t very experienced in the recording studio at that time. From my point of view, I was learning as I went along, and I think Derek, as a filmmaker, was also learning as he went. We all just kind of crossed our fingers and hoped we’d make it through.

I don’t really have a favorite when it comes to Derek‘s films, but I loved working on the restoration films I did, like The Epic of Everest. That film, made in 1924, was about two English explorers who climbed Mount Everest and disappeared. It was fantastic for me because it was just old footage, and I could create completely new music for it without having to think historically. It gave me complete freedom.

This might sound a bit cruel, but when working with a director who’s not alive, it’s sort of easier because you don’t have to worry about what they want. With Derek, he was always alive when we worked together, and that was fine. But after Blue, I felt it was the ultimate film and the ultimate soundtrack, so I sort of stopped doing music for films after Derek died.

Now, we do Blue concerts, where we play the film and have narrators read the script. We did one in Italy earlier this year with two different narrators. I had a piano and a Mac, and I could change the music as I went along. Every Blue concert is always new and different, except for the words, which are just beautiful. The film plays, and I’m there musically supporting it. So, for me, my favorite film is Blue.

And are you currently working on any new musical composition or collaboration? 

Well, I never really stop. I travel with a Mac, a pair of headphones, and a digital tape recorder, so I’m always making sounds. I’m here in New York for a few more weeks and have started processing sounds I’ve recorded here. At the moment, I’m just collecting new recordings.

I’ll be doing a concert on Monday night for a radio program here, so that’ll include old and new bits and bobs. They want me to play for an hour, so I’ll just play. I’ve got a toy piano, and I’ll just go off and make new music. I really wish I was busier—I love making music constantly, involving sounds, people, and visiting different places. I’m a bit of a workaholic, and now that my children have grown up, I’ve got a lot more time.

I’m not working on anything specific, but I’m catching up with old friends in New York. A friend of mine, Michael Almereyda, who made a film called Nadja, just asked me to give him some new music for a documentary he’s making about an American psychologist named John C. Lilly. So, I’m always doing stuff, but I could always do more. I have a live album coming out later in the year, and I’m always involved in something.

Photo courtesy of Simon Fisher Turner

Matteo Damiani

Matteo Damiani is an Italian photographer and author. Curator of the sites Retrofuturista.com; weirditaly.com; china-underground.com and others