The Players

Kathryn Joseph is not a witch. She told me so. She may hold you spellbound and enraptured as she sings; you might believe that her voice is channelled from another plane and that all the voices of all the lives she has lived across millenia are speaking directly to you. After a few minutes (of course, you no longer have any sense of time) you may realise that you are ready to believe anything she sings as an irrefutable truth, truer than anything you have ever heard before. But Kathryn is not a witch. She told me so.

Hovering above the floor, Ashley listens: a spider breathes quietly beside her; the wallpaper pattern slowly shifts and shimmers.

I worry sometimes that Ashley got trapped in the computer during the recording, but I saw her in the summer and she seemed fine. I can still hear her little voice in my headphones.

Shhh..come out, Ashley.

Storms ravage continents, oceans rise and glaciers melt. Fear not! It is only the elemental voice of Shuna Sendall. Astride a mighty stag, her call echoes through corrie, loch, and glen. Mountains flood in rivers of joy and storms subside as her song resonates across the cosmos, tempering the music of the spheres, bringing harmony to the universe.

Professional iconoclast, lean and angular, inventor of the Mudman, band leader, warrior poet, caveman philosopher, Lee knows full well -  if you have your brush you can avoid the rush. Through many years of musical adventuring in the band Misterlee (with Mick Oxtoby who isn’t on this record but by rights, should be), Lee is the closest thing to a musical twin I have. I never properly scored the drum parts  and yet they are precisely as I imagined them. Is that weird? No.

From Fife via outer space, the Scottish queen of hotclub violin. I didn’t even know she was coming until the day before the session, or I would have asked her to have a squeaky freakout in the free jazz sections. As it was, we had a lovely time talking about Synesthesia, playing on cruise ships and I admired her massive vibrato. Pure awesome.

Enough has probably already been written in praise of the mercurial Su-a Lee, but the following poem came to mind, so here it is…

Scotland’s Cellist, Su-a Lee:

She’s on your records and on the telly.

She’ll mess with your Ragu and dress vibrantly

She knows all the notes, from A to G (sharp)

And plays them better than You and Me.

Is she real? Is Charlotte the same Charlotte as in the story? Did it really happen?

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Yes/No?

Born thirsty, and seeking refuge from the burden of solvency, Tim succumbed to a life of Physical Theatre, a squalid profession that has led to mental decline and moral depravity. Yet through the bloodshot eyes an occasional spark splutters into life, brilliant and blinding, then gone: each idea, a lonely miner carving an endless tunnel into an oil black mountain of shit, occasionally excavating an exquisite diamond that no one will ever see… but beautiful, oh so beautiful.

Up in the woods, just below the Fairy bridge, near the waterfall, Fedor is playing his trumpet. He isn’t always in tune, but it doesn't matter; it’s such a joyful sound in such an unexpected place.  Fedor was my neighbour for years and I wrote the part of Ferneyclough because I love his voice and wanted to work with it. Sometimes art isn't that complicated.

Jamie Smith is a musical hermit. His performances are rare and you probably wouldn't like it if you saw one. He's the third most creative person in his household.

This shapeshifting special ops unit play everything from The Pops to Grindcore Squeaky Gate Music. I approached them thinking they would say no, then wrote parts for them I thought they wouldn't want to play. Effortless and fun to be around, I think I’m a better musician just from having lunch with them. They were augmented on this occasion by Seonaid Aitken (valiantly suppressing the urge to Jazz all over everything).

The midfield general, quietly controlling the play, making sure the whole team maintains shape, blah blah. One of the most knowledgeable and experienced heads in any room, Robert will patiently listen to your ideas, then do it better and you'll be glad of it.

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I've yet to find out what goes in Robert's chamber, but I' bet there's a video of it out there somewhere.

The staunch epitome of an Argentine Viola player; muscular with an earthy beauty, like a Gaucho cooking steak on a campfire as the sun sets over the peaks of Tierra del Fuego. Only Brian’s English genes prevent him from suffocating in his own masculinity.

Studio cat and C list celebrity thanks to his thuggish good looks and instafriendly poses. Blue's hobbies include ultraviolence and drinking Milk Plus +.

Listening to robot voiced popsters made him kill a vole.