'It takes courage to create,' says 20th-century psychologist Rollo May. Some people have the need to create as the core of their being, which tugs at their psyches until it is fully expressed. For some, their whole life goes by and they never really become aware or reveal their true unique and individual potential. It is in our creativity we manifest ourselves, whatever our means of expressions happens to be. It's common to hear that many great artists began their journey at a later stage of their lives, and I absolutely believe it's never too late to create anything. For as long as we are alive, we can create something if we have the courage. And so it is for my guest, who's had an interesting creative and occupational journey. He is known as the Downing Street Rocker. He has witnessed the war in Bosnia and Kosovo, tear-gassed in Geneva, and has been attacked by Israeli settlers on the West Bank. He was the official sound engineer at Number 10, but his creative drive has found his place in the world of music again. It's time for him to get back on the road, and as Shakespeare said so profoundly, 'If music be the food of love, play on.' and I'm sure we can alter that statement to: if music be the food of your life, play on. Welcome, Finlay Morton. Hi. Hi. So Finlay, tell me, where are you today? What is it you're creating? You're going back on the road as a musician. Um, yeah, so I've just released an EP on vinyl, and you know, getting ready to do a bit of a tour towards the end of the year and play a few shows. How does that feel? Because, you know, let's— the first time you performed was when you were how old? Probably 15 or 16. So you're used to performing, but this is new again, isn't it? It's got a comeback. Yeah, I mean, I've, you know, I've been actively involved in, uh, musical stuff now for, I don't know, 15+ years. Um, so I've been, you know, I've been— I've done 3 radio station tours in America, uh, and I've played lots of shows all over the place. Yeah, so you're quite comfortable on the stage? Yeah. Are you— is everybody on stage comfortable when they perform? Yeah, that's— well, I mean, I've known, I've known people who get so nervous that they're almost sick. Yeah, do you know Billy Connolly was another one of your Scots? Oh really? Amazing Billy Connolly was always sick before he went on stage. Yeah, it's amazing. I mean, it's never affected me that much, but I always feel like I'm somebody else, if you know what I mean. Okay, that's interesting. I'm sort of out, you know, it's, it's almost like I'm playing a part. So, so, so I don't let myself get nervous because it's not me. Okay, so, you know, I really like to hear that. That's fantastic that you've said that because that makes you so interesting, that part of you. Because we do sort of, you know, our psychotherapy, psychology is— they, with Jung and Freud, they split the psyche into parts to help us understand. And so, you know, there is something called the persona, but I believe even the persona, which is your mask and your ego— can— and I quite like the ego, by the way. I don't like an overinflated, unnecessarily inflated ego, but I think the ego is necessary. But what you're saying, I think, is really helpful for people to understand, that there is a part of you that goes on the stage. And what is that part of you? Are the rock— are you the Rocky Rocker? Are you the Ozzy Osbourne? I always imagined myself to be Tom Petty. Ah, amazing. Which might be flattering myself too much, but— I doubt it, I've listened to your music, it's fantastic. You're such a great talent, Finlay. Gosh. And it's just great that you go out there and play because your music is quite profound. You've got 3, you know, what's the You sent me 3. Yeah. You know, which is your favorite? Which is the one that represents you the most that you go, oh yeah, if you've got to hear one, which one tells us about you? That's pretty difficult. Because I mean, all my songs are probably about something or sparked off by, you know, maybe a chance remark. That sort of turns itself into a song. So I mean, the current stuff is called Move Mountains, and that was written at the beginning of the lockdown, and it's basically about, you know, not being able to see the people that are important to you. And so, "If I could move mountains, I would," is the line from the song. And that's move mountains to go and see them, to make sure you were with them. Yeah, yeah. So I mean, the chorus line goes, "If I could move mountains, I would. I'd walk on water if I could." And then I thought about the religious connotations of that, and so the next line is, "That would probably be misunderstood." Yes. So there's a slight tongue-in-cheekness about it. Yeah, but it's still profound. Yeah, yeah, it's, it's great. And that's what really comes across. That's what I felt about your music. You know, I love lyrics to music. I love music, you know, and I think there is a very rare person that doesn't love music in one form or another, because I always see it as almost underpins our lives, because our lives can be like a film. Yeah. And without music in a film, the film underscores and encourages you to feel whatever's going on. And you know this, and I'm just saying it for anybody who's listening, that without music on a film, people don't actually recognize the emotional tone of the film very often. No, that's true. I've seen experiments where people use different music on the same scene, and it completely changes the whole meaning of the scene depending on, you know, what the musical background is. So it's quite interesting. And but particularly now, you know, sort of music has so many genres, and it's so wide and diverse, Sometimes the lyrics get lost, but I'm a real big lyric person because in my early days I used to, when I was at college, I worked with a band and they took, and one of the guys took some of my poetry and put it into music, and it's so cool to do that. It's such a fun aspect of life and you go, wow, you did that with that? Yeah, yeah, no, no, it's good. I mean, I'm, I'm, I'm, I'm quite into my, quite into my lyrics. Although sometimes they're not important, you know, there's some fantastic— but I mean, I listen to sort of Spanish language funk and stuff like that, and you don't know what on earth they're saying, but it's still, you know, the music's good if it's produced well. You don't necessarily need lyrics, but I'm a lyric kind of guy, I like my lyrics. Yeah, because when you look back, you know, sort of look back at somebody like Bob Dylan, Um, and his lyrics are really in his music what carried him through, isn't it? Because people still— like Adele just did another cover of his. Yeah, you know, that's how she actually sprungboard into recognition. Yeah, yeah. I mean, my, um, my, my, uh, my favorite lyric, I think possibly of all time, is from, um, Don McLean's American Pie. And, uh, and, and he says, uh, the three men I admire the most, the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost, they took the last train for the coast the day the music died. And that's just my favorite line, I think. Yeah, but isn't that so amazing, that line? Yeah, brilliant. But you know, I often— anybody who listens to me regularly will know that I often use the lyrics of songs to evoke the emotional and the psychological aspect of whatever program, you know, sort of whatever the content of my program is. But with you, I feel I leave that to you, because between us, you are the master here. And I like that. I love lyrics that come from people because it's almost a shorthand for your emotional state, isn't it? Yeah. And so— sorry, sorry, I was, I was just gonna say, I saw, um, I saw a fantastic, uh, quote, um, the other day from, from David Bowie, and, uh, he wasn't so much talking about lyrics, but he was talking about getting old and he said that getting old is an interesting way of becoming the person you should always have been. I know what you mean. So that was brilliant. You know what, this is David Bowie, and he struggled throughout his music career, didn't he? Yeah. You know, and I always see him as an art installation, frankly, than just a musician. I don't mean just a musician, because to be a musician is amazing in itself, but he was so much more than that, and he kept reinventing himself. Yeah, he's great, totally brilliant. And towards the end of his life, he wrote all those other songs, you know, 'Where Are We Now?' and— yeah, they're so deeply moving. And did you meet him ever? No, I've never met him. I would have loved to. Me too. Sat down and had a chinwag with him. He looked like a fascinating kind of guy. Absolutely, because I think that he was so profound, you know, as a person. And a visionary. I mean, he was in the late '80s, he was talking about the internet and what it would do to music. And yeah, so he truly saw the future. But also he wasn't— he was quite gentle when he spoke. He wasn't overbearing or overpowering. There was something very caring. And the essence of spirituality, I think, is, you know, sort of making a sound with in that silence, in that fact that you know what you're doing, and he has that element to him. Yeah. And, you know, I know, you know, Nile Rodgers came in and sort of rescued his career with him, Dancing in the Street, didn't he? Yeah. Which we'll go into because you also own Soho Radio. We'll come to that in a moment because you've got such a vast knowledge, more than me. You know, I'm prompting you, by the way, because I love to know more and you know so much more than me. But coming back to you and the lyrics, But your EP is actually called A Bee in a Gas Mask. Yeah. Why? Well, I'm a bit of an eco-warrior as well as everything else. One of my albums was called Harvest the Wind, which was about harnessing solar power and wind power. And Bee in a Gas Mask, the bees, it's not about having a bee in your gas mask, which would be pretty terrifying, but I thought that the vision of a bee wearing a gas mask because it basically can't go about its business without being poisoned, I thought that was quite a profound thing. It is, I totally agree, and I do think that we need to actually gain sight of the whole of our universe, our whole Earth. But something that bothers me is more also the psychological state of people, you know, and Jung said right at the beginning of the 20th century, you know, man's future hangs on a thread, and it's not the thread just of you know, sort of the ecology of our planet, but also the psyche of man. Yeah, you know, where are we psychologically? I think that's truly profound. And that's why I love music to actually— as you've already stated, some of the lines that you remember— music can also encourage people to stop and think. Yeah, you know, making that statement, being part of that underpinning of a new movement towards understanding who we are as people. Yeah, absolutely. But it also helps to— I think it helps to understand other people, not just ourselves, you know. I think it, you know, when you hear the experiences of others, you know, that's, you know, they always say it's good to talk, you know. But I think it— once you can empathize with, with other people. I mean, this is, um, this is largely feeds into the, you know, the, the sort of refugee crisis and this, uh, this ridiculous thing about sending people to Rwanda. I mean, it's, you know, punishing the victims instead of trying to understand what their position actually is. Yeah, it's quite an interesting one. My parents were Polish political refugees. I know the state of the refugees. To be honest, I'm a big fan of the UK because, you know, I was brought up here, whereas I would have been brought up in a communist-ruled Poland. Yeah. So, you know, I do think people are struggling with that concept, but the refugee, the movement of people, unwilling movement, is separating the willing and the unwilling. Yeah. And what are we after? But that's where I think the psyche of the planet needs to come into it, because, yeah, You know, not only are— what are we doing with the, you know, sort of the whole ecological aspect of the planet, which frankly we're in charge of up to a point, and then other points we're not in charge of. There is still Mother Nature that takes over. But psychologically, you know, we are in charge of how we behave and how we act, and we're still not in control of that. So can I actually, taking that subject slightly further on, you also own Soho Radio and you've opened up in New York. This is so immense. So tell me about Soho Radio. So it was born out of a chat over a beer with myself and Dan Gray and Adrian Meehan, who are musician friends of mine, and we We were just having a, having a beer, and, and somehow we got around to saying, why don't we start a radio station? And everybody thought, oh, that's a great idea. And, um, basically the idea behind it was to, is to go back to, uh, how radio used to be. So, um, so we don't have any playlists, you know, we don't have any, uh, centrally organized methods of deciding what gets played on the station. Basically, every presenter gets to play whatever they want to play. Oh wow. Um, so, um, so there are no gatekeepers, um, and, and people, people are doing it, uh, playing what they love to play, and people are listening because they like to hear what the presenters love to play, not necessarily what all the major record labels have managed to, managed to squeeze into, um, into a playlist meeting at Radio 2 or whatever. Yeah, so let me, let's just dig into that a little bit because people who don't understand how these, how it's all developed, the world of radio and streaming music, is that a lot of the radio stations that we hear pre-record, not only pre-record a playlist but the, as you say, the DJ becomes superfluous. There's no presenter, there's no knowledge. Certain people were, and I know that Janice Long was a big fan of yours, um, and an amazing, amazing purveyor of music. She was just fantastic. But you know, when you come and you listen to the person because you know you trust them and they can actually recognize a piece of music and say, watch this space, listen to this person, you want that, you want more of that, because you'll go to that person and say, I really like you and you are the curator of the type of music I like, and I hear you. Yes, sorry, what happens at the moment, for the benefit of people who don't know, is you don't just release a record and then somebody at the radio station goes, hey, that's good, I think I'll play that. What happens is that you have to get somebody to— they're called pluggers— you have to get somebody to take your record along to, well, to several meetings of different producers of radio shows. So for example, at the BBC, you have to go to about 7 or 8 different meetings over a course of maybe 5 or 6 weeks and try and persuade them that they should include your record on one of their playlists, and you only get one shot at it. So they'll have a playlist meeting, it's usually on a Wednesday, I think, and they decide all of the new records that are going to be added to their playlists. And they have A, B, and C lists, and the A lists get sort of 5 or 6 plays a day, across the entire network, because the presenters don't get to choose what they're— it's all from this playlist meeting, and you'll get the occasional one-off play for the late night shows. But basically, and you would think, oh well, that doesn't sound like too bad an idea, except that they quite often only add 2 records every week, and they're almost exclusively on the major record labels, and they're almost exclusively, uh, by one of the larger established artists. Now what that means is that basically on national radio you never hear anything new by a new artist because they, they never get played, they never get picked, which means that in, you know, 50 years' time if you tune into Radio 2, you'll probably be listening to exactly the same records that they're playing now, which is— because the way they update it is so poor and irregular and, you know, yeah, and, and, and basically they're gatekeepers and this, and they stop anything new getting in, which, you know, in, in my view is, is pretty poor show for what's supposed to be a a national broadcaster. But, but in India, we used to have a thing in, in the UK which was known as ILR, which was independent local radio. And every, you know, every town or area would have, would have a station, and it was always a commercial station with adverts. And you would have, you know, some, somebody from your town would be, would be the presenter, and they might buying the ITN news setup or whatever, but it was truly local and you'd have local news and the presenters would make up their mind what they wanted to play. And then gradually all of these stations have been bought up by two companies who now own all of the radio stations, which are now no longer independent nor local because they have a central point in London where they play all the, all the, all the, the music from, and they have pre-arranged gaps, and the presenters see it on their, on their computer, and it's, you know, they're instructed, you know, talk, talk for 10 seconds, talk for 15 seconds, and they never get any input into the actual music. They just have to you know, speak in between, and they have no control over what's going on. It's really very sad. I mean, you could drive from Southampton to Glasgow listening to supposedly the local radio stations, and the music wouldn't change at all. The only thing that would change is the voice in between. It's very strange. It's a weird way of doing it. But coming back to— that's why you chose your radio station. So The three of you sat down, you created the radio station. I just want to ask one other question before we go on to your background about sound, being a sound engineer as well, which is absolutely fantastic. But the radio station itself, how do you curate, how do you choose your presenter, what qualifications, and do you have a brand? So Soho Radio, if you— anybody wants to listen, it's, I presume, it's sohoradio.com, isn't it? Uh, it's sohoradiolondon.com. Yeah, great. And do you have Soho Radio New York now? Uh, no, we don't. Um, but I guess that might, uh, that might come. But both, both, both of the channels, um, broadcast simultaneously. We're, we're internet only. Um, so, so most people listen through the app. So, uh, so both channels are on there. Yeah, fantastic. So, and Did you all have to agree on how you're going to curate your presenters? What do you look for? What's the mindset? Well, we look for people who are passionate about music, about what they play. They're usually people who have a great in-depth knowledge about whatever kind of music they're playing. I mean, we don't just have you know, sort of oldies from the '70s or whatever on. You know, you could switch on one morning and hear a bit of, you know, Japanese free-form jazz or some classic jazz or some, you know, Joni Mitchell or some Eagles or whatever, you know. But I guarantee you that if you listen to an hour on Soho Radio, you will hear something new that you've never heard before. And a new style as well, judging by what you're saying. Yeah, well, yeah, and we don't have any adverts, so there's none of that. We don't have news, so there's none of that. We do have a lot of shows that are just talk shows, so maybe don't have any music in them at all. And all of the shows are available as podcasts on Mixcloud, so Quite a lot of our listeners listen, you know, after the live broadcast, which is, you know, becoming very, very common. I mean, Spotify are putting an enormous amount of money into podcasts at the moment. And is it difficult to compete with people like Spotify? No, because they're not— they don't see themselves as a broadcaster, they see themselves as a a platform. Yeah, so they're just a platform with playlists. Yeah, yeah. And, and, and it's people making their own playlists as opposed to, you know, them, them saying what anybody should listen, listen to. But just a memory I've got about pluggers, do you remember Eric Hall? Uh, the name's true. Yeah, he was a plugger and he actually helped get Queen to be played because it was with Kenny Everett. Yeah, now nobody wanted to play Queen because it was the 5-minute version instead of a traditional 3-minute version, and he kept going back. It was his favorite story. Yeah, and I find, you know, I don't know who— it's this, this is sort of my pet subject that really, really gets my dander up. And I've, you know, I've had reports back from— a plugger will take it along to whatever radio station, and they'll say, 'Oh yeah, we really like the record, but the vocal should be up by 2 dB,' or 'The intro is too long,' or 'The guitar solo is too long.' Now, what on earth do they know about it? I mean, they just make me furious. I bet they wouldn't say that to Mick Jagger or Paul McCartney. No, they don't. Michael Jackson did have an interesting foray and, uh, relationship with somebody, you know, that tried to take all their— tried to strip his voice off their records. Oh really? His voice off and make it into a karaoke number. That's, that's the story I've heard. Oh my God. Um, and that just tells you exactly what you're saying. Hey, I think you've gone a little bit too far. You're getting a bit crazy here. But, you know, coming back to that point, It's so interesting. Who is in— not only for you, as with your vast, vast knowledge of music and the music that you put on, and, you know, the presenters that curate it all— but who in your opinion has the last say? Is it the musicians? Is it the creator? Is the writer? Or is it the producer? Or does it always work collaboratively? Um, Generally speaking, it rather depends. In my case, it's me because I'm the writer, performer, and the producer. Oh, right. So that's quite good. If you've got a record deal with one of the major record labels, And that's a whole other subject, by the way. There are really only two record labels now. Yes, I know, it's scary. No, I'm sure they don't. Yeah, yeah. So, you know, if you have a record deal with one of the big record labels, they will employ a producer and the producer will have the last word. If you're a very long-established artist, then the artist would probably have the last word. So it's a question with many answers, I'm afraid. Sorry about that. No, no, but say, okay, say you weren't you. Say you didn't— we'll come to all your skills, which are enormous and very, very important in the field of music and actually any field of media. If you weren't able to be the producer, who would you say? So imagine that you were managing a new band. Yeah. Who at the end of the day should the band listen to? Because I've— you're a different kettle of fish, so can I put you aside for the moment? I know lots and lots of musicians that are the writer, the, you know, sort of the musician themselves and the producer, and sometimes they play their music is the same over and over and over again. Yeah. And they now go into their third, their fourth, their fifth album and they still haven't got traction. Yeah, you know, I think, um, I mean, in cases where— I mean, it's, it's definitely possible to be too close to what you're doing. And, uh, I mean, all, all my life I've, I've tried to surround myself with people who really know what they're doing, you know, whether that's in my business life or in, in, in music. So, you know, I mean, I, I do play guitar, but I don't play the lead guitar parts on, on, on any of my records. They're done by a guy called Greg Boone, who is a— he's a proper serious professional guitar player. Um, and he's, you know, I mean, I get jealous just watching him tune up. Yeah, amazing. You know, he's, he's, he's fabulous. Um, so if, if you've got, um You know, if you've got a producer who says, "I think I can do something with this to make it more accessible to radio," or something, then if they're experienced in doing that for other people, then you should probably listen to them. This is interesting when it comes to the psychology of the work. That musicians do, uh, some musicians. And I presume people can fall into this trap where in— if you're not the musician that you are and you put your band together, that's different. But sometimes musicians fall out because one person says this and that, their overinflated egos take over, um, and they need somebody else to listen to. Yeah. And they think they are the be-all and end-all, but in fact, within that nucleus they really need all of the band to make it work. And sometimes, as you say, you know, and I've seen this with various record labels, they might say, oh, you're the singer of a band and you don't need your band, so we'll bring in session musicians for this. But they do need the band because that performer cannot— needs the band that knows them to perform, don't they? Because, for example, I always felt that about Amy Winehouse. I always think if you're a solo performer and you don't have a regular band behind you that knows you, that can support you, because it's not just supporting you as, you know, they say, oh, you're really tight, you know, as a band, that you know how to play together, you pick, you know, you've got that intuition that goes on stage. It's so amazing to watch the difference between a band coming together and start, you know, an up-and-coming band to a really tight, experienced band, how they play together. Over the years. So if you're left on your own, like somebody like Amy was left on her own to front everything with session musicians, believe me, I have a lot of praise, only praise for session musicians, because they wouldn't get the work unless they're brilliant. It's not them and their ability, but it's that relationship. Talk to me about that. Yeah, um, well, I've had pretty much the same band on— I mean, I've made 4 albums, 4 and a half albums if you include the EP, And it's been pretty much the same band on everything, and when we play gigs, it's the same band. So you do build up a relationship, and you know, when I take music along to the studio to record, it's me and my acoustic guitar, and we all sit in the control room, and I play the band the song, and then we play it through 2 or 3 times and they learn which bits go where. And they're also in, you know, inventing things, so they're being creative and being part of the process of making the records and making the song work. And I wouldn't be able to— I mean, I wouldn't be able to go into a studio and tell the guitar player what to play, because that, that wouldn't work, that there's no creativity there. So it's, it's a very special relationship, you know, as a songwriter. And when, when you turn the song into a record, it's, um, it's really a very precise, uh, science And it takes an enormous amount of time. I always rather laugh when I hear— there was a very, very dear friend of mine who I'm not going to mention his name, told me that he had been in a recording studio for a long weekend over a bank holiday and had now finished his record, which had 20 songs on it. Now you can't make a record, you can make a demo tape of 20 songs in a long weekend, you can't make a record. I spend probably 5 or 6 studio days to make one, to make one track, and then 2 days of mixing. So, you know, it takes It takes a long time and a lot of care to do things properly, because it's not just, you know, press record and off you go. There's miles more to it, and this is what I find so frustrating, you know, you spend an inordinate amount of time and money making records that sound amazing, and then people listen to them on their phones. I know, but believe me, it's worth it. Just let them hear it, and then they might, might listen on another medium. Um, but one, one final question in this point: who would you choose if you had the choice, which you do have? You're so— you are well known. Soho Radio London is well known. Anybody who listens raves about it. So who would you choose as your producer for your music? That's a tricky one. I guess I would probably go for Geoff Lynne, who is formerly of Electric Light Orchestra fame, but he produced all the Travelling Wilburys things and most of Tom Petty's later stuff, so I kind of like the way he works. And if you had to go on stage on your own, Yeah, how would that feel? I don't mind it. I don't mind. No, I mean, I've done, you know, I quite often test songs out by just taking an acoustic guitar along to an open mic night where you get people of all abilities, and it's a really good place to just test run something to see if it works, you know, in public. Before you get to the point of going to record it. Yeah, and just see how— what people feel. Yeah, you know, there aren't that many that are as accomplished as you, Finlay. So let's move to the work that you were doing as the— you were the soundman for a lot of politicians in Number 10. So as much as people— you know what I find quite extraordinary? When I was starting, because my background not only in Xiongas but also in Dingwalls, and I put on a TV program there, I really realized when I was recording The Four TV, how important sound was. And I had to have two engineers, two sound engineers for the sound in a live venue, one to pick up the audience and one to pick up the music and the artist performing. But this is your forte, isn't it? Uh, well, I've kind of, yeah, I mean, I've kind of been doing it for a long time. Um, it's, I mean, I've been involved in, in music and playing in bands, and therefore using sound equipment for, you know, basically since I was 14 or 15. So I managed to sort of fall by accident into a job for the Central Office of Information, which is now defunct. A friend of mine ran a department there, and they used to do all the the prime ministerial press conferences, and I went along to help out once and basically did it for the next 20 years. Oops, I've lost you. I'm still here. Oh good, okay. Sorry, I thought you were going to say— I thought you were going to say— Oh sorry, no, that's amazing. And what did you do from there? So what was your first job? You went in and you had to record? Well, I did a couple of bits. The first major job was when Mrs Thatcher left Number 10, so that sort of tearful goodbye to the staff, and then the short speech, and then John Major arriving. That was kind of my first big job. But it's important to get it right, isn't it? Absolutely, yeah. I mean, our stock phrase when we were doing those jobs was, "We're not at home to Mr. Cock-up," because basically, if you've got live broadcasting going on, you know, it has to work. There is no— you can't have it not work. So people have to hear you. They can tolerate not seeing something, but they can't tolerate not hearing something. But alongside that, although you were a musician, you sort of obviously clearly so good at what you do there that they took you on and you were doing all sorts of, you know, sort of doing the sound for lots and lots of different people. You must have witnessed a lot of stories, which I said in the introduction, but before we get into that, tell us a bit about your family. You're born in Aberdeen, You're brought up in Aberdeen? Yeah, I was born, born and brought up in Aberdeen. My, my parents, uh, originally were from Glasgow, um, and moved to Aberdeen really to get away from the sort of sectarianism that was, that was around, um, back in those days. Um, and my dad was a metallurgist And I went to a comprehensive school. Both my older brothers went to the local grammar school, and I was part of the experiment in comprehensive education, which I think was fine, although I left when I was— I left just after my O-levels and went to work for Dixons, the camera shop. And so Did it bother you that you went to a comprehensive? No, not at all. No, no, not at all. I, I, uh, I mean, I, you know, I was fairly, fairly smart at school, and, uh, you know, I was in the sort of top groups for most things, um, but I never ever, uh, I never wanted to go to university and, and, you know, follow an academic thing. I always knew that I wanted to do to do something hands-on. So I didn't really know what I wanted to do, I just knew that I didn't want to, you know, I didn't want to become a lawyer or an accountant, or, you know, as laudable as those professions are, they wouldn't have suited my— your temperament— my temperament, or even the way I— I mean, even back when I was sort of 15, where you had to sort of make those choices, I I couldn't see myself doing that. I wanted to do something hands-on, and I mean, my first proper job was, as I say, for Dixons, and I went along on a Saturday morning just on an off chance, and my hair back then was pretty much as long as it is now, and I was wearing a sort of RAF-style trench coat and cowboy boots, and I wandered in and said, "Have you got any jobs?" And the reception lady looked at me as if I was a lunatic, but the shop manager, who coincidentally I'm still in touch with after all these years— he now lives in France— Um, he, he said, uh, he said, uh, you know, we did a short interview, you know, why are you— because I was quite interested in photography at the time, and that was the main photography shop. Um, and, uh, so we, we chatted, and he said, uh, he said, okay, you can, you can start on Monday. Um, so I had about 3 hours left on a Saturday to get my haircuts, go and buy a suit. And when I arrived on the Monday morning, they didn't even recognize me. And I said, I was the guy that was here on Saturday. And they said, oh, we thought you were joking, which was quite fun. Anyway, I stayed there for a couple of years. Amazing. And from there you went to— where was the next step? Next step was to my oldest brother had had a shop. It was a sort of book and poster and badges shop within a record shop, so, you know, plenty of musical connections going on there. And I went to work for him for a while. And then the band I was in at the time, we all had heard that the streets of London were paved with gold So we all jumped into a transit van and drove to London, where the streets weren't paved with gold at all. Yes, I know, we know that, we all have found that out, haven't we? Yeah, so I spent about 5 years being extremely poor and doing sort of menial tasks. Okay, what's the most menial you've done? Well, I was a kitchen porter at at Fenex in Brent Cross. So I used to wash the dishes. Um, you know, I don't mean menial in a sort of demeaning way, it's just demeaning, it's just, you know, it's a, it's a, it's an unskilled job. Yeah. Um, and, uh, you know, I did that for, I did that for a couple of years and then, and then moved on to, I was doing sort of office work and you know, just anything that didn't involve washing dishes was good by that point. But it's actually, um, I mean, that period where, I mean, we had, uh, we had— there were 3 of us, uh, living in one room in a sort of seedy hotel in Paddington. Um, and, you know, we were very, very, very, very, very, very poor, and we had um, you know, we, we would, uh, often survive on, you know, one large portion of chips and a loaf of bread, and, and that would do us a couple of days, you know, um, between three of us. So, so I, I do know what it's like to be completely, uh, broke and not know where your next meal is coming from. So I, I think, you know, that's also flavored the way that I think about about life now when I'm sort of slightly more successful and probably don't have to worry where my next meal is coming from. But I knew about it. So what's your focus? I've got to be a musician, I've got to express myself, I've got— this is my drive, this is who I am. Yeah, well, it's rather strange the way it happened because I was I was walking. I live in South London, and at the time I was living in, in Balham. I don't know if anybody knows where Balham is in South London, but, um, and I, for some reason, I got off the train, uh, off the tube station, um, one stop early and, and walked, and I walked past a music shop and I didn't have a guitar at the time, and I looked in and I saw this, saw this lovely old guild guitar, and I went in and tried it for some reason. I still don't really know why, um, and ended up— it belonged to the owner's wife, I think, um, so one careful lady owner, the guy said, um, and, uh, so, so I bought it and, um you know, I started playing guitar again, and within a couple of weeks all these songs started appearing. Um, and it, you know, I, I never consciously sat down to, to write any songs. They just sort of happened. Um, and I think it, like, not to compare myself with Neil Young, but Neil Young always talks about him just being a channel for the songs, you know. So if, if I hadn't done them um, that they would have appeared in somebody else's head. But they wouldn't, you see. I, I, I know what you're saying because you are a channel, but— and this is, you know, the makeup of an individual human being— it's the channel. You are the matrix for that channel, and your psychology, your psyche, actually— I was going to say distorts, but it's sort of, um, sculpts. It's the sculptor for that inspiration that comes through you. So you— although somebody might have something similar, it's never the same, is it? I guess so. It just, it, it just feels like it, um, it comes from, it comes from somewhere else, and I'm not quite sure where it comes from. But you bring yourself to it. They— I mean, whatever happens, no matter how— because it is quite spiritual music. I don't think you can call it anything else because it's not like you sit down and you design it. So of course, as you know, I work with comedians and some of their ideas happen on stage just by chance. Yeah. But other stuff, they sit and— and I'm sure it's the same with music because they have great music writers that actually work and, you know, becomes architecture of its own nature. Yeah, I mean, I, I, I, I find that, um, If I'm— once I've got an idea for a lyric, it'll just— because quite often somebody will say something and I'll think, oh, that's an interesting phrase, and I write it down and I keep little notes of things and then the next time I sit down with my guitar, you know, some of them will sort of pop into my head. And at that point you start to say, okay, well, how do I— how am I going to develop that? And, you know, how can I make that lyric into something that's meaningful, you know, at least to me, if not to anybody else? It's so interesting because what you're saying also, and particularly as you say in your title, you know, of a bee in a gas mask, is very sort of '60s, '70s music where music became much more than just music for itself, which is fabulous, I love that. Yeah. But also music that makes a statement. So what in your experience in your political world where you were the sound man to make sure everybody could be— could hear properly, you witnessed so much stuff. What were the points of impact of that on you? Um, well, I, I mean, I got to go to lots of interesting places and meet lots of interesting people and witness lots of interesting events. Um, but you— when you're a technician, you, you're sort of outside of the event, if you know what I mean. Like, you you know, you're there, but because you're working on doing your job, you don't feel like you're actually part of the event. Um, so I mean, you know, I mean, I've been to some fairly, fairly horrid, uh, situations in, you know, in, in Bosnia. Um, I mean, we literally had people, uh, who had walked barefoot for 3 days to, to get to safe safe places, and, and we literally had them trying to pass their babies over the fence to us to take, take them away. Um, so that was, that was, you know, pretty, pretty horrific. And, you know, obviously some of the, some of the wartime stuff that we saw in, you know, Srebrenica and Sarajevo and places like that, uh, pretty, pretty horrendous. Um, I didn't, I didn't enjoy very much being, uh, being harangued by an angry, very large mob of settlers in Gaza. That was pretty horrid. And how did you get through that? Well, you just kind of do, don't you? I mean, it's— No, you did. I mean, everybody treats that sort of moment differently. Yeah. Don't you? Yeah. I mean, It's just something that you, you know, you deal with things. I mean, when you have kids, you have to clean up all sorts of stuff. As we know, yeah. But, you know, you just have to do it and you have to get on with it. And I think mentally you sometimes have to, have to wipe up the mess as well and, and, and, and move on, you know. And, you know, they say that, uh, to know a man's character— man, human, uh, human's character— you need to know them when they've had success and failure. But I would like to add something to that, and you need to know them in a crisis. Yeah, because it's those three areas that we really can tell somebody's character. Yeah. How would you say your nature is in a crisis? I'm actually pretty good. I've had one time when I was walking home very late at night from— we'd been to the local Students' Union bar, and I think it was about 3 o'clock in the morning, and we walked past the record shop that my brother had his shop inside. Um, and that there were kind of steps down off the street down to the basement level, and they used to put all their empty cardboard boxes and stuff out there for the rubbish people to pick up. And at 3 o'clock in the morning, we, we were walking past and somebody had set fire to it. Um, and drunk as I was, I still had the the nous about me to go into the shop, switch all the alarms off, go and get a fire extinguisher and put it out. There you are. So I think I'm okay in a crisis. That's brilliant to know. And you know, that's exactly— you found that story, that slice of your life that's told us exactly who you are. You know, you will go and sort it out. Yeah, that's kind of been a It's been a bit of a theme of mine in, in, you know, in business and, and whatever, is, um, I'm, I'm always the one that goes and sorts things out. You're the Dan Dare of the music world. Do you remember Dan Dare? He used to go and put out fires on these oil rigs, right? Oh, I, I worked on an oil rig for a while. Did you? What was that like? That was, that was really weird. Yeah, because Aberdeen is the place home for that, isn't it, now? Yeah, yeah. I mean, I, again, that was, um, I mean, I was a, I was a steward, so I used to make beds and polish floors and, uh, and wash more dishes. But by the way, I've done that. Yeah, it's one of the best paid jobs I ever had. But, but going, going to work on a helicopter is pretty weird as well. Yeah, yeah. We, we were told the, um, the two good stories about that the, the oil rigs. Um, when we got onto the helicopter, uh, that— because you have to wear these big orange, um, safety suit things in case you land in the water, which will keep you alive for about a minute actually, but they don't whistle. Yeah. Um, so, so, um, the, the pilot said, uh, you know, if, if we come down in the water, um, get out of, uh, any, any exit that you, that you possibly can and look for two pilots sitting in a life raft because we always get out first. And on the oil rig there was a safety briefing because on every corridor there are, there's a series of lights, sort of warning things, and they, anyway, they said like, you know, if this one comes on, you know, just be aware something's going on. If the next one comes on, go and get your life jacket. If the next one comes on 'Go to your lifeboat station, and if the blue light comes on, don't worry about it because we're all going to die.' Yeah, say goodbye. Yeah. Oh my goodness. Do you have children then? Yes, I've got two daughters and a son. Oh, how fabulous. And it's a different story being a father, isn't it? Oh yeah, yeah. I, I, you know, it's a great responsibility but also a great pleasure. Yeah, it's so good. As it has its moments though. Yeah, yeah. I mean, I do, and in a way, thank God it does does, because otherwise we'd be opening the package and out it rolls. And it keeps us alive and it keeps us vibrant. And but I really believe in the father's role in a relationship, and I think the father has great impact on children. And do any of them follow your music bent? Uh, oh yes, yeah, they do. And, um, my, my youngest recently, um, recently discovered my old, um, my old vinyl collection and has been playing her way through that. Wow. And, you know, keeps saying things to me like, "Oh, this Fairport Convention are really good." I know, that's so funny. My daughter's also in the music business and she took me to see Fairport. She got some tickets for me and she said, "Ah, that's where you get it. I get it now." Yeah, yeah. You know, and I mean, she's really good in what she does. She's an amazing agent. Music agent, and you have to be good to be a music agent. So she gets it, your daughter gets it. Now, you know, it's wonderful when they make that connection. Obviously yours is wider, bigger, deeper, and much more grand than mine is, but you know, it's great when they get it, isn't it? Yeah, it is. And it's lovely when you can, you know, when the kids are, you know, older and left home, which mine are, And it's great that you can have conversations like that with them, you know. Yeah, and music is a great way to have conversations with children. And, you know, once they've got through their teenage years where they're exploring their own way of, you know, communicating. But, you know, it's a great way, as you say, now that she's found it, you know, and she talks to you about it. How fabulous is that? No, it's great, you know, and something you've got in common. So we haven't got long, but Coming back to your performing, and you're still running your business, you've just opened in New York, which is— can you tell everyone where your New York base is? Uh, yeah, we're in, we're in the, um, we're in the Rockefeller Center. Amazing. And, and we're— this, the studio is actually, uh, it used to be the old ticket office for the Metro, so we get, we get 7 million people walk past us every, every week. How does that make you feel? Oh, it's just brilliant. And you did this? Yeah, yeah, you know, from that, from that beer table. I think women should drink more beer, that's the answer. But what an amazing, amazing journey that is, from that idea that you three put it together, and now you've opened up in the Rockefeller Center. You must be— what are you going to drink? What do you drink when you get out there then, um, and you sit there and celebrate and you go, oh God, yeah, we made happen? This is fabulous. Well, I usually like a beer or a nice whiskey. Yeah, nice. Oh good, yeah, because you've got some whiskey— good whiskey club in Soho, isn't there? Soho London. That's right, yeah. So are you a member of that? No, I'm not. You're not? But yeah, whiskey, of course you drink whiskey, Finlay. Why would I ask? It's my national sport. Exactly, your national sport. I like that. So, and where are you performing What is your route now on your performance? Well, I think I'm doing something on the 1st of September on the South Bank. Fabulous. So that will be the first in a sort of mini-series of shows, and then we're looking to be on a tour sort of November-December with a with a larger act, so we'll be— we would be a support band for that. Fantastic. And a support band is so important for any large act, and they, you know, you have to be good to be a support act for a large act, let's get it right. So if you're given a piece of advice for somebody who thinks, oh gosh, I can't do this, you know, I can't do two things in my life, I can't, you know, sort of work and play music, or work and paint, and do my job and do something else creative? What would you say? How do you do it? What mindset do you need? Well, everybody can do anything if you, you know, if you put your mind to it and you're prepared to put some effort in. I think part of the issue— I don't want to sound like a grumpy old git— but part of the issue of, you know, kids today. Everything's got to be instant. I mean, I tried to get my son to learn guitar many, many years ago— well, not that many years ago— and he couldn't get his head around that, you know, you needed to play for 45 minutes every day, basically until your fingers bleed. And if you did that every day and worked really hard at it, that in about 10 years you might be okay. Amazing, and I'm afraid that is absolutely brilliant to finish on that because we're just literally coming to the end. Thank you, Finlay, it's been an amazing interview. Thank you so much for joining me. Cheers.