Thursday, 28 March 2019


These nocturnes were inspired by Chopin (and also the work of Hans Zimmer). I used melodies and basslines from a series of Chopin's nocturnes. I used sampled, stretched, and synthesized piano. I chopped and/or reversed the samples. I programmed harmonic and non-harmonic arpeggios, and added mathematical echoes to some of the notes. I changed the key of each sample, before collaging them together. 

Each track is named after a species of British bat. 

The album includes three bonus tracks, and a 10 page pdf booklet. The running time is two hours and 16 minutes. All for £5.

"For the first time, since he came nigh dead born
From the old womb of night, his cave forlorn
Had he left more forlorn; for the first time,
He felt aloof the day and morning’s prime—
Because into his depth Cimmerian 
There came a dream, shewing how a young man,
Ere a lean bat could plump its wintery skin,
Would at high Jove’s empyreal footstool win
An immortality, and how espouse
Jove’s daughter, and be reckon’d of his house." 

From "Endymion" by John Keats. 

I hope you enjoy listening to this as much as I enjoyed making it x

Thursday, 17 January 2019

Three EPs

These three EPs were inspired by a dream I had about booking a flight to travel into space to colonise a new planet.
Staxion. Part I of III. 

You're strapped in to your seat on the transport. You're travelling at 200 miles an hour through tunnels filled with flashing lights. Suddenly you're above ground and you can see the shuttle pointing up at the starry sky. Your life is about to change forever.

The White Swan. Part II of III.

You're finally on board, finally taking that first step. It's so fast, you don't have time to see or breathe before you're in the sky, falling through galaxies full of stars. You're put in hypersleep. Time passes. You're woken up. Multiple failures. Oxygen depleted. Collision course probable. 

"Move him into the sun— 
Gently its touch awoke him once, 
At home, whispering of fields half-sown. 
Always it woke him, even in France, 
Until this morning and this snow. 
If anything might rouse him now 
The kind old sun will know." 

From "Futility" by Wilfred Owen

Mamwlad. Part III of III.

You've arrived at your destination. You're alive. It's a whole new world from here on in. This is your home for the next 1000 years, so what do you do? Make friends, settle in, fall in love.

Saturday, 3 November 2018

Banana bread

150g demerara sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 large free range eggs
2 bananas, mashed
275g self-raising flour
shake of ground ginger
shake of ground cinnamon
150g unsalted butter, melted

  • Pre-heat the oven to gas mark 3 / 170 degrees C
  • Whisk the eggs and sugar until combined, the leave for five minutes - it will go a bit frothy
  • Whisk for a few more minutes, then add the mashed banana and vanilla and whisk until combined
  • Add the flour and spices, and stir to combine
  • Add the melted butter and stir until smooth (there will be a few lumps from the bananas)
  • Pour into a large cake tin (I always use silicone) and bake for 50 minutes
  • Turn halfway round through cooking
  • Test with a skewer and if it comes out clean, it's ready
  • If not, leave for another five minutes
  • Turn out on to a cooling rack and leave to cool nearly completely (it's easier to slice when cool!)

Friday, 2 November 2018

Tuck ★★★★★

Reit, co ni off te! (Pun intended) Sa’i erioed wedi trial ysgrifennu adolygiad bilingual o’r blaen – but after seeing the glorious Tuck at Wales Millennium Centre last night (a diodde hangover effing ofnadw heddi) I thought I’d give it a go.

I’m a Welshy Welsher, but my half-German husband isn’t – yet we both understood, both got it (I did have to translate one particularly rude joke into English for him!) I fod yn onest, o’n i wrth fy modd yn eistedd right in the front (eye-to-crotch level). Beth o’n i ddim yn disgwyl though, oedd y dyfnder ac amrywiaeth o emosiynau. Laughter, yes of course; but crying? No I wasn’t expecting to cry. The scene where they were going through clothes, man alive! O’n i’n llefain fel babi. “I just want to smell her.”

What can I say about the music? Odd e’n ffantastig. I thought I knew Stifyn Parri, then he goes and does this. Ffocin el de (fel ma nhw’n dweud lan yn y Gogs)! He was so good. They all were.

I haven’t enjoyed a theatre experience as much as this since I saw Charlotte Church’s Last Mermaid.

Everything was on point, okkurr.

★★★★★ Pump sêr. Five stars. I would say go and see it, but I think it’s sold out. Good. Odd e’n ffuckin excellent.

Alun, Mared, Jess a’r criw wedi warae blinder ‘da hwn. Methu aros gweld beth sy’ nesa’.


Monday, 16 July 2018

Swedish sunshine cake


100g caster sugar
2 eggs
150g unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly
150g self-raising flour
1 tsp vanilla paste
50g ground almonds
handful flaked almonds

Preheat oven to 200 C / Gas 6. 
Grease a 23 cm silicone cake tin and sprinkle with ground almonds.
Whisk the eggs, sugar and vanilla.
Stir in the melted, cooled butter.
Add flour; mix until smooth (it will look lumpy to begin with, keep mixing until it's smooth)
Spread the batter into the prepared tin. 
Sprinkle flaked almonds on top.
Bake for 15-20 minutes. 
Allow cake to cool slightly before removing from the tin. 
Cool completely on a wire rack. 
This cake keeps very well for up to a week in an airtight container or plastic bag.

Monday, 14 May 2018

Overheard on a saltmarsh (filmpoem)

I made a filmpoem based on a poem I've loved since I was eight years old. I still have The Puffin Book of Magic Verse that my parents bought me, the date inside is the day before Halloween 1986! I originally borrowed the book from my school library, loved it, then asked my Mam to buy it for me. She had to order it from W.H. Smith's in Llanelli, and I remember being so excited to go and fetch it.

So here is a weird little film to illustrate "Overheard on a saltmarsh" by Harold Monro.

Overheard on a saltmarsh (flmpoem) from Andy Murphy-Williams on Vimeo.

Monday, 23 April 2018

With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams...

Chocolate and honey cake with crème de marrons filling (eggless cake)

For the sponge:
90g margarine or unsalted butter
80g unrefined golden caster sugar
3 tblsp runny honey
1 tsp vanilla extract
200ml milk (not skimmed)
185g self-raising flour
20g cocoa powder
2 tsp baking powder

For the filling:
2 heaped tblsp crème de marrons
2 tblsp runny honey
2 tblsp sifted icing sugar

Preheat the oven to gas mark 5 / 190 celcius
Grease and flour two 23 cm cake tins (I always use butter and ground almonds, and silicone cake tins)
Cream the butter and sugar
Add the vanilla and honey and mix together
In a separate bowl, sift the flour, cocoa and baking powder
Add a third of the dry ingredients, and a third of the milk, and mix thoroughly
Continue until it is all mixed together
Divide between the two tins and smooth flat
Bake for 25-30 minutes, testing with a skewer at 25 minutes
Cool in the tins for 5 minutes
Then transfer to a cooling rack until completely cool

Mix the filling ingredients together until combined
Turn one of the cakes upside down
Spread with the filling
Put the other cake on top

You're done! Congratulate yourself then shove that cake in your mouth!

Tuesday, 17 April 2018

An old waltz (filmpoem)

I made a filmpoem. I've always loved watching them, and wanted to try one for myself.

An old waltz (filmpoem) from Andy Murphy-Williams on Vimeo.

Monday, 11 September 2017


Back in August, to celebrate being married for one year, Chris and I went to stay on the South Coast of England. We stayed in a little town called Rye, and went on a pilgrimage to Dungeness. 

I've wanted to go to Dungeness since I was about 15. It's where Derek Jarman lived, and where he filmed one of the greatest arthouse movies of all time, The Garden (1990).

It was totally surreal to be there, not just because the landscape itself is so strange, and alien, and beautiful - but because I was walking through The Garden. I walked where Derek Jarman's Jesus walked. I climbed the shingle hill where  characters from the film danced with torches in their hands. I picked holey stones from the beach where Tilda Swinton picked a holey stone.

Chris kept asking me if I was okay, because I was so quiet, but in all honesty - I was overwhelmed. I took photos of the beach, and I did some filming. I want to make a film about my love for Chris, coloured and influenced by Derek's work. His films have inspired me since I first heard of him when I was a teenager.

We went to see his grave, too. It was so peaceful, so lovely. I took a photo of Derek and me. Chris found me a little stone to leave on top of Derek's gravestone.

Dungeness & Rye

Monday, 10 July 2017

Little Monsters

When I was a kid I loved all things horror. So why hadn't I heard of this amazing movie from 1989 at the time? I saw it a few years ago when my husband introduced me to it.

Here's the trailer:

Eleven year old Brian finds a monster under his bed - Maurice the monster is actually really cool, and he leads Brian into his exciting world. You can reach the monster world by going under a kid's bed - very much in Monsters Inc. you go through a closet. The land under the beds is way scarier than Pixar's imagination though.

Monsters are susceptible to light, and if you shine a light on them, they turn into a pile of clothes - which is why they only come out at night. If a child goes down there for too long, they will turn into a monster too.

Some of the monsters are actually quite scary. Take this thug:

The most terrifying one is Boy, the leader. He's an overgrown man boy that always gets his way. The whole film feels quite dark for a kid's movie, and has more than a little Tim Burton in it. I really loved it, and wish I'd seen it when I was little.

Bonus video - Aaahh Real Monsters!

Wednesday, 28 June 2017

Queer prayer beads (update)

Back in 2013 I started making a queer prayer bead bracelet, but I still had some queer icons of mine, that I wanted to represent. My bracelet is now complete! I'll always be happy to add more if needed :) 

A pyramid, to represent Khnumhotep and Niankhkhnum 
A pierced heart to represent Saint Sebastian
A deer, a boar, and a wolf, to represent the three sons of Gwydion and Gilfaethwy 

A faceted blue glass bead to represent the early queer writers from the 1800s to the early 1900s. E.M Forster and his beautiful novel Maurice; the Bloomsbury Set; A.E. Housman; Oscar Wilde
A silver star, to represent early queer cinema, 
the first queer actors, the first films to ignore the Hay's Code, and the first queer filmakers who worked hard to show us on screen 
An apple, to represent Alan Turing (with whom I share a birthday)

The high heel is to represent the Stonewall Riots which happened on this very day, back in 1969
The rainbow bead is to represent the beginning of the gay rights movement, I do love that we use the rainbow to celebrate it!
The blue bead (I searched far and wide for this particular shade of blue) represents Derek Jarman's seminal film Blue

The last three are more recent. The crown is RuPaul's crown - a club kid tuned drag queen supermodel of the world! I adore RuPaul
The wizard's hat is Dumbledore. I knew he was gay when I read the books, I honestly did. Wonderful writing from JK Rowling
The rugby ball is for Gareth "Alfie" Thomas. I'm Welsh, so I love rugby, and Gareth Thomas was the first openly gay rugby union player, and a bloody good one too! I'm very proud that the first one was a Welshman. Da iawn, ti!

So there you have it. My updated queer prayer beads. Every time I wear them, I offer a prayer to the universe to keep my queer brothers and sisters safe and well, in countries where it is dangerous to be openly queer. 

Can I get an amen?

Monday, 20 March 2017

Interview with Andras

How shall I start? Shall I start with the stars? The position they were in on the morning of my birth? Shall I tell you about the little stone house in the middle of nowhere, where my mother struggled alone through labour?

I remember putting the chickens away, shutting them in against the foxes, and the nights getting longer. I remember the stars in the cloudless sky. Bright, like eyes staring down at me; the moon barely illuminating the path that led into the small woods at the foot of the mountain.

Or shall I start with the position of the stars on the night I was born for the second time? Born into the life I have now led for nearly two hundred years. I was shutting the chickens away, making sure the door to the sty was closed, and I remember the snow swirling down from the dark sky. I knew that the morning would see the farm covered in a blanket of soft, white snow.

Our stew was cooking over the fire, my mother was knitting as she always did, and my two brothers and I huddled on the blankets. Even the dogs felt the cold that night, so we covered them in blankets too. Whenever I see a wool blanket, I think of that night. That's when we heard a knock at the door. It was late, too late for visitors. The knocking came again, more insistent. A voice called out, asking to be let in from the cold.

I was the one who got up. The one who went to answer the door. I often wonder what would have happened if one of my brothers had gone in my stead.

I don't really know what happened next. It's a blur of screaming and pain. I know that he killed my mother and brothers, but I'll never know why he didn't kill me. He left me for hours, on the floor, desperately clutching at my neck to stop the bleeding. 

I could hear him moving through the house, I assumed he was looking for anything valuable. I felt like laughing out loud - we had nothing of value in that small stone house.

He stood over me. His face was dark, his breathing heavy. He knelt down and picked me up as though I weighed no more than a child. I remember being confused, because he held me so gently. I was drifting in and out of consciousness, probably from lack of blood, but I do remember that he spoke to me. His voice was deep and soft.

It was a voice I'd come to know very well, a voice I'd even grow to love.

"Drink," he told me "drink and you'll live." and he held his wrist to my face. I felt his warm blood gush over my lips and into my mouth. I felt it burn as it hit the back of my throat and then as suddenly as my heart stopped and my body died, I felt more alive than I'd ever been in my whole life.

The night sang to me, a glorious song full of lust and loss, decay and fecundity. Everything and nothing. I felt time speed up as the world seemed to stop turning, and galaxies flashed through my eyes - the nebula of my stopped heart filled me, and was me.

Then I was in his arms and the dark night pulsed red and gold.

Friday, 17 February 2017

Dolls in rooms

If people were dolls, they'd need a house. Rooms. If people were dolls, they'd need a house.

Rooms for sleeping in, rooms for cooking in, rooms to for sleeping in, rooms for cooking in, rooms to watch television in. No fourth wall until you shut watch television in. No fourth wall until you shut people are not dolls, just as dolls say - people are not dolls, just dolls at the door, then what's that wall for? We open the door, then what's that wall for? We open the wall to look inside, see what the people behind the wall to look inside, see what the people are doing.

What are the dolls doing? Are they are doing. What are the dolls doing? Are they if they pretend to be all dolls. When a child plays, it pretends to be the mother, the father, but in the shadows - the mother, the father, in the shadows - alive only when we play with them, or only alive only when we play with them, or only when we shut the fourth wall?

I can hear you when we shut the fourth wall. I can hear you say - who knows what is waiting there silently. Silent. In the shadows. The shadows play along the wall. Imagine the shadows. The shadows play along the wall. Imagine you're in this house. We're both there right now. You’re in this house. We're both there right now. Dolls. People. But you're wrong. We are not people. We are all dolls. When a child plays, it closing and the space gets smaller.

It is red, I know you don't believe me but it's true. As soon as I started speaking, we started to go as soon as I started speaking, we started to go small, and go into the rooms. We are small, and go into the rooms. We are who knows what is waiting there silently. Silent.

Hold protective stance against them too. They're here, here right now. Look around. The cold. No one told me where to go. We're in this room. Small, here right now. Look all I told is all I know. Around. We're in this room. Small, compact space. The walls are close together. They keep compact space. The walls are close together. They keep closing and the space gets smaller.

It is ten red tears. Make-up, and it is too warm. We aren't the only slack ,and jaws are closed, 'No' is gone, 'Yes' is here. You are too warm. We aren't the disposed. Big dead dolls are walking upright, stumbling, feeling only ones here. You must be able to feel uptight. Paracetamol turns its back. Ibuprofen turning black. All them too. They're here, must be able to feel this light is hard to speak.

They are drawn to you, like ghosts on all fours. Big dead dolls and rotten factories, workers drawn to Saturdays. They are drawn to you, like ghosts gone endless Saturdays. Flip the switch, connect the dots to the pink. There is an orange glow - buried young are collecting plots. Making love in under it and pink. There is an orange glow for ten years, taken ten to make it.

Ultraviolet, really. Really, just behind the walls. Their eyes glow neon black, don't look back, don't look back. All when you're just behind the walls. Their eyes glow the time. The time is all yours. All yours when you're near, whenever you play with them, whenever time opening doors. All this time the time was you. Speak. Near. Whenever you play with them, whenever all yours.

All your time spent down living, moths to the light. Do not deny them. Big dead dolls and kitchen surfaces, children grown like moths to the light. Do not deny them. Happy nurseries. Take the time to shine the sun, that’s my advice to you. More of a warning.

Food and water and having fun. Smooth your skin, that’s my advice to you. More of a warning. Fashion eyes. Record your voice, it's saving time.

Wednesday, 4 January 2017

Puclinella's story

Hello again, it's me, Mrs Judy. I've come back to visit you. I'm going to tell you my story.

My real name isn't Mrs Judy, I just use that name as I'm bored of my real one. My real name is Pulcinella. Perhaps you've heard of me? I come from the Commedia dell'arte. The Commedia was a type of theatre invented in the 16th century. The "comedy of craft".

I come specifically from Naples, where my character rose to fame. I had many friends, in the old days. Arlecchino, Pantalone, Pierrot. Perhaps you've heard of them too? I ate them.

My character evolved into many different forms - Punch of Punch and Judy, several trickster puppets - and my friends, the zanni, evolved into what you now know as clowns.

I was sick of being the puppet, sick of my idiot friends and their tiresome ways. That's one of the reasons I ate them.

I ate Harlequin, Pierrot and his idiot mate Pierrette, and all the sad clowns and mimes of the world. The ones you see now are mere shadows of what they once were.

I changed my voice. I hated speaking in that high pitched way. I hated my wife, I hated the Policeman, and most of all I hated that crocodile. They were all my children, and I hated them. So I ate them up, soul and all. That's the way to do it.

I hear that we clowns are making a comeback. You might have seen some where you live.

I know all about them.

Most of them are human. Idiot humans trying to scare children. Jumping on the bandwagon, you might say.

But some of them aren't human. Some of them are me. Bits of myself that I sent out into the world to finish the work I started so long ago.

So if you see one of them, if you see a clown in your local park, or the corner of your street, be very careful. It might be me. I might have come to eat you.
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