JIM PARKYN
Aardman Animations’ roving ambassador has as much of an eye for quirky vinyl as for sculpting Shaun The Sheep or a Were-Rabbit – or producing some cracking cheese, Gromit…
“My first proggy record came from junior school. Rather than reading a book, we were given Jeff Wayne’s
The War Of The Worlds on vinyl. It introduced me to this kind of musical landscape and also this incredible artwork. It got me into reading sci-fi and I became a Star Wars and Doctor Who kid. That record followed me around: there’s a group of guys I work with on most of the films and The War Of The Worlds is a soundtrack to the model-making at Aardman. It would be played over and over on any new format as the years went by.
Another formative childhood thing is seeing Labyrinth, aged about 10 or 11. This was an accessible route into David Bowie’s music, and a lifetime of inspiration from Jim Henson. When I’d left university and moved to Cardiff for my first job, I’d go to Bristol with my friends for nights out, a mega-city in comparison. We’d go to a rock pub called The Hatchet Inn, a Tudor building with a massive door covered in leather and studs – it hosted an odd mix of rock music downstairs and spank parties upstairs. But it was the only pub in town that had Labyrinth on the jukebox and we’d upset the locals by bunging in loads of pounds to hear it.
I’m from Warwick and spent all my childhood there. As soon as I could get away from the antique shop and retirement homes, I thought, ‘I’ll go somewhere exciting!’ and I hit the bright lights of university at Pontypridd instead [laughs]. It was one of the few places in the country that taught animation. Studying film, we watched things like Blade Runner, and so many soundtracks would be by Tangerine Dream. Melrose is my favourite. I’m always drawn back to it, and it’s great to sculpt to, especially if I’m up to my eyeballs on deadline. It’s quite pop for them, and calming too. The last thing you want if you’re meticulously sculpting something is to have your nerves jangled.
My love of Focus grew from joining Aardman, in 2000. The place is a weird melting pot of people, late teens to late 50s, doing things from theatre design to live action, ceramicists, jewellers. As a communal thing, music will either divide a room or bring it together. We had a clunky old vinyl player and people would bring in odd records. Focus started off as us having a listen to something from someone’s dad’s collection. What most people found amusing, I was drawn by. The yodelling was quite unique but the rest was entrancing, and behind everyone’s backs I started to investigate the wider world of Focus, and got into Focus 3. A friend of mine found they were playing in The Tunnels in Bristol so we went along. As a live experience, they were phenomenal.
Goldfrapp’s Felt Mountain came at a dark time in my career. We’d just been made redundant from a film called The Tortoise And The Hare – we lost millions of pounds in a deal with DreamWorks that collapsed. On the same day, I was offered a job on the second Robbie The Reindeer film. I went from working in a huge factory to being in a team of about six. My friend Georgie told me about Felt Mountain and it got played solidly for about three weeks. It has my record collection’s theme of storytelling and cinematography. Alison Goldfrapp is mesmeric and her voice is beautiful.
A couple of years later I was in a lull between projects and I found myself in a Tesco Metro inspecting an ad searching for cheesemakers to run a stall. It seemed a natural progression from Wallace & Gromit to cheesemaking. I worked with a One Flew
Over The Cuckoo’s Nest ensemble of actors, businessmen and this amazing guy, Chris, who had worked with Peter Gabriel, then went to Mexico to make music and lost his mind there. He’d set up the studio for Goldfrapp and we’d talk music while wrapping cheese.
I have a lot to thank Ken Bruce on Radio 2 for. One day he played Richard Harris’ MacArthur Park. It was an incredibly symphonic and self-indulgent song and I knew I had to buy the album [A Tramp Shining]. Richard Harris is a great actor but he has this quite fragile singing voice. The whole record is a huge celebration of music, and it’s where the Pearl & Dean theme that we used to hear in the cinema came from. I haven’t delved too deeply into the meaning, but the imagery of a man having a strop about leaving his cake in the rain is brilliant. There’s also puppetry, bitterness, sexism and wizardry. I drive my wife mad with it.
A different world altogether is John Betjeman’s Banana Blush. Betjeman, [Philip] Larkin and Roger McGough were my gateway to poetry when I was a kid. This was a punt in a charity shop and as soon as I heard it, I was lost to the jauntiness of it. I always loved The Wind In The Willows and it’s got that sense about it, plus there’s pantomime darkness.
My love of The Butterfly Ball started with the book – my wife and I both collect children’s books and stories. But we didn’t know until two years ago that the vinyl existed. We saw it in a charity shop, brought it home and we were quite taken aback by the sound of it – it was amazing, grandiose. The 70s and 80s was a great time for children’s storytelling in this way.
I’ve always been a massive Edgar Allan Poe fan. But through Ken Bruce again, and seeing something on TV about prog, I found The Alan Parsons Project’s Tales Of Mystery And Imagination. It’s not an obvious way of approaching Poe but it’s something I really like. I’ll listen to it when I’m drawing – working in my mill studio at night, it’s quite cool to scare yourself a little.
Anna Meredith’s Varmints is a very recent discovery through Frank Skinner’s podcasts. He’s a local hero to me as nothing that interesting comes from West Brom. Nautilus is his walk-up music before he comes on stage. It’s a neoclassical composition of thumping brass and huge bass. It’s crazy, orchestral pomp. It hooked me immediately and I’d love to see her live.
I listened to David Bowie all the way from Labyrinth to Blackstar. I bought my copy at Mr B’s Emporium Of Reading Delights, a brilliant shop in Bath. There was something quite exciting about picking up this beautiful glossy album. I’ve got a love of ecclesiastical music – I joined the church when I was maybe seven and became a choirboy. I particularly liked singing psalms and there are quite a lot of psalm-like, monk-like qualities here. It was compelling and reminded me of music I’d loved as a child.
What’s next on the stereo? A stack of cheap vinyl from the charity shop. Mrs Mills, mainly, the soundtrack to the next creation…”
“WHAT MOST PEOPLE FOUND AMUSING ABOUT FOCUS, I WAS DRAWN BY.”