Tim Hollyhill's Cadence

Tim Hollyhill’s Cadence

“Enter The Coracle” c/w “Fear Of Trombones”

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Tim Hollyhill (Guitar, Farfundtarf Mood Organ, Steam Lute, Dulcimer, Pedal Steel Guitar, Flagelot Bag, Angry Gongs, Harpsichette)

It began as a simple experiment with a two-track tape recorder and a Farfundtarf Mood Organ and ended in bitter acrimony.

“If it had not been for the fact he was such a c**t it could have all been so different”. Hilary Tombleson has never been one to mince words and her crude assessment of former partner Tim Hollyhill comes as no shock to most music fans.

“Musical differences had nothing to do with it, he’s just quite simply the biggest c**t on the planet”, says Tombleson, Vicar of St. Peter’s in Winchester, which is in Hampshire which is in Essex, for the past ten years.

We sought a second opinion from producer Gary Gentle who worked with Hollyhill at Trout Tickle studios. He had this to say: “Little Tim? So talented. But a c**t of Titanic proportions”.

Former session musician Guff McFlaherty, king of the pedal steel, concurs: “My livelihood depends on keeping my mouth shut and getting on with the job, but he’s a massive c**t”.

Back to Tombleson: “Imagine a c**t the size of, say, a dwarf star. No, imagine a c**t the size of a galaxy, something in the region of 40,00 parsecs in diameter. Try to visualize that. That’s how big a c**t he was”.

This certainly colours any potentially positive impression of the pastoral folk pop to be found on ‘Enter The Coracle’. Luckily it is an awful, twee piece of work, so it’s easy to empathise with the views expressed above.

McFlaherty describes the session: “Hollyhill had double tracked the Farfundtarf with some wah wah Dulcimer, Cory Normansell played flagelot bag, Francis Drummond from Amethyst Arcade was on steam lute, Paul Hollywood laid down some angry gongs and Sam Bent (Bob Bent’s brother) from Golden Cartwheel freaked out on harpsichette. Behind Hollyhill’s back we called the track ‘Enter The C**t’.”

None of the musicians received a credit. Hollyhill claimed he played all the instruments on this ode to an ancient craft himself. After the session he fired everyone on the spot, even though most of those involved were self-employed session men.

Hollyhill went on to make a considerable fortune in the music business and can count absolutely no-one as a friend; a situation he is entirely happy with. Living in a gold painted villa on the island of Martinique, Hollyhill spends his days shouting at lawyers and shooting trespassers.

The last word goes to his longest serving manager, Lorne Brimmer: “C**t”.