Desmond Briscoe used to say:
‘You can have all the equipment in the world, but without people you can’t produce a note of music.’
Some might see this comment as out of date, given the rise of artificial intelligence, but in those days most of the best work resulted from overcoming obstacles and the ingenious use of limited resources.
Desmond worked as a studio manager in the Radio Drama department in the 1950s. He was interested in the work of early pioneers of electronic music in France and Germany, and at that time tape machines were being installed in BBC Radio studios, making possible complex editing and manipulation of sound. Drama productions were also exploring ‘things of the mind’ – to quote Desmond – thus creating a need to develop sounds somewhere between conventional music and sound effects.
All of the 1957 productions of The Disagreeable Oyster by Giles Cooper, All that Fall by Samuel Beckett, and Private Dreams and Public Nightmares by Frederick Bradnum, featured electronic effects made by Daphne Oram and Desmond Briscoe. They improvised the facilities for making this material by assembling tape machines and other equipment in conventional studios at Broadcasting House while they were vacant, usually overnight.
This encouraged BBC bosses to recognise the need for a permanent facility for producing electronic sound, and in 1958 the Radiophonic Workshop was established in two rooms at the converted skating rink in Delaware Road, Maida Vale, West London. That sounds easy when you say it quickly, but a lot of badgering would have taken place to make it happen. Desmond once remarked that persuading BBC management to do something was like fighting with a sponge.
The unit consisted of Desmond and Daphne, with engineer Richard Bird and technical assistant Dick Mills. The equipment at the Workshop in those early days was gear that had been thrown out by other departments, known in the BBC as ‘redundant plant’. Installation and maintenance was carried out by Richard Bird, and later by Dave Young who invented many innovative pieces of gear during the 60s and 70s.
Dave once told me over a coffee in the canteen that one of the best days of his life was during the war when the Lancaster bomber he was occupying was shot down. Parachuting down over the Fatherland he felt a sense of some relief, knowing that he was far more likely to see the end of the war in captivity than as a member of the bomber’s crew. As a prisoner of war he managed to build radio sets clandestinely from junk and a few parts supplied by a friendly German guard. What better training for inventing gadgets for electronic music-making?
He made an enormous contribution to the development of the Workshop with his inventions and clever modifications to standard equipment. He was succeeded by Ray White and Ray Riley in the 70s, who continued his work by bringing the equipment up to date, with Brian Hodgson leading the way. It seems hard to believe, but in the early 50s radio was the ‘king’ of broadcasting, with only a small number of television viewers. The tide turned when a huge number of people bought TV sets to watch the coronation in 1953. By the end of the decade, TV had the lion’s share of evening audiences.
Quatermass and the Pit was the first TV show undertaken by the Workshop – Desmond made the electronic sounds for this sci-fi series. The hugely popular show attracted far more attention than high-brow productions on Radio’s Third Programme, and put the Workshop firmly on the map.
More people, usually studio managers, came to work at the department for short periods, notably the talented Maddalena Fagandini who, among other things, composed the interval signal Timebeat. Television presentation in its early days was far less slick than it is now. Much of the output was live, and there were very few studios, so now and again time was needed to change scenery or line up the equipment. At these points there was an interval, perhaps filled with a still picture of a vase of flowers or a film of a potter’s wheel. Maddalena’s catchy electronic rhythm was used to accompany these interludes. In 1962, George Martin added instruments to her track and released it as a record under the name ‘Ray Cathode’, months before the Beatles arrived at Abbey Road studios to make their first record.
Delia Derbyshire had worked as a teacher and later in music publishing before joining the BBC as a studio manager. In 1962 she joined the Radiophonic Workshop. Brian Hodgson joined in the same year – he had been an actor in Rep before joining the BBC as a studio manager in Radio Drama.
When I started at the Workshop, Delia and Brian shared Room 12. I owe so much to their generosity of spirit in my early days, as they allowed me to became a (junior) member of the team. It was such fun working with those two! I learnt tons of things technically, and even more about the ‘mystique’ side of things – there is a lot of snake oil salesmanship in Radiophonics. But above all, they were aware of the possibility of creating magic. Not an exact science, but you know it when it happens. That’s what you are always trying to get, often exploiting the ‘happy accident’.
Delia and Brian had also worked on theatre projects with Peter Zinovieff in his studio in Putney, calling themselves Unit Delta Plus. Peter was more interested in researching computers and synthesisers, and went on to form the synthesiser company EMS with David Cockerel, responsible for the VCS3, the first synthesiser to be used at the workshop, and eventually the Synthi 100, christened the Delaware by the Workshop. They later had a studio in Camden Town called Kaleidophon. Someone once jokingly called it ‘Catastraphon’, but they did make an album called An Electric Storm – now a cult classic. David Voorhaus was the third member of the team behind this record.
They both made contributions to Doctor Who, which are well known, but their brilliantly original individual contributions to documentary and drama programmes for Radio and TV are less famous. They were great friends and supported each other through tough times.
Delia had personal troubles in her last years at the Workshop. Not least the arrival of synthesisers, which she never really got to grips with. Brian embraced the new technology and helped her all he could, but I would love to know what she would have produced, had those machines arrived a few years earlier when her life was on a more even keel. She had a uniquely sensitive touch and a mastery of the techniques of music concrète. The tragedy is that she never saw the admiration for her work which exists today.
The new ‘toys’ made it easier to make things quickly, and the arrival of BBC2 TV and Local Radio meant that the demand for Radiophonic material was growing, particularly in music. Myself, Peter Howell and Roger Limb were eager to do this work. Malcolm Clarke and Glynis Jones were handling the ‘floaty/abstract/arty’ stuff with enthusiasm, and so for Delia this sudden influx must have seemed overwhelming. That’s not to say that the old methods died out. The new members of the creative team combined the old techniques with the new, and, I’m glad to say, still do!
Delia eventually left the BBC and Brian started a studio in central London, but he returned later to become head of the department.
John Baker was a jazz pianist and had studied piano and composition at the Royal Academy Of Music before joining the BBC as a studio manager. I first remember him working away in Room 11 with his own style of tape manipulation.
The equipment was basic. A Leevers-Rich tape machine was modified to change speed in exact steps. A short tape loop of a pitched sound – say a cork popped from a bottle – was set up to play on this machine. Playing the loop at double the speed would produce a note one octave above. All the intervals in between were marked on a special switch calibrated in semi-tones.
He usually wrote down his arrangements beforehand – sometimes on the commuter train from Southend-on-Sea. Having selected sounds for tune, bass-line and accompaniment, he set about copying the individual notes for each part onto a second machine running at standard speed of fifteen inches per second. Now all the notes for each part were in order. After selecting a tempo it was a simple calculation to work out the length of tape to produce a crotchet, quaver, semi-quaver, etc. If you want to take my word for it, skip the next paragraph!
For example, at a tempo of 120 beats per minute in 4/4, each bar of music lasts two seconds. Running at fifteen inches per second, a complete bar then needs a tape length of thirty inches. So the length of a crotchet (or quarter-note) is a quarter of thirty – seven and a half inches.
Working from the score, he was able to assemble the tunes by cutting notes of the correct length together using a ruler, an editing block and sticky tape. He would then play three tape machines in synchronisation to mix the elements together to produce the final result. This was a lengthy process, and also involved careful mixing, equalisation (tone control), and the addition of echo and reverberation. Much of the process was routine, and, believe it or not, he often had Radio 4 on in the background as he worked. Many pieces of music were made by various people at the Workshop using this technique, but nobody matched John’s skill at injecting musicality into this somewhat mechanical process. He understood the value of subtle variations of note lengths and volumes, so that his pieces sounded as if they were ‘played’, rather than mechanical.
Just as Delia had felt the pressure of the dreaded synthesisers, John had his own problems, including ill-health. He left the BBC in 1974.
David Cain arrived in 1967. He had a mathematics degree, was a jazz bass player and had previously worked as a studio manager in Radio Drama. He was interested in using early musical instruments, and sometimes blended them with electronic sounds. A number of his theme tunes appear on the BBC Radiophonic Music album, originally released in 1968 to coincide with the Workshop’s tenth anniversary. Later on, he was engaged in ‘blockbuster’ radio programmes, supplying music and atmospheres for The Hobbit, The War of the Worlds, Isaac Asimov’s Foundation series, The Long March Of Everyman and others. He left in 1973 to take up a lecturing post.
Dick Mills was known as the Workshop’s oldest inhabitant, having joined in 1958. He started as a technical operator, assisting the four creative staff, although in reality he also undertook projects of his own and was later upgraded to the creative staff. Dick famously assisted Delia when she made the Doctor Who theme tune, as composed by Ron Grainer. When Brian left in 1973, he took over the ‘special sound’ work for Doctor Who until 1989.
Up to 1970 has been described as the ‘golden era’ of the Workshop. From that time more people arrived, partly to replace those leaving. Malcolm Clarke joined the workshop in 1969, having been a studio manager, followed by Richard Yeoman-Clark, Roger Limb, Glynis Jones, Peter Howell and Elizabeth Parker. Each had their own individual style and approach, and my feeling is that they all did the Workshop proud, going on to create a second ‘golden age’ during the years after I left in 1981, when they were joined at various times by Jonathan Gibbs, Richard Attree and Steve Marshall.
So these were the people Desmond referred to in his comment about equipment and people.
I think he was only half right. You need both.
©Paddy Kingsland 2021