Ivor Cutler was born in Glasgow on 15th January 1923 to a Jewish middle-class family. He died earlier this year. My dad introduced me to him. I can understand why his quirky sense of humour would appeal to him.
His performances generally combined tales and musings with solemn songs which he would accompany on a harmonium and sometimes enliven with cowboy-like "yee-hahs". His stories featured such heroes as the boy who took root in his own garden and the man who attracted crowds by breaking the arms of random passers-by.
Cutler would ask his audience to consider, for example, the hygienic way to drink water from the gutter, or the erotic joys to be derived from sitting in a bowl of shredded wheat. One story, in its entirety, reads: "The meeting of their bodies gave her more pleasure than she would have believed possible. I'm glad I'm a spider, she whispered."
His songs, of which there are more than 300, are not misrepresented by this refrain: "What happens to sharks when they're old? / They don't just fade away / What happens to sharks when they're old? / I'd rather not say." New Statesman & Society commented: "The deceptive, almost oriental simplicity of his [works]… often cause their simplicity to go unnoticed."
More good stuff here.
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