Peter Murphy (photo: Jolene Siana)
As an Artist matures, amasses a tangible catalog of work, and inches — or even hurtles — toward their career’s coda, many arrive at moments of insightful, illuminating wisdom that effectively encapsulate their achievements for posterity. For example, Picasso noted that “Inspiration does exist, but it must find you working,” while Thoreau insisted that “It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.” Children’s-book author Dr. Seuss, of all people, simplified his raison d’être via “Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind,” and theatre maven Stella Adler probably put it even more bluntly — albeit passionately — than most: “Life beats down and crushes the soul, and art reminds you that you have one.” Indeed. All of these make perfect purpose-driven sense in clear 20/20 hindsight.
But this year, at a sage-like, well-seasoned 67, Istanbul-based British aesthete Peter Murphy has reviewed his 1979-launched persona fronting majestic glam-rock mainstay Bauhaus, plus a parallel solo-artist path veered onto in 1986 with his Should the World Fail to Fall Apart bow and continues through to his latest 11th outing, the Youth-overseen Silver Shade, (and his first studio set since 2014’s Lion) and reached his own logical motivational conclusions. “Massive commercial success has a way of locking artists into a formula,” he has finally decided. “You become a product, not a creator, and I’ve never wanted that. So the freedom that I have now, to revisit my work, to reinterpret it, to keep moving forward, is far more valuable.”
Regrets? Like Elvis and Frank Sinatra, at the end of their legendary runs, Murphy confesses that he’s had a few here and there. Including the close brush with high-profile notoriety that attended his surprise 1989 college radio hit “Cuts You Up,” culled from his second disc Deep. Following up such overnight, near-breakthrough popularity proved difficult, even stressful, which materialized on Deep’s 1992 successor Holy Smoke, and not-so-subtle meta cuts like “Hit Song.” A name it failed to live up to., despite the photogenic, then-newly-platinum-blond rocker’s stark black-and-white cover shot by renowned showbiz shutterbug Anton Corbijn, a visual masterpiece in itself. On January 11 of that year, Nirvana’s crucial Nevermind album ousted Michael Jackson’s reigning Dangerous at No. One on the Billboard charts, while its flagship single “Smells Like Teen Spirit” rocketed into the Top Ten; The scene-changing grunge movement was here to stay, and leaving every once-competitive sound in its scruffy, flannel-shirted wake. “Of course, there are moments I’d handle differently,” Murphy reflects in a carefully considered email interview he sends back from Turkey. “But I wouldn’t trade what I’ve built for a short-lived burst of mainstream fame. Art has to breathe, it has to evolve, and sometimes that means stepping outside of the system.”
Ergo, Murphy recently — and shrewdly — established his own label, also dubbed Silver Shade, which he’s employing to release pretty much whatever he wants, such as rare, live, and previously unreleased material, such as last year’s self-explanatory Peter Live, Vol. 1 — Covers (he customarily issues all-new original work, like Silver Shade itself and a preceding single “Let the Flowers Grow” with guest vocalist Boy George, on the classy Gothic imprint Metropolis). Accordingly, the inventive tunesmith — who has even, on 2002’s Dust, dug deeply into the exotic music that surrounds him in Istanbul, where he and his wife Beyhan have resided since 1992 — has also been revisiting and sonically dissembling old catalog classics in concert, and discovering a new sense of revitalization in the process. Because an active performer never quite knows which show might be his last. A lesson he learned the hardest way possible, onstage on August 12, 2020, during a month-long residency at New York’s Le Poisson Rouge, when he suffered an actual cardiac arrest during soundcheck, and yet — powered by attendant adrenaline surges — somehow managed to complete the gig and make it back to his hotel before his manager urged him to visit the hospital the next morning. A real squeaker that gave him a mortality-musing pause. A theme he naturally wound up writing about — rather effectively — throughout Silver Shade.
Aside from the personal-growth-themed advance single, “Let the Flowers Grow,” the full-lengther on a pounding, synth/bass synchronization called “Swoon, “ throughout which the catacomb-toned Murphy repeatedly intones that single word after rhetorically wondering, “What else can I do?” It’s unclear what sort of hex or spell he’s under, but he is definitely under some strong sedation. “Hot Roy” follows, with a blip-bleeping electronic mix, then a guide-seeking study “Sherpa,” echoing that famous George Mallory quote on why he scaled Everest (“Because it’s there,” he stated, matter-of-factly). Next: The swaying rocker of a title track insinuates itself and morphs into a clamorous crescendo, leading into a bouncy, synth-throbbing “The Artroom Wonder,” a self-referencing “Meaning of My Life,” and an ominous, partially spoken-word “Xavier New Boy” (even more unexpected transformation, perhaps?); a decidedly ‘80s-retro romp “Cochita is Lame” follows, then a punk-punchy “Soothsayer” the flamenco-guitar-embellished “Time Waits,” and a closing tentative piano/guitar intertwining dubbed “Sailmaker’s Charm,” which builds to another heavy crescendo. Appearing on two cus (“Swoon” and “Hot Roy”; Tool members Justin Chancellor and Danny Carey also make cameos ) is longtime associate and tourmate Trent Reznor, who also figures into a recent HBO Watchmen — Vol. 3 soundtrack, wherein Murphy fronts an alternate-timeline version of Nine Inch Nails on a mythical “Manhattan Project” album. Murphy —possessed of one of the deepest, most resonant speaking and singing voices in rockdom, additionally found time to narrate an animated feature, “Paranorma.”
Mostly, the legacy that the man’s fans will be left with is strikingly visual, starting with the bracing new blond look Anton Corbijn caught on “Deep,” then going either backward to the first Bauhaus single in 1979, nine minutes of glam-inspired Gothic bliss called “Bela Lugosi’s Dead” and the wraithlike prototypical Murphy profile — tall, haunted, lithe, and black-garbed limber, like the youthful casket-housed zombie in the German Expressionist classic Das Kabinet, or The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (whose creepy portrayer, Conrad Veidt, later went on to be the Nazi villain in Casablanca). Also memorable: His cage-rattling nightclub-scene tour de force alongside his longtime musical idol David Bowie in Tony Scott’s still-great “The Hunger.” The look so defined the man, in fact, that it would eventually the ethereal, sinister appearances of both Neil Gaiman’s hallmark Morpheus creation in comicdom’ Sandman” series, as well as James O’Barr’s undying Eric Draven antihero in The Crow. Murphy’s menace was also reimagined as a dashing, Anne-Rice vampire rogue from yesteryear, as The Cold One in 2010’s The Twilight Saga: Eclipse. His look has changed again in the Silver Shade cover artwork, where he’s now Beast-from-X-Men blue with tribal facial scarification.
All told, nice work if you can get it. And not a bad career for a former print shop worker and bookbinding specialist from Northampton in Britain, who had to not only be coaxed but practically cajoled into joining the band by his perpetually-guitar-fasciated school chum Daniel Ash, little trio he’d formed with drummer Kevin Haskins and David J, then known as Bauhaus 1919, named after the rule-breaking art movement and the year it was founded. But, as Matisse once wisely said, “Creativity takes courage.” Words that could not ring any more authentic than at this moment in climate-upheaval-battered world history, when Art remains of utmost importance in any and all social movements. And Murphy seems to have said courage in spades.
IE: In your new press photo, you’re on a lofty apartment balcony in New York, your black-and-white dappled dress shirt blending into the cityscape behind. Which made me wonder—what is the view from your place in Istanbul like? How many floors up are you, and how inspiring is that view every day (or night)? What are some strange and/or memorable sights that you’ve seen from your exotic residence?
Peter Murphy: Interesting question! We are perched four floors above, happen to be right in the heart of tightly-packed, overcrowded Istanbul in an old building with a terrace. It is incredibly central. Istanbul actually offers a tapestry of vistas, a confluence of the ancient and the modern. Almost anywhere in Istanbul, you can see some kind of an ‘exotic’ view of the minarets and domes punctuating the skyline, narrating tales of centuries past. In this bustling but seriously surprising city, each day unfolds a new scene— a ‘Middle Eastern New York’ if you like, and yet Istanbul as a megapolis is standing on its own, in a unique identity in terms of its past and present, its culture and its customs. We have seagulls hovering above constantly, sometimes too loud! Sometimes they land on top of the terrace roofing so hard it makes me jump! The city feels like a sensory experience, where the sounds, sights, and atmosphere all intertwine to create something truly unique. I would say more so than a ‘view’, sounds affect me more. It is a very noisy city, alive 24/7…but after a while, it becomes like a hum in the background. I am used to it now. Me and my seagulls are in perfect harmony.
IE: What art, traditions, history, or religious observances do you find fascinating about Istanbul? And you’ve said you’ve worked hard to integrate yourself into local culture—how? And what wisdom have you gleaned from that?
PM: Istanbul is a very interesting city, a hub of cultures, where Byzantine mosaics coexist with Ottoman calligraphy, and Sufi music resonates in hidden courtyards. I mean, it is quite an experience when you can visit a whirling dervish ceremony and then pop into a very contemporary gallery, both at a distance of 100m from each other. It may sound overpoetic, but this journey here has imparted the wisdom of patience, the beauty of communal harmony, and the art of finding serenity amidst the chaos. I mean that in a warm-hearted way, Something in the air, something in the Bosphorous, something in some corner of the town offers insights into the human spirit’s quest for meaning. Istanbul is a very personal experience, I suppose…
IE: Are you a nocturnal person who stays up all night (like me)? Or do you rise with the dawn for some yoga, meditation, or other intellectual exercise? And which— if any—do you swear by? And, most importantly, coffee or tea? Sadly, we’ll be unable to afford either in the coming year(s). Corollary query: Books? Or film and/or TV? I can’t even bear to read through my once-crucial NY Times anymore (sigh…).
PM: I am primarily a tea person, mostly because Turkish people drink tea the most. Coffee winds me up! I do not have a particular routine in the morning. I suppose my creative energies often find solace and inspiration in the quietude of night. However, I occasionally find time and space in myself to spend some time in meditation. My daughter used to make me do yoga, although in recent years, as the body gets older, I seem to prefer straightforward physical exercise with my trainer, who happens to be the coach of a top professional volleyball team! I am a documentary person at heart; from serial killers to ‘our planet’, it depends on my mood. My wife is into the good old British crime-cop dramas, so we have now exhausted that end of things.
IE: Do you immediately get busy writing as your day/night progresses? Or do you go outside for a head-clearing neighborhood walk? I live in a virtual paradise, but it isn’t easy to explore it with Parkinson’s Disease, which tightens its debilitating grip on me every single day. But hey! We’re not dead yet, right?
PM: My routines are so irregular, but I can say that I am a house person. I do not rush out to spend the day outside. Creativity is an unpredictable muse. At times, I am compelled to write or paint incessantly at odd hours of the day. Sometimes, it is a contemplative walk through Istanbul’s labyrinth streets, and its myriad of sounds provides clarity and inspiration. Your resilience in the face of Parkinson’s is profoundly inspiring, a testament to the indomitable human spirit. There is a Turkish saying, ‘gechmish olsun.’ Indeed, as long as we breathe, the potential for creation and appreciation endures.
IE: How is your health overall? I’m sure experiencing an actual heart attack onstage, post-soundcheck, pre-show in New York (August 12, 2020) probably changed your views on everything, maybe your daily priorities, too. Did you smell burning toast, like they always say you do? And you performed your entire set? With encores? I hope you filmed it because that footage must be surreal to revisit. And then you slipped into a coma for how long, awakening in the hospital to find your wife Beyhan there? You’ve had a few close calls before, though, right?
PM: Health, that delicate equilibrium, has indeed been a focal point in recent years. The incident in New York was a stark reminder of life’s fragility. Contrary to popular lore, there was no ‘intro’ to the heart attack, no scent of burning toast. Honestly, I did not know what was coming! After the concert, I spent the whole night awake in bed, feeling somewhat out of sorts but not realizing how dangerous the situation was. Eventually, I succumbed to my then-tour manager’s and assistant’s insistence on going to the hospital. I was swiftly attended to by top medical professionals. I did slip into a coma and came out of it after four days. The experience was profoundly sobering. My family and my team’s unwavering presence was a beacon during recovery. That particular episode has recalibrated my perspective in more ways than one, y’know, the ephemeral nature of existence.
IE: So, was mortality seriously on your mind when you were conceiving this Silver Shade album? And is it shade, as in color or hue, or as in eerie graveyard specter? And you posit that “Time Waits,” but does it, really? Especially when you’re running out of it, as we both are? And then “Meaning Of My Life” finds you hoping to summarize the aesthetic worth of your achievements, but you’re having difficulty? What is the ultimate meaning? Deceptively Monty Python simple, as in “Always Look On the Bright Side of Life”?
PM: Maybe not so much in my conscious mind but in the subconscious. Mortality inevitably permeates artistic creation. Silver Shade embodies both interpretations, I suppose: a luminous hue and the intangible presence of the beyond. “Time Waits” is a contemplation on the relentless advance of moments, a reminder of our temporal limitations. And yet, time is open to interpretation. Some say there is time. “Meaning Of My Life” grapples with the quest for significance amidst the vast tapestry of existence. Perhaps, like the Pythonesque jest, the essence lies in embracing life’s absurdities with a wry smile, finding meaning in the journey rather than the destination. That’s how I feel anyway…
IE: Transformation—both personal and metaphysical—seems to be consuming your thoughts on “Xavier New Boy,” “Hot Roy,” and “Let the Flowers Grow” (which implies that there’s an Anvil Chorus that OPPOSES such blossoming). Why is the single not included on the album? And why/how did you recruit Boy George to sing on it? Even your bas-relief face artwork in the cover shot, part Maori, part African-tribal, hints at the manifestation of a more profound change. True? And your entire look is different now, a more dashing V For Vendetta Guy Fawkes vibe…..
PM: Transformation is constant, isn’t it? Whether personal, artistic, or cultural, we’re always evolving. “Let the Flowers Grow” was intentionally left off the album because it stood on its own. Some songs don’t fit into a larger body of work; they need to breathe independently. That track felt more like a stand-alone statement rather than part of the album’s narrative. As for Boy George, he’s an artist who has always embraced reinvention. That’s what drew me to bring him into it; he understands transformation deeply, not just as a persona but as a survival instinct. And his voice, unmistakable, adds another shade to the song’s meaning. The artwork, yes, it reflects that ongoing evolution. A face shaped by time, culture, and experience. If people see echoes of tribal art in it or even a Guy Fawkes edge, that’s valid. It’s all part of the visual storytelling.
IE; “Swoon” immediately evokes the cool indie film of the same name, a retelling of the famous Leopold and Loeb murder case, also referenced in the movies Compulsion and Hitchcock’s classic Rope. Was that your intention? And if not, where were you coming from? Any way you slice it, though, it feels like you had a LOT of thematic input flooding the writing process this time.
PM: I like that interpretation, but no, it wasn’t a direct reference to the film. The song was more about the feeling itself, that moment of dizzying loss of control, the surrender. That said, those films, especially Rope, are fascinating in how they create tension and how they explore the psychology of human nature. There’s always something to pull from, even unconsciously. The writing process this time was very immersive. There were a lot of ideas swirling, personal reflections, cultural shifts, and deeper existential themes. It wasn’t planned; more like letting it all come through and trusting what needed to be said.
IE: And you’ve teamed up with Trent Reznor on the disc, as well as for a new “Watchmen” alternate-history exploration in which you replace a departing Trent in Nine Inch Nails. When and where did you first meet him, and what does he bring to your art and you to his? And he’s certainly mastered the art of thinking visually via all his award-winning film soundtracks. But do you conceive music the same way now? Do you have any new soundtracks you’re currently working on?
PM: Well, I’m not replacing Trent in Nine Inch Nails — let’s clear that up! – if that ever happens. Trent and I first crossed paths years ago, but artistically, we connected later. He’s a deeply immersive creator, someone who builds entire sonic worlds rather than just songs. That’s something we share: the idea that music isn’t just about melody. It’s about space, texture, and storytelling. His film work with Atticus is exceptional because he understands how sound moves emotion, how it controls atmosphere. That’s something I’ve always been conscious of, especially in my solo work; every note, every silence matters. But, of course, writing for film is quite different to writing an album. As for new soundtrack work, there is nothing yet that I can confirm.
IE: And if you could have chosen an alternate history timeline to pursue, where in your life would it have diverged, and where would you ideally be right now? And “Paranorma” clarifies what a regal narrative voice you possess—have you ever thought of doing books on tape, O Cold One?
I don’t really believe in “what ifs” too much. Everything leads somewhere, even the things you think are missteps. But in an alternate timeline? Maybe I would have pursued acting more seriously. Maybe I’d have been a filmmaker. There’s always been that pull toward visual storytelling, performance in a larger sense beyond music. Audiobooks? It’s been suggested. Maybe I should lend my voice to something gothic and mysterious again, something with an edge?•^-even voiceovers? Maybe some animation? It yet has to be offered to me.
IE: It’s interesting how comfortable you’ve become with your place in the Rock Pantheon; if you’d experienced Huge Commercial Success, either solo or with Bauhaus, it probably would have spelled Death, Artistically. And now you can easily reflect on—then reinvent—any and all of your past works, in concert or via your own label, also dubbed Silver. That’s the kind of long-lived Artistry you hope for when you’re just starting out. Any regrets?
PM: Massive commercial success has a way of locking artists into a formula. You become a product, not a creator. I’ve never wanted that. The freedom I have now, to revisit my work, to reinterpret it, to keep moving forward is far more valuable. Regrets? Of course, there are moments I’d handle differently. But I wouldn’t trade what I’ve built for a short-lived burst of mainstream fame. Art has to breathe; it has to evolve, and sometimes that means stepping outside of the system.
IE: It’s both fascinating and horrifying to now reflect on a long four-decade-plus career (for both of us) and clearly recognize the mistakes you made, many fueled by illicit substances, even prescription drugs, and understand that you might forever be saddled with some random online Image which might mistakenly be viewed as ‘defining’ you, like, say, your awkward arrest photo from a few years back. Is there a point where it stops haunting you? Where you just look at it in the abstract and laugh, wondering, “What the hell was I THINKING on that insane night? I could have DIED!”
PM: It’s a strange thing, the internet. It takes moments and makes them permanent. But no, I don’t sit around dwelling on it. That incident and that photo were over 10 years ago. We’ve all had our reckless decisions. Some people get to leave them in the past; others have them immortalized in search results. It doesn’t define me, and I don’t carry it around like a weight. Life is messy, and mistakes happen. You move on.
IE: What other irons do you have in the fire? Or bucket-list items that you’d like to check off? And you’d like to think that you made an enduring difference. How many other performers got to open their sets hanging upside down alongside a gauntlet of bare, glaring lightbulbs? Or gotten to trot out your performance skills singing Bauhaus’ signature “Bela Lugosi’s Dead” inside a cage in front of your artistic hero, David Bowie, in Tony Scott’s definitive “The Hunger”?
PM: The bucket list keeps growing, but I think I’ve ticked off some good ones so far. Hanging upside down on stage? That was a good one. Singing in The Hunger? Surreal. Meeting Bowie? Speaks for itself. What’s next? There are things in the works: new projects, new ways of approaching my art. But I try not to over-plan. Sometimes, the best moments happen when you don’t see them coming. I try to retain a spontaneous nature and approach to things…. having said all that, as one gets older in the body, one needs extra maintenance, so I don’t think I will be hanging upside down ever again! Some of my bucket list involves my family, so that is personal.
IE: So, hopefully, we will all manage to survive the dark, despairing. But will Art itself survive? I’ve got a bad, bad feeling…
PM: Let’s not jump the gun just yet. Art will always survive. People need it, even when they don’t realize they do. In dark times, it’s not just escape. It’s reflection. It’s connection. It’s rebellion. The question isn’t whether art will survive. It’s whether people will still be paying attention.
– Tom Lanham