‘I was in a very cosy wee pub down the road from mine having a quiet drink. This chap came up and wanted a selfie.’ His eyebrows bristle above the rims of his glasses like two curious porcupines, and he replaces his teacup carefully in its saucer. ‘And then, he announced to the whole pub: “This is the Tony Morris. He is a genius. Everyone know that.”’
We’re sitting in a wood-panelled booth in University Cafe, a beloved Glasgow Italian eatery. ‘There is somewhere on YouTube a video of a famous chef, Anthony Bourdois? He came here,’ says Tony. ‘Bourdain?’ I suggest, and get a polite chuckle when I add, ‘Someone else with a cult following.’
A 73-year-old former bookkeeper, Tony is an unlikely icon of Glasgow’s underground music scene. His Instagram account contains hundreds of surreal depictions of suburban life compressed into minute-long audiovisual sketches. Over eerie soundscapes or sparse beats, he picks apart niggling doubts in a soft, sibilant whisper, or croons his deep longing to transcend a conventional existence. Lyrics from the song Decaffeinated Coffee, which launched his success after going viral in 2024, are typical: ‘A decaffeinated coffee, please, a large one, pleease, to sit in, pleeease.’ He frets over whether these precise manners might suppress deeper feelings before concluding, ‘No harm done… Or maybe there was?’
A sly humour lurks behind the doubt, something most evident in the bizarre self-recorded videos which accompany his songs. Often he’ll stand in front of a dark background clad in a shirt and braces, hands in pockets, whilst staring off camera with a hangdog expression. Then, almost apologetically, he’ll turn to offer the viewer his opening line: ‘It started with your armpits.’
I became acquainted with Tony after being commissioned to go on a mini pub crawl with him. We would, the editor explained, have a swift one at each stop as a nod to the brevity of his songs. Sounds fun, I thought, and eagerly wrote to Tony on Instagram. I received the following reply:
‘I am a lone drinker, a serious lone drinker. I use alcohol to loosen up the inner connections between my unconscious and conscious mind and thence concoct an audiovisual piece; so a pub crawl is completely out of the question. I hope that doesn’t stymie the whole idea. All the best. Tony’
The idea was abandoned, but my curiosity was all the stronger and I requested to meet anyway. ‘Can we stop at Uni Cafe for an egg roll and cup of tea?’ he wrote back.
Visiting West End coffee houses is one habit in his ordered life, I learn, but it was attempting to loosen things up which eventually led to him making music in his retirement. First, he tried tango classes, then took up the bongos. Neither proved sufficiently loosening, though he made a critical acquaintance through his endeavours. ‘I asked my bongo tutor how he made his music for his electronic group,’ Tony recalls. The tutor introduced him to Ableton, a music software program better suited to Tony’s temperament: ‘I realised instantly I could get to grips with this.’
