PAT KENNY blew it. He told the truth. Sure, as he later claimed, he may have been "only joking when, in the context of last Saturday's Supermodel show, he told the less than sylph like Dawn French he'd pay her "ten grand not to get out of bed" - a early sexist and size-ist reference to Linda Evangelista's legendary claim that she wouldn't even think of sliding out from between the sheets for less than £10,000.
Nevertheless, the truth crystallised by Kenny's comment is, unfortunately, universal and relates as much to pop as it does to fashion and culture in general: namely, if you aren't "sexy" or saleable in a consumer society you'd better stay out of sight. Likewise, no doubt, if you suffer from Muscular Dystrophy and are confined to a wheelchair, as is the case with Fergus O'Farrell, the much acclaimed nucleus of the group Interference. He didn't see Kenny deliver his "joke" but "absolutely understands" the prejudice that could be read into such a comment, specifically as it relates to the music industry.
"And I certainly encountered something like that when a particular manager had a meeting with Dan Fitzgerald, who produced some of our stuff," he claims. "And this guy said, `if you give me five thousand pounds I will make a catalogue of connections, sell product, be the middle man'. But then pan said, `Fergus is in a wheelchair' and his response was: `shit, blindness works, a wheelchair doesn't'.
"And his remark is true. Blindness is perceived as an aesthetic illness. You can be blind and still beautiful, noble. Whereas if you're deaf, you're stupid, because of the way deafness expresses its symptoms. And, of course, if you're in a wheelchair you're just a `cripple' - and that makes people uncomfortable and is definitely not considered aesthetic."
It should be stressed that Fergus speaks these words without a trace of rancour or regret.
There isn't the slightest suggestion that he perceives himself as a victim, or as a person truly incapacitated by his disability. "I don't, because I am positive about MD now," he explains. And I know that in tends of the music industry there is a way around that. Look at Ian Dury, who, as a live performer, is absolutely stunning, because you are aware that his body is bent into a weird shape and he's always got the potential for falling over. But, more importantly, because the standard of his work is so high the audience doesn't have to make any compromise because he is a cripple.
"And I'm lucky, in that I have a strong fan following who seem to have no problem with any of this. People like Maria McKee, Liam O'Maonlai and Donal Lunny perform on the new album and obviously have great respect for me as a musician. My problem is to find some way to get my, foot in the door of the industry.
Not easy, when you considers another case of prejudice Fergus encountered. "Fiachna, from the Hothouse Flowers, was talking to some A&R man who said he'd never touch Fergus O'Farrell with a barge pole, because he has Muscular Dystrophy and what's the point in putting a big financial investment in the guy, when the next minute he might drop dead?'" he says, claiming that such comments highlight an ignorance of the "prognosis of the illness itself" which is "very slow". In his case, how slow?
"I was diagnosed at the age of nine but figured I wouldn't be in a wheelchair `till my thirties, so I did the whole rock'n'roll thing, starting the band, concentrating on writing music, waiting for our Paul McGuinness to come along; someone who was similarly creative in a business sense and could help sell us. But then it hit me about four years ago, when I was confined to a wheelchair, which means that the first phase of becoming a true `crip' is over and I must now look at the rest of my career in this context," he reflects, smiling, and further revealing his sense of humour in relation to the subject.
"And when I say there is a way around this, there is. Obviously I'm not going to do world tours, the way U2 do. But then Enya has never toured. The challenge is proving to venture capitalists as in the record companies that you can do A, B, C, D and get to the marketplace and sell stuff."
Clearly our "Ferge" is also a pragmatist. And dogmatic when it comes to his desire not to be defined as a man or as a musician - solely in accordance with his illness. In fact, a documentary he watched on this very subject made him feel quite the opposite.
"I definitely don't want to come across with the I'm a cripple I can't get a break line, which is what dominated that show," he explains. "It raised the question, `is there a prejudice against disabled artists, particularly in the music industry?' But, in fact, watching the documentary my skin crawled, because everyone they had on it was crap! And I realised that even if they were able bodied people, they still wouldn't make it.
"But at least I know there is a high standard in my work. And I'm only scratching the surface.
Yet if I get real capital investment I honestly feel I really could hit my stride. Cash validation, in this sense, is hugely important, even in terms of living off that money, rather than depending on being sustained by my parents, which has happened, until now."
Fergus funded the Inteference album himself, and has secured a "totally satisfactory" distribution deal with the newly launched Whelan's Records. He also admits that the experience of being confined to a wheelchair, just before the recordings sessions began was as central to the overall ambience of the album as is the fact that Interference decided to mix musical genres on this determinedly "indie" disc, rather than travel down one well rodden path in search of the homogenous sound that might lead to a hit.
"That's what we did before and it led us nowhere, even though Looking For someone did break into the Irish charts," Fergus says, jokingly suggesting that he subtitle of the new album therefore ought to be: "a collection of ambient modern day folk songs, with the odd, surprising groove thrown in". But then, maybe he's not joking. He also says that some of the songs such as the decidedly surreal Chow Mein, capture his "changing perceptions" over the past four years.
"It's a bit hard getting used to the fact that you are in a wheelchair but, in the end, that can lead to a sense of empowerment, because one's feeling of connectedness, in terms of people and other realities, becomes more accentuated," he explains. "It's like I now feel, yes, I am confined to one house of reality, but I can open the windows, look out and say, `this is actually a bigger reality than I previously realised'. Some people get that sense by taking drugs - as in a prolonged disorientation of the senses - in order to move beyond the edges of society, and so on.
"But I get that without having to do drugs! I've done my fair share and still enjoy my smoke. But, more than that, I really do feel empowered by my `disability', able to view life from a new perspective. Without getting too heady about it, I feel I can put myself in positions where I may as well be linked up with the cosmos. And all distinctions do fade when you are aesthetically involved with your work, at that level.
"That's why Chow Mein is set with me on my bed, locked out of my brain, stoned on the best grass I've ever had and with my stereo on, inducing the kind of fluid babble that would define such a situation. Let It All Pass actually refers to the fact that `I am involved in the passing moment', which is about being aware that you exist as a multi organism and are in tune with every breath you take."
PARTICULARLY when you write about death, as in the song Vaj Vaj which Fergus suggests is "the one which will outlast all the others". Partly because as with "50 per cent of the songs on the album" it was written during a"down period", that "phase of going from walking to being in a wheelchair" - a transition he "fought like hell," he says.
"And I was drinking too much," he continues. But even at the lowest point I never stopped writing. And even though there is a melancholic thread running through a lot of the songs, the one that says most for me is Vaj Vaj because it's a special kind of love song, as far as I'm concerned. At one point the father of one of my oldest friends was diagnosed as having a particularly bad kind of cancer, which killed him within a year and a half; within two weeks of that diagnosis, another friend's father had a heart attack. So this is a love song for parents, though I know this will really embarrass my own dad when he read this! Because, although he's said that Vaj Vaj is his favourite track from the album, I haven't told him what it's all about!"
All Fergus O'Farrell's songs can be seen as coded messages of love being sent back to his own sense of the transcendental power of music, as originally experienced at his grandmother's piano. It is at this point that we encounter the essence of the man and the purity of his aspirations as a songwriter.
"My whole experience of music goes right back to when I was four and visiting the granny's house band I'd spend hours tinkling at the piano and listening to those notes resonating," he recalls, smiling widely. "I always knew that making music was what I had to do, even before I knew I was disabled. And that hasn't changed in the slightest because I am now confined to a wheelchair. If anything music is even more important now. Because as anyone who truly loves music will tell you, it really is one of the best ways of making the spirit fly - irrespective of everything else. That's what I get from, and hope to pass on, through music. All I need is someone in the music industry to help me to do that. But even if I never make it, I've no doubt I still will be flogging away at the piano, as always!"
