Hugh Philpott meets Ty Jeffries

It’s a bright but chilly autumn afternoon and, in the words of a catchy local sea shanty, I find myself ‘Where the South Downs and the river meet the sea’. My travels around Sussex in search of musical excellence take me all over: today I have come to one of the region’s working ports, often unfairly overlooked but always worth a visit. My desire to get to know Ty Jeffries, the talent behind that witty and thoughtful sea shanty, has led me to Newhaven.

Ty doesn’t restrict himself to sea shanties. He has been, among other things, a successful singer-songwriter, composer, artist, raconteur, model, and the creator of the multi award-winning comedy cabaret chanteuse Miss Hope Springs.

I knock on the door of an attractive Victorian house in the centre of town.

“Come on in, it’s a bit nippy out.”

There is warmth in the welcome, and in the cozy dining room he leads me into.

“You were probably expecting Hope to greet you? I’m sorry to disappoint, but she retired earlier this year. I do keep finding stray eyelashes and blonde hair everywhere, but she’s enjoying a well-deserved rest.”

I sit down at the dining table, sad to miss Hope and genuinely sorry to have not had the opportunity to spend time with her. Perhaps guessing what I am thinking, Ty, busy now in the adjoining kitchen preparing coffee and cake, carries on with anecdotes about his muse. His mixture of transatlantic inflection – a stubborn relic of the Hollywood child – and a warm and lyrical West Country burr make listening easy.

“Don’t worry, she’s fine. Hope’s been cryogenically preserved in Vegas. She’s kept at Ripley’s, in a glass booth and who knows… someone might even revive her one day.”

He joins me at the table. Time for coffee and cake.

“It’s carrot cake, so no need to worry. One of your five a day, you could say?”

Ty is the son of the late Lionel Jeffries, but I sense he is conflicted on this point. The children of famous people can become tired of being described and defined in that context. We talk it through and conclude that the experience of being a child of one of the great character actors and directors of 20th-century British cinema has provided some wonderful memories and material to draw on. The prime example of this being the origin story for Miss Hope Springs herself.

“Right from a small boy I had always admired the great screen legends. Some of the great women of cinema were part of everyday life for me. Huge talents like Shirley MacLaine, Shelley Winters and Diana Dors were often at our home in either Hollywood or Pinewood. Many of my favourites were mature by then, but still playing glamorous character roles. I suppose the six-year-old me admired them all. I remember thinking clearly that I really wanted to grow up to be them. I wanted all of it. The hair, the voice, the clothes and the way people respected and adored them just mesmerised me. I suppose that’s where it all began with Hope.”

Cutting the cake, he takes a moment to think.

“Hope has been with me for as long as I can remember. If you want to be analytical you could say she is an amalgam of my childhood encounters. My mother, once an actress herself, was one of those women too. It was never really about the waspish wisecracks and iconic one-liners. I didn’t understand all of that until later. No, it was something much more physical and sensory.”

A moment of silence as he pours the coffee and plates up the cake.

“I should say, though, that Hope didn’t really come into her own until much later. Her gestation was elephantine. She didn’t really get out of the closet and become my muse and then professional alter-ego until 2010. It then all really took off. I started what was to become a 12-year residency as Hope at Crazy Coqs in Piccadilly. It was a joy and to date my biggest achievement. I loved every minute of it and judging by the reviews the audiences did too. But all of that did have to wait its turn and only come after my father Lionel died. I am sure it is all rather poignant and meaningful in a way.”

Ty pauses again, fork poised. I sense a seriousness.

“No, leave that. Honestly, we don’t have enough cake for that story today. You’ll need to read my autobiography for the full version. I hope to get it out before the 100th anniversary of Lionel’s birth.”

I want to ask more, but it’s time to move on. The mood lightens again.

Ty Jeffries is surprising and enigmatic. The part of him which is Hope represents the best of those fading Hollywood leading ladies and whisky-voiced jazz and cabaret artistes. She is never shy and feeds on the adoration and attention of her audience. However, the real Ty is quiet and talented, a serious musician. He is interested and interesting, modest and calm. He prefers his own company and can at times find other people distracting. He is pleased to be able to focus on what really interests him – his creativity.

“Now that Hope has retired it feels a lot quieter around here. She took up a huge amount of energy and left minimal space for my other work. Now I am interested in discovering new beginnings and creating new material. I feel some changes and exciting challenges are coming down the path. Of course I have been performing my own material for many years, but I do prefer to hear it performed by others and will be working with others to ensure there is more of that. Recently It made me very happy and proud to hear Claire Martin singing Water and Salt on her new album Almost In Your Arms. She is such a dear friend and talent. Her voice and delivery is perfect for my work.”

So how, I wonder, does Ty feel about his career as a singersongwriter?

“I am not, and have never been, a true vocal artist. I have a husky bass-baritone of a voice, which Hope was able to work her magic with, and which has served me well when needed. I never really intended to be a singer, but I can write meaningful lyrics and a good tune and so from now on the music making part of my life will focus much more on composing and collaborating. My songs work in any number of styles. For example, the soprano Ailish Tynan, a superb classical music talent, has interpreted my material beautifully in her own way. I have also worked with the brilliant Rula Lenksa, who also made my music her own as a singing actress. There have been one or two male voices, too, who have brought my material to life. Both Julian Clary and Marc Almond, lovely generous people, have given their own fresh and innovative interpretations of my material. As a composer and writer this is the sort of validation you seek.”

I ask if I can hear something he might be working on. We move into the music room. Immediately, without speaking, Ty’s hands start to weave a rhapsodically fluid piece reminiscent of Satie or Albeniz. A simple undulating line soon gains fugal body and momentum. I can hear folk influences, impressions of nature, Parisian streets and much more. There is sensitive sophistication in what he does with the melody. This is in striking contrast to Hope’s preferred repertoire of torch songs, patter and double entendre, hinting at underlying melancholy and nostalgia, like leafing through an old photograph album.

“I want to rediscover my classical roots, but embrace them now with the benefit of everything I have learned on my journey with Hope and other projects. One ambition is to compose something for Sussex, which is now my home. Perhaps something for a choir or full orchestra. So much here inspires me. The sea, the river, the Downs… but also the towns and cities. They all have their own personalities. Brighton, Eastbourne, Hastings and others have their traits and gimmicks, a bit like those grandes dames who inspired me as a child. I want to capture all of this and describe it as my own version of that narrative, expressing it with my musical voice.”

He plays extracts from another project. It is a joy and privilege to be sharing new music in the making, destined for wider audiences. As I enjoy the lush sound of Ty’s playing, I glance around the room. The artwork fits so well with the music; when he next pauses, I ask if the paintings are his work.

“Yes. I have always painted. This is one of the things which links me strongly to my father. If we look in the other room, you can see some of his work from the sixties and seventies.” We move to another beautifully curated room. I am struck by the similarity of style between his work and his father’s. The works feel caught between English expressionism and Fauvism. Strong, colourful palettes in works which favour bold shapes and uncompromising statements.

“This is me painted by my father. And these are all his too.” The walls are covered with substantial works in oil featuring scenes, objects and people – one looks like a cricket match and another like a young boy dressed as a clown. There is an overwhelming feeling of presence and emotion in the room. We continue to talk and bounce around ideas, thoughts and plans as we take in this private and very personal collection. Then he’s off on another tack.

“Something special and new coming up is my talk for the University of Michigan Penny Stamps Distinguished Speakers Series. I was overwhelmed to be asked to be part of this and raised up in the company of such acclaimed artists and societal leaders. Please make sure you listen in!”

I realise I’ve been in Ty’s company for several hours. It’s time to go. “Thank you for coming,” he says. “I hope I haven’t bored you. Hope will, I am sure, be disappointed that she missed you.” I am sorry to have missed Hope, too, but – while I’ve been thrilled by all the showbiz gossip and personal insight on life in sixties Hollywood – the real joy has been to hear about what is coming next. About life beyond Hope: I’m reassured that as far as Ty Jeffries is concerned, the best is yet to come.

Ty’s Penny Stamp lecture will be broadcast live online on December 5, and thereafter accessible (google ‘penny stamps lectures’). If you want a taster of Ty’s more classical repertoire, try his solo piano albums Last Summer at Terijoki and Dusk in the Luxemburg Gardens, available to stream. Equally you can still enjoy Miss Hope Springs, including in recital at Wigmore Hall, on YouTube.

Photo by garywilliams.photography