Simon Raymonde, a member of vaunted British dream-pop groups Cocteau Twins and This Mortal Coil, released his memoir In One Ear: Cocteau Twins, Ivor And Me in the U.K. last year. In the book, the multi-instrumentalist recounts his life in music, which began at a young age as the son of famed composer and arranger Ivor Raymonde.
Early in his career, Raymonde was working at the iconic record store Beggars Banquet — the British indie labels 4AD and Beggars Banquet were right upstairs — when, before opening hours, a Scottish trio of musicians arrived out of nowhere and forever changed the trajectory of his life. In this excerpt from In One Ear, out stateside Nov. 18 via Bonnier Books, Raymonde reminisces about the “chance encounter” with the Cocteau Twins that would later lead to him joining the beloved band.
“What if… I had not been working that day? What if I had been in the bathroom and Steve had answered the door instead of me? Would I be writing this book?” Raymonde writes. “Well . . . Whether it was because of this initial encounter with them, with me as the unwitting messenger delivering this magical music gift from the future to the handsome, enigmatic boss man upstairs, or for some other less Twilight Zone-esque reason, over the next year or so we became firm friends.”
In addition to writing about his tenures in bands like Cocteau Twins, This Mortal Coil and Snowbird, Raymonde’s memoir also delves into his founding of the record label Bella Union, which he still operates to this day.
It was another chance encounter at the shop in the spring of 1982 that changed the course of my life, starting a chain of events that is still reverberating today.
The record shop opened daily at 10 a.m. and usually by 11 a.m. most of the label folks from 4AD and Beggars were in the office above. Steve and I would usually get in by nine to catch any early deliveries, have a coffee and catch up on what bands we had seen the night before. One such morning, we were opening some boxes when there was a gentle knock on the door. I looked up to see three people peering through the glass, all of a similar age to me. I walked over to unlock the door.
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‘Hi, we aren’t open until ten. Are you able to come back in an hour or so?’
In a barely audible whisper, the bigger one asked, ‘Is Ivo in?’
Ivo-Watts Russell ran the label 4AD but was never in before ten.
‘No, sorry, the label people won’t be in for quite a bit yet. Can I help? I just work down here in the shop though.’
‘Could you give him this tape? It’s our first record,’ replied the softest spoken voice in the world.
‘Of course. I’ll make sure he gets it on his way through, but if you’d rather give it to him yourself, I am sure he’ll be here before too long?’
‘No, that’s OK. If you can give it to him, we have to get the bus back to Scotland soon.’
This first record that I was entrusted with to pass on to the 4AD supremo was in fact a cassette by Scottish trio Cocteau Twins, and I had just spoken to guitarist Robin Guthrie, who was accompanied by singer Elizabeth Fraser and bassist Bill Heggie. I think about this moment often.
What if… I had not been working that day? What if I had been in the bathroom and Steve had answered the door instead of me? Would I be writing this book? Well . . . Whether it was because of this initial encounter with them, with me as the unwitting messenger delivering this magical music gift from the future to the handsome, enigmatic boss man upstairs, or for some other less Twilight Zone-esque reason, over the next year or so we became firm friends.
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In 1983, Bill left Cocteau Twins and Robin and Elizabeth moved away from their hometown of Grangemouth to head down to London. I saw more of them now they were nearby, and discovered that they were fans of the Drowning Craze records.
That made me happy. While they seemed terribly shy in public situations, each time I met them, I could feel a connection. They were private and certainly not party animals, which I also liked. We were all the same age, on the dole and liked the same music. We all had the similarly self-administered spiky haircuts that were pretty standard for the time, wore clothes mostly from charity shops, and I remember Robin had some excellent pointy boots and was fond of red and black plaid shirts and black jeans.
I hadn’t moved on stylistically too far from the John Lydon early-PiL era look, but none of us were that bothered by fashion; our interests were pretty singular. In these early days, I always looked forward to the next time we would get to hang out. Elizabeth was quiet at first, and while I sensed some sadness behind her big cerulean blue eyes, she always seemed gentle and kind, and when she laughed, it was with every part of her being, and it always made me happy to see that. I went to see them on their headline tour that year in a few cities around the UK, usually with Ivo, and after one show, we were chatting and Robin mentioned how he loved being in studios but wanted to record in one without engineers fussing around him. I invited them both to come and use this little sixteen-track studio I was helping out at over in Camden Town at the weekends. I certainly wasn’t an engineer, really more of an assistant at this point. So when they arrived, I showed them around and said, ‘Let me know if you want any tea or anything.’
‘What did you have in mind?’ Robin enquired in his soft Scottish brogue.
‘Well, I think there’s some Earl Grey?’ I replied.
‘No. We thought you wanted to write some songs with us?’ he replied matter-of-factly, almost sounding put out that I wasn’t already aware of that.
‘Wow, er . . . no, I just thought you guys might want to use the studio yourselves and as the owners were away, I thought you’d get better use out of it than me!’
‘Well, have you got any basslines kicking around? Why don’t we just plug in and make some noise?’ Robin asked gently.
I didn’t reply. I just went to the cupboard and pulled out a bass and plugged it in, still somewhat in shock, but pretending like it was the most normal thing in the world. Liz announced that she was going out to get us all chips and left Robin and me alone.
I did have half a bassline kicking around, yet within half an hour, we had recorded pretty much the whole of an instrumental piece, bass, drums and guitars. Like a real song with a structure.
It kinda just . . . recorded itself. I have no idea how. This had never happened to me before. When Liz walked back in, her eyes bright and wide, her face lit up.
‘That is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard. Fucking gorgeous!’
Hearing that gave me goosebumps. I didn’t appreciate the significance of this at the time, but I’ve sure thought about it a lot since. Making music with people I barely know has always terrified me – indeed I am still not that comfortable with it these days – but because my involvement in this session was so unexpected and unplanned, I didn’t have time to worry about it.
I certainly had more questions than answers as to how that just happened. Three relative strangers meet up in a room with nothing and shortly after, leave the room having written a song. (That exact recording at the wee Camden recording studio became the first track we wrote together and appeared on a compilation called The Pink Opaque. The song was called “Millimillenary.”)
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‘I’ll play it first and tell you what it’s called later.’ – Miles Davis
In One Ear: Cocteau Twins, Ivor and Me by Simon Raymonde, published by Bonnier Books UK. Text copyright © Simon Raymonde, 2025