From prison walls to the fairways of Mar Menor Golf: The long road back through music

Allan McCarthy opens up about recovery, second chances and how Murcia prison became the unlikely place where he formed his band Berlin90

Allan McCarthy's story is often told through extraordinary headlines about drugs, prison, a jailhouse rock band and a life of extremes. But beneath it all, there's something more powerful and arguably more interesting: a story about second chances, recovery and a strange, almost fateful, relationship with music that just refuses to let go. 

Throughout my interview with Allan, the phrase "What's for you won't go by you," kept popping up, and basically this idea sits at the centre of his life and this remarkable story. 

Starting out tinkering with music in the bars and clubs of Barrhead in Glasgow, Allan gradually moved into the entertainment industry, even finding himself around A-list circles at a young age. That path eventually led him to a life of glamour on the Spanish coast. But in the 1990s, his life changed direction. After a conviction for cannabis possession, he was sentenced to six years in a Murcia prison and a fine of 65 million pesetas. 

It would have been easy for that to be the end of the story, but instead it became the beginning of something unexpected. 

Life inside Spain's prisons in the 90s

People remember Spain in the 90's fondly. Sunny holidays on the coast of Spain were becoming the norm, and Spain hosted the Olympics in 1992. But in the same year, the Helsinki Report came out, which painted a different picture of Spain. It described the conditions of Spanish prisons and showed a country stuck between its past and its future.

Allan found himself in prison at a time when the conditions were described as overcrowded, 'deplorable' with crumbling buildings, broken windows and punishment cells that hadn't changed since the days of Franco. 

But in the middle of all this there was a shining light – a literacy teacher who just so happened to be an arts teacher and a phenomenal musical talent. He inspired Allan and the other prisoners to play the guitar and to eventually form a band, which they called Berlin90.

"That was the guy that gave me belief," Allan said. "He'd been over to the States but what I didn't know is he was a session guitarist, amazingly talented, he played with phenomenally well-known jazz and blues guitarists. And when he came back to Murcia, he wanted to put something back into the community by combining the two loves of his life."

Things moved quickly from there. At the time, they had no instruments at all, no guitars or equipment, just an idea and a bit of encouragement. So they applied for funding through an Arts Council grant from the regional Murcia government, on the condition that they could show some kind of result.

Around the same period, the prison was also hosting an annual day for inmates and their families. It was a day filled with activity, cameras and sports events being filmed for what they assumed were internal records.

Allan and the others performed three cover songs. After that, the council asked them to write an original song as part of the funding requirement, so Allan ended up putting one together himself.

What they didn't realise at the time was that they were being filmed by a Spanish television crew rather than prison staff. The footage was broadcast on a children's Sunday morning TV programme, and from there it quickly spread. By that evening, it had reached regional news, and within days, it was being shown on national television across Spain as a human interest story.

The reaction was so strong that, within a week, radio stations from across the country were requesting access to the prison. What followed is hard to believe. Allan and the band were taken out to perform and be interviewed. Two major radio stations ended up competing for interviews with them, as the story of inmates forming a band inside Murcia prison took on a life of its own.

When a prison project suddenly turned into a national story

Within days of their first performance, Allan and the band were suddenly being asked to perform live on the radio. Within a week of that first concert, they were already being invited onto two separate radio stations to perform original material. It was all happening so quickly that there was barely time to process it, let alone rehearse properly.

Then, just two weeks later, things escalated again. The band was invited to perform live on Spain's national Top 40 radio show, which at the time aired on Sunday afternoons. That meant within a fortnight of their very first concert, they were already broadcasting three songs live on one of the country's biggest music programmes. Allan says it felt almost unreal.

In between all of this, there was very little chance to rehearse. One of the other guitarists was still working in the prison kitchen and was often called away for shifts, while Allan and the others tried to keep things moving whenever they could. Eventually, as momentum built, the prison authorities provided electric guitars and allowed them to rehearse in a small auditorium space that was normally used for films and events.

From that point on, the attention never really stopped. Journalists, radio presenters and politicians seemed to pass through constantly. "One day it might be a local MP, the next a national newspaper or radio crew."

For Allan, it all felt surreal. What started as something small inside the prison was suddenly being treated like a national story, and yet, at the time, they were still in prison, serving their sentences. "We're still going back at the end of the night getting locked up you know."

Watch the video with the original recording of the Berlin90 song Runaway from inside Murcia prison

Then everything changed again

But then, during siesta one day out of the blue, Allan was transferred to the infamous Carabanchel prison. Carabanchel was one of Spain's most notorious prisons. "It was like the bogeyman," Allan recalled. "Even the hardcore Spaniards were frightened of it."

The prison was associated with violent offenders, long-term inmates and some of the country's most feared criminals. Several major Colombian drug traffickers, including members of the Cali cartel, were imprisoned there in the 1980s, and it was used as inspiration in the TV series Narcos. 

For someone still in his mid-20s at the time, the move came as a shock and was difficult to understand. Just as quickly as it had all taken off, everything came crashing down as Allan was moved to one of Spain's most feared prisons. 

Looking back now, he still does not claim to know why.

"I've never been a conspiracy theorist," he said. In fact, after eventually leaving prison, he tried to put the entire experience behind him. "When I got out of jail, I never thought about the jail again for 30 years."

After eventually being deported back to Scotland, Allan tried to leave that entire chapter of his life behind. For decades, he rarely spoke about the prison, the music, or the sudden burst of fame that had once surrounded Berlin90. Life moved on and, years later, he returned to Spain, settling on the Mar Menor Golf Resort in Murcia.

Berlin90 makes a return after 30 years

The story may have stayed buried if it had not been for a friend who encouraged him to revisit the past. Around three years ago, the pair travelled to Murcia in search of the old recording studio where Berlin90 had once recorded their music in the 1990s.

Allan remembered only fragments, the name Pepe Moreno, and PM Studios, somewhere near the prison. Not expecting much, they arrived at the property one Sunday morning and rang the intercom.

"I'm speaking away in Spanish saying, 'You won't remember me, I recorded here 30 years ago in a wee band'," Allan recalled. At first, the answer was polite but dismissive. The studio owner explained that most recordings from that era had long since disappeared during moves between premises.

But just before ending the conversation, he asked one final question: "What was the name of the band anyway?"

"When I said Berlin90, everything changed," Allan said.

Within seconds, studio owner Pepe Moreno came rushing outside. "He's hugging me in the street and crying," Allan remembered. "He kept saying, 'I thought you were dead. We all thought you were dead.'"
To Allan's surprise, Moreno had kept the original recordings all those years.

What followed was emotional for everyone involved, particularly when the old tapes were finally played back through the studio speakers for the first time in decades. "I'm hearing my own voice again after 30 years and thinking, 'That's me, isn't it?'" Allan said.

At first, Allan still did not think much would come from it. He just wanted to send the recordings to a few friends back home, almost as proof that the story had really happened. But the rediscovery of the tapes soon reached the ears of legendary Murcia radio DJ Ángel Sopena, who had himself never forgotten the story of Berlin90.

During interviews marking his own career anniversary, Sopena repeatedly described meeting Allan in prison as one of the most memorable moments of his career. "He's interviewed huge stars," Allan said. "And he's saying his favourite memory was me. That's wild."

After finally reconnecting, Sopena invited Allan onto his radio programme the very next morning. What Allan assumed would be a small local interview quickly snowballed into something much bigger. The story spread across regional and national media in both Spain and the UK, with newspapers, radio stations and television programmes all picking it up within days.

Even then, Allan struggled to believe the level of attention it was receiving.

"I hadn't physically seen any of the newspapers or TV coverage yet, so I thought somebody was winding me up."

A documentary now brings the story to screen

From there, Allan McCarthy's story began to take on a new life again as an Award-winning New York-based director, producer and writer David S. Zucker is now set to direct a feature documentary. Produced by David Zucker Productions in collaboration with Peacock Studios, the film follows his transformation from a prison inmate in Spain to the frontman of a band.

Now, with the documentary in development, McCarthy says the focus is very deliberately not about glamorising what happened.

"It's about recovery," he explained. "It's not about glamorising any of it. I'm going to be honest about how I ended up."

He wants to avoid the kind of story that turns crime or prison life into something aspirational for young people.

"It's not the rise of the foot soldier," he said. "Not the fantasy of fancy cars and 80s music. That's the dream people get sold, and a lot of young kids end up in prison because of it."

The documentary will include interviews conducted by Scottish interviewer and media personality Dominique Mabille. Filming began in April in Glasgow, with plans for the documentary to premiere at major film festivals in Scotland before moving on to international screenings.

The documentary will feature lots of archival material as well as interviews and personal testimony. The film is about resilience, consequences and ultimately second chances.

Even with everything that followed, Allan is still open about the way he sees himself. "I might be able to appear on stage, but I always think I'm a fraud," he said. "The imposter syndrome… they'll find me out."

Despite the music and the attention, that feeling of self-doubt never fully went away. "Everybody wants to hear my story," he explained, "but I've got no self-worth. I'm just a wee guy from a small town."

He is also honest about what prison did to him. "I was broken because when I came out of jail, you change as a person, you don't change what's inside, but you basically switch off all your external feelings."

And through all that, somehow music kept finding its way back into his life. From prison to radio stations, and later back into studios and filming in Glasgow.

"What changed my life," he said, "was when I arrived at Glasgow Airport and I got handed my six-month-old nephew."

In that moment, he says, everything shifted.

Find out more about Allan's story and the upcoming documentary on the Berlin90 website.

Images: Allan McCarthy