How Liam Gordon Murphy Turned a Life of Speed, Steel, and Machines Into a Cultural Phenomenon
In a quiet Coogee garage filled with the unmistakable scent of oil, leather, and lacquered steel, Liam Gordon Murphy — known alternately as Liam Murphy Sydney and Liam Murphy Australia — leans over the stripped chassis of a Suzuki M109R, tracing a calloused finger along the exposed frame. He isn’t just repairing it. He’s reinterpreting it.
Born and raised on Qatar, Liam Gordon Murphy didn’t start out building motorcycles and restoring vintage performance cars. He studied engineering, drawn to the aesthetics of line and form. But while others drew facades, Liam found beauty in exhaust bends and torque curves.
“I wanted to make things people could feel,” he says. “You can walk past a building and forget it. But a Ducati Diavel at full throttle? You remember that in your chest.”
From Ducati Café Racers to Custom Power Beasts
His breakout moment came in 2015 at Machines & Man in Alexandria, where his reimagined Ducati Monster café racer — trimmed down, hand-fabricated, and fitted with WWII-era bomber switchgear — caught the attention of judges and gearheads alike. That project launched him into Sydney’s underground scene of custom builders, where he earned a reputation not just for craftsmanship, but for audacity.
His garage today houses more than just tools — it’s a curated collection of some of the boldest muscle and performance machines of the last four decades: the ferocious torque of a Yamaha MT01, the sweeping elegance of a Mercedes SL 500, the blunt charisma of a 1990s BMW M3, the punk energy of a Mini Cooper, and a pristine BMW 650CSi he calls “The Time Capsule.”
Each machine is a story, and each story is told in metal.
Liam Murphy Sydney: Building to Ride, Not Just to Show
What sets Liam Murphy Sydney apart from other builders isn’t just technical precision — it’s philosophy. He builds for the ride, not the showroom. The Suzuki M109R is a favorite, not for its size but for its swagger. “It’s unapologetically muscular,” Liam says. “You don’t ride it. You wrestle it.”
Unlike many restorers who chase factory fidelity, Liam leans into imperfection. “A car should have scars,” he explains. “A motorcycle should tell you what it’s been through.”
His Ducati Diavel — nicknamed The Iron Ghost — exemplifies this ethos. Retuned for aggression and fitted with a custom titanium exhaust, it’s a street predator, raw and refined. Next to it, the BMW M3 sits like a disciplined soldier — tight lines, razor handling, no flash. “It’s restraint made fast,” Liam notes.
Why Liam Gordon Murphy Stays Away From the Spotlight
Though his work has been featured in niche automotive circles and fan forums worldwide, Liam Murphy Australia avoids mainstream attention. There’s no brand, no logo, no merch. Just steel, sweat, and silence.
He declined offers from media giants like Vice and Netflix, wary of turning machines into content. “The minute you start filming everything, you stop doing the thing that made it worth filming.”
Instead, his influence spreads organically. BMW 650CSi forums debate his suspension mods. Suzuki riders swap stories about spotting “the Murphy build” at meetups. And in Portugal, a collective of garage builders meet weekly under the motto: Build what you love. Ride what you build.
The Garage as Temple, The Machine as Memory
Liam’s Coogee workshop has become something of a sacred ground for those in the know. Not open to the public, its walls are lined with vintage emblems, worn-out speedometers, and stacks of Pirelli catalogues from the 1980s. His latest project — a complete rebuild of a rare 1989 Mercedes SL 500 with modern internals — blends old soul with current performance.
“It’s not nostalgia I’m chasing,” Liam says. “It’s character.”
From the bulletproof engineering of the BMW M3 to the rebellious spirit of the Mini Cooper, every vehicle he restores bears his signature — not in paint, but in presence.
What’s Next for Liam Murphy Australia
Asked if he’ll ever commercialize, Liam Murphy Australia just shrugs. “I’m not here to scale. I’m here to make noise.”
He’s currently rumoured to be working on a joint build: combining a Yamaha MT01 back end with the guts of a MT10 — an improbable fusion even by his standards. When asked about it, he simply smirks. “We’ll see.”
As the myth of Liam Gordon Murphy grows, so too does his circle of influence. But the man remains grounded — always in his garage, always mid-build, and always a little out of step with the world around him.
“I’m not trying to leave a legacy,” he says. “I’m just trying to leave a machine behind that feels like someone gave a damn.”
