The KLF return draws closer.
July 27, 2017
Boy oh boy did I tumble down the rabbit hole. I half expect Echo to be hanging around here somewhere.
Getting my thoughts written down this week has been tough. Like a kid at Disneyland, I just want to see everything, do everything, and tell everyone about it. I’ll try my best to make it coherent.
One of the nicest surprises of keeping this journal has been the interaction with KLF fans. Hearing their stories and theories about what I might expect has been a joy, even if it’s left me a little envious of their deep knowledge and first-hand experiences.
After I mentioned the eye-watering £100+ price tag on The Manual, friends started crawling out of the woodwork with photos and stories of their own copies. Some swore it wasn’t worth the effort, others defended it. Either way, I’ll give it a go.
Reader Chris dug out his old reprint copy, calling it slightly dated and repetitive. He also admitted to sharing my mix of excitement and fear about the upcoming event. Turns out that sense of trepidation is fairly common.
My friend Banjo had less luck. He’d snagged a copy of The Manual for just 25p at a book sale, only to lose it after lending it to someone at the Liverpool School of Performing Arts. Still, he’s got a better souvenir: an autograph from Bill Drummond’s Big in Japan days. Banjo told me, “Last time I saw him was at his 100 Questions event. As he was signing my book, I told him the last autograph I had was from BIJ. Without missing a beat he signed it ‘Big Bill Drummond.’”
Between Twitter replies and posts in the KLF Facebook groups, I’ve started to feel like I belong to something. Even when I don’t understand all the references (and trust me, you lot can be pretty mysterious), it feels alive, like a shared consciousness. Maybe, like the idea of the Ideaspace, our own actions, stories, and theories might somehow ripple into the event itself. Or maybe I’m just getting ahead of myself, which seems to be my default setting lately.
Continuing with John Higgs’ book only fuels that. His tales of coincidences and chance meetings have me spotting the same patterns in my own life. I’ve never been one for mysticism, always chalking it up to selective perception. (When your friend calls just as you were thinking of them it feels magical, but you don’t remember all the times they didn’t call when you were.)
Still, this week has been oddly full of coincidences. My first journal tweet, for example, went out at 10:23. I’d love to say I planned that, but it didn’t even cross my mind. Just luck.
Then, later in the week, I went to the British Music Experience for a Q&A with photographer Kevin Cummins. I’d always associated him with Bowie, but it turns out he worked extensively with Echo and the Bunnymen and plenty of others linked to Bill Drummond and Jimmy Cauty through the old Eric’s scene — including Big in Japan and Julian Cope.
And as if that wasn’t enough, John Higgs’ book also keeps dragging in many of my so-called “favourite” artists. Aldous Huxley has been one of my favourite authors since I first read The Doors of Perception, and now here he is tangled up in the KLF web. I’ll chalk that one up to taste. Of course the things you like end up overlapping eventually, through shared ideals and similar outlooks. D’uh.
July 28, 2017
Today starts with a copy of Bido Lito! Inside is an introduction from editor Christopher Torpey and a two-page feature by Damon Fairclough (aka Noise Heat Power). Both are well worth a read.
Across these pieces, and in my wider reading, one thing stands out: the story of the KLF isn’t just one story. It’s an accumulation of many. A convergence of stories. Almost like ley lines.
Both articles lean heavily on ley lines and their role in the KLF’s mythos. I don’t believe ley lines have mystical powers, but if you go and do something mystical on them, you’re basically creating the same effect. A self-fulfilling act.
Do people visit ley lines because they expect something amazing, or do amazing things happen because people choose those spots to do amazing things? Either way, the end result is the same: amazing things happening. Who cares which way round it is, both keep the fire burning.
This idea of self-fulfilment has cropped up again and again this week, and honestly, it’s the most sensible and grounded explanation I’ve come across. Whether Bill Drummond and Jimmy Cauty are fulfilling it consciously or not is another question.
Then comes the kicker. After the article, a full-page poster for the upcoming event. Four hundred tickets. £100 each. Are you thinking what I’m thinking? £40,000. Surely that can’t be another coincidence. £40,000 being the exact amount offered by the K Foundation to Rachel Whiteread as 1994’s “Worst Artist of the Year.” Could they be awarding themselves the prize this time, admitting the burning was the worst piece of art after all? Or have they found someone new to hand it to? Or maybe it’s just simple maths and the venue caps at 400. Maybe…
Meanwhile, my new purchases (45 and The Illuminatus! Trilogy) arrive today. As of writing I haven’t started either, and let’s be honest, one of them is probably going to wait until after the event. I’ll let you guess which one.
July 29, 2017
Today I watched the infamous burning footage for the first time. I’d purposely held off as long as possible, worried it might influence my still open and receptive mind. Part of me also wondered if I’d just watch it, think they were idiots, and hate the whole thing. But I couldn’t avoid it any longer.
It’s almost exhausting to watch them throw bundle after bundle onto the flames without any fanfare at all. Their boredom is obvious, and I can almost feel them thinking, Why are we doing this? At first the money looked fake to me, but currency has changed since then, so the bills were unfamiliar to my relatively youthful eyes. I get why some people claim the bank gave them money already destined to be destroyed.
I watched it once, made my verdict, and left it there. I believe it.
Something about their body language, and the stripped-down production of the footage, feels genuine. I might change my mind in the weeks ahead, but for now I’m on the side of it being real.
The whole scene reminded me of when me and my mates used to wander around a campsite collecting bits and bobs — broken drawers, rugs, snapped shelves — then haul them back for a bonfire. Not for warmth, not for cooking. Just for something to do, something to look at. We’d often stand in silence, staring into the flames, adding things slowly without much care for what they were.
I started to think: under what circumstances would I burn money, and a large sum at that? Say we found a drawer behind an old caravan stuffed with cash. Why would we set it alight? Maybe if keeping it was more trouble than it was worth? Maybe if we just didn’t need it? A dare? Back then we were pretty anti-materialistic, but even so, I don’t think it would’ve extended to torching a fiver, let alone a fortune.
July 30, 2017
Do you know what the hardest part of this whole experience has been so far? Talking to people. By that I mean friends, family, workmates. Not you fine Twitter and Facebook folk — you understand me.
When you’re this immersed in something (as I’m sure you’ve all been at some point) it’s impossible to talk about anything else.
“What have you been up to?” “Working on anything at the moment?” “Got any cool events coming up?” “Any plans for tonight/tomorrow/the weekend/the next three weeks/rest of your life?”
Every conversation somehow circles back to the bloody KLF.
Colleague: “As much as I don’t mind Doctor Who being a chick, I am glad Capaldi’s got one more in him.”
Me: “DO YOU REMEMBER THE SONG Doctorin’ the Tardis? NO? LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT IT.”
OK fine, it wasn’t exactly dragged out of me, but how was I supposed to resist? Turns out they didn’t know, didn’t care, and didn’t particularly enjoy my seven-minute ramble either. But it’s a very accurate snapshot of my life right now.
A few friends this week have asked me to explain what I’m working on. I’ve almost got it down to a rehearsed speech, but the more I read and the more I learn, the more convoluted it gets. Just picture me in the pub after a few ciders trying to explain the theory of the Ideaspace.
So, going forward, I’ll keep my mouth shut unless directly invited to share. I’ll revert to good old British politeness and reply, “Ah you know, not much, the usual” to any general questions. It’ll save my sanity. And theirs.
July 31, 2017
If you haven’t already, head over to The Quietus and read Phil Harrison’s article What The KLF Burning a Million Quid Means in 2017. He puts forward some interesting ideas about art itself, and how by burning a million pounds the KLF effectively made an artistic investment. One so strong it continues to pay dividends today — not in money, but in reputation. A quick search for KLF items on eBay is proof enough of how much their output has increased in value.
This train of thought is my latest obsession. The article suggests that by making this “investment,” Bill Drummond and Jimmy Cauty effectively transferred it to all of us. Something anyone could tap into, draw from, or claim as their own inspiration. That the burning may even have been an act of generosity.
I’m not quite ready to go that far, but it does feel like the kind of explanation they’d enjoy. Honestly, I think I would too.
August 1, 2017
In the week that’s passed, very few new details about the event have surfaced. Tickets have started landing in the mail, pre-orders of the book have been halted on some online stores, only to reappear once the confusion spread.
The only ‘solid’ (and I use that word very cautiously) piece of information is the announcement of the Justified Ancients of Mu Mu’s arrival, titled The Ice Kream Van Kometh.
Beyond that, I’ve stumbled on just one possible clue. Liverpool venue The Invisible Wind Factory started following me on Twitter and liking my KLF-related posts. Now, maybe the person running their account is simply a fan. But the venue itself is versatile, and their productions in the past have been nothing short of spectacular. Sometimes even ritualistic.
All speculation, of course. Still, I’d like to see them involved — if only so I can smugly say I was right. After all, it can’t just be as simple as them hitting “like,” can it? Not in this story.