Details emerge from the KLF’s trip to the Dark Ages
August 8, 2017
We’ve slammed it into reverse gear this week and are starting at the end, because everything changed today. An influx of new information has hit us from multiple directions. Time’s pretty arbitrary anyway, and memories have a habit of shuffling things around, so a little timeline manipulation won’t hurt.
I’ve also chopped a fair bit of my earlier ramblings from the week, partly because they’ve been made redundant by the announcements, and partly because this is simply more exciting news to talk about. So let’s start with the biggest and most concrete development.
Tickets went on sale for an event titled Graduation Ball, and the 400 volunteers received their first set of instructions.
The details of the ball are as follows:
The Graduation Ball
The Justified Ancients of Mu Mu will be throwing a Graduation Ball , following the events of Welcome To The Dark Ages.
This Graduation Ball will be for all of The Volunteers who have graduated to The Dark Ages.
This Graduation Ball will be at the Invisible Wind Factory.
The Invisible Wind Factory is many things.
One of those things is a nightclub.
The Invisible Wind Factory’s doors will open at 22:00 on Friday the 25th of August.
The address of the Invisible Wind Factory is 3 Regent Rd, Liverpool L3 7DS.
There will be guest DJs – DJ Food and Greg Wilson.
There will be the world premiere screening of the 69 minute director’s cut version of the film 2023: What The FUUK Is Going On? by The Justified Ancients of Mu Mu.
There will be the one and only performance by Badger Kull.
Badger Kull will be performing their one and only song.
Their one and only song is Toxteth Day of the Dead.
Although this Graduation Ball will be free for all of The Volunteers who have graduated to The Dark Ages, there will be a limited number of tickets for the general paying public – £10 entrance fee.
On the guest list will be Vladimir Putin + 1, the Little Perch, The 23 Sparrows, and Tat’jana & Kristina. But no one else.
This Graduation Ball will last as long as it lasts. Or until the last of the Little Perch have been kicked out and thrown back into the Mersey.
Be there at the Birth.
And remember:
‘Life is the gateway drug to death’
I’m not going to lie, I’m a little terrified. And a little proud, too, that my suspicion about The Invisible Wind Factory being involved was spot on — they’re going to put on one hell of a production. But mainly, yes, terrified.
I was already dreading the whole “volunteering” thing, and now they’re throwing in the paying public for some warped graduation ceremony? On the upside, having (to the disappointment of my family) never gone to university, this would technically be my first graduation. And it’s guaranteed to be a million times cooler than the standard hat-and-gown shuffle. So I’ll focus on that and not the looming threat of public humiliation.
Most people have kindly tried to calm me down with logic along the lines of: “Why would they make you pay for an event you’d hate?” “They want people talking about how good it was for years.”
Do they? This isn’t some regular gig. This isn’t a band on tour, thinking about the next arena, sucking up to the press for a good review. Bill Drummond and Jimmy Cauty don’t care what I say about it before, during, or after. This is art. This is ritual. And with ritual, you invoke whatever is required to make it work. Without knowing the purpose of this event, or its desired outcome, we can’t guarantee what we’ll be put through.
One tweet summed it up neatly: “If they were brave enough to burn a million quid and phone up Tammy Wynette, then you can be brave enough to stand up in front of a crowd.”
A fair point. Except those weren’t brave acts to me — they were impossible acts. Stupid, maybe. I’d be more willing to try something like that than do something as simple as standing in front of a crowd. Ask me to get hold of George W. Bush and I’d give it a go. Ask me to do public speaking and I’ll probably vomit on my shoes.
The growing number of theories about what we’ll be doing across the three days, and at the graduation, are not helping my anxiety. They are, however, extremely fun to speculate on.
Gary Aster’s theory (in his KLF: Why Liverpool? article) is that we will be Badger Kull — a 400-strong choir of sorts. Despite lacking all musical talent and having a singing voice that makes people cry for the wrong reasons, this actually sounds amazing. Official member of a cult band? Someone start our wiki page.
Another suggestion is that Badger Kull might simply be the new moniker for the KLF. But that’s only partly true, since Tat’jana and Kristina appear on the guest list, and the 16 available pages of the forthcoming 2023: A Trilogy imply they belong to the new KLF guise (credit to Gary again for spotting that — I still don’t have my hands on a preface edition).
As for the identities of The Little Perch, The 23 Sparrows, and Vladimir Putin’s +1 (assuming he doesn’t ghost us)… your guess is as good as mine.
I won’t post the full instructions received by volunteers, but here are some of the highlights.
Welcome To The Dark Ages will encompass daytime and evening activities across 23rd, 24th and 25th August.
The events of Friday 25th August will involve a slow paced walk of around three miles. Bring suitable shoes and attire. If you use an umbrella, bring one.
All ticket holders for Welcome To The Dark Ages are volunteers. Volunteer jobs will be delegated at the Volunteer Initiation.
This will see the commencement of Welcome To The Dark Ages activities.
If you arrive after the initiation you will be designated a job in your absence. We would advise that you are present.
The key word I take from this is job (well, after checking the weather and briefly considering buying an umbrella). Job. I already have about four jobs, and here I am paying for the honour of having another.
Rest assured I’ll be there bright and early to sign up for something I’m not completely opposed to. In fact, here’s my list of preferred jobs if the universe is taking requests:
Dog sitter, dog walker, cat sitter, animal hugger, silent observer, silent girl who nods and waves, videographer, live tweeter, documenter, record keeper, ice cream tester, whimsical hummer, note taker, percussionist, Rubik’s cube solver, napper, nervous laugh-er, invisible woman, fire maker.
Dibs on any of those.
Before we return to our scheduled programming, a quick nod to Andrew Lee, who has added all these latest developments (and more) to his Welcome to the Dark Ages map, carefully plotting out the locations that await us. You should also check out his worldwide KLF map while you’re at it.
Now back we go…
August 3, 2017
I’ve been thinking more about the art investment idea raised in The Quietus article. The more I roll it around in my head, the more genius it starts to seem.
Is it really so far-fetched to believe that, consciously or not, the burning was used as an investment? One that has paid out 23 years later. Not necessarily in cash, but definitely in reputation, awareness, and yes, some money too.
A return that could turn an oblivious four- or five-year-old girl into an avid obsessive. One that would increase the value of every existing product and piece of merchandise. One that would provide a platform for whatever came next, whether that’s a retirement plan or a resurgence.
It’s like me having £100,000 I could comfortably live without and putting it away for 30 years until I decided I’d get more use out of it. The only problem with that plan is the risk of loss. But their gesture was so grand it basically removed that risk, guaranteeing some kind of return — even if only marginal — at a time of their choosing.
It could all be bollocks. But if it isn’t, it’s fucking genius.
Alright, maybe not entirely genius. They’d probably have made better returns if they hadn’t deleted their entire back catalogue (which has been estimated at around £5 million in potential earnings). But where’s the fun in that?
August 4, 2017
I thoroughly enjoy the couple of days after I post one of these, when messages come in from all sorts of people with all sorts of stories.
Considering my slow but steady procurement of all things KLF — books, articles, interviews — it was inevitable that the next step would be the music. The physical kind.
After browsing online to see if a record or two might make its way into my possession, I’ve pretty much given up hope of starting a collection. Far too costly. And once I start collecting anything, I rarely stop (see: the pile of tarot decks currently threatening to take over my living room). One record would lead to another, and then to bankruptcy. Plus, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. The prettiest one?
What I’m starting to love about the KLF and their fans are the unique and often unexplained mementos they hold, each more fascinating than the last. Letters, autographs, or the story of someone borrowing Bill Drummond’s own copy of The Manual and then posting it back to him.
Weirdly though, calling you all “fans” doesn’t feel quite right. It seems like something more. A genuine involvement, a back and forth between both sides. Maybe that’s just what I want to believe — but then again, don’t all fans?
August 5, 2017
A couple of days ago I met with another of the KLF-intrigued who sadly can’t make it to the big event. We talked about John Higgs’ KLF book (which I’ve just finished) and 45 (which I’ve just started), before he recommended Stranger Than We Can Imagine to me. He also swore me to secrecy about the possible involvement of a certain Liverpool venue.
Thankfully, now that everyone knows it’s the Static Gallery, I’m free to mention it. We’ll never know if I would have managed to keep my mouth shut or let it slip out.
The thing is, Bill Drummond and Jimmy Cauty must have been in Liverpool a fair bit recently. Probably in the Static Gallery itself. I’m fascinated by how long preparations for Welcome to the Dark Ages have been going on, how many people have been involved, and how none of them have spilled a word.
We also talked about who else might be involved. Greg Wilson was our first guess, followed quickly by Alan Moore. Edit – one down, one to go.
They’re easy guesses, I know. But I’ll dig into those connections more in the next journal — beyond the obvious stuff like the recent Super Weird Happening.
August 6, 2017
Towards the end of John Higgs’ KLF book he talks about the importance of the year 1994. I mentioned last week that many of the stories of those involved had thrown up coincidences in my own life, but none more than this passage.
He frames 1994 as a turning point, especially for Generation X and the development of rational thinking. Three events are given special weight. The burning, of course. The death of Kurt Cobain. And the death of Bill Hicks.
Until that moment I’d never expected Bill Hicks’ name to appear in these pages. He’s the artist who’s influenced my thinking and outlook on life more than anyone else. I even have a Bill Hicks tattoo. Discovering him had an immediate, positive impact on me — the same way this little KLF adventure has. And while you can tell just by looking at me that Nirvana are one of my most beloved bands, I won’t pretend Kurt’s death shaped me in the same way.
Back in 1994, the year itself had zero impact on my life. My memory doesn’t stretch that far, but I can safely say my “critical thinking” was more along the lines of: “Why do banana sweets taste even more bananary than bananas?” or “Can I take the training wheels off my bike yet?”
The fact that the ripple effects of that year lasted long enough for me to grasp them in 2017 is remarkable. Especially given what John Higgs believes 1994 to represent: “nihilism reached its peak,” “the constant creation of new musical genres came to an end,” and “a desperate need for a way out. Any way out.”
I’ve never had faith in, or membership of, any religion (unless you count being an ordained minister of the Church of the Latter Day Dude). I’ve identified as a nihilist since I first understood the word. These days I season it with a little satanism, but nihilism still wins out. That comes straight from my early love of Nirvana and Hicks — both born from my own teenage desire for a way out.
A way out of society. A way out of the status quo. Out of the traditional pillars of civilisation. Insert your own stereotypical teenage angst statement here. We’ve all been there. I like to think I’ve clung to it fairly well, apart from the part where I fell into a half-decent career. I’m still a rational thinker, and I still daydream about my way out.
I am a product of 1994. And 1994 is still having its way with me today.