The Day Of The Job & Why Did The K Foundation Burn A Million Quid?
August 23, 2017
After last night, getting up and out into town for 1pm was more of a challenge than it should have been. Nonetheless, I arrived at our designated meeting point of Constellations just in time to join the other volunteers as jobs for the next three days were handed out.
Once inside, we were given a brief introduction and promptly called idiots. Probably fair.
The first two names drawn from the buckets were made Volunteers’ Volunteers: one to help with the assignment of jobs and one to manage the Big Book of Volunteers.
Then came confirmation of what many suspected — Badger Kull would indeed be a band made up of volunteers.
The next names drawn were given the role of Badger Kull Hardcore Fans: tasked with obsessing over the band, getting selfies, setting up social media accounts, making merch, and generally losing their minds at the very mention of Badger Kull.
Then came the band itself. A choir and four bass players were chosen from those who had claimed “I can sing” and “I can play bass.” Their lives changed forever in that instant. Each bass player was greeted with screeches from the Superfans and quickly mobbed for autographs.
Other roles went to individuals, like the swimmer charged with catching a perch from the Mersey. Others went to groups, such as the Dead Perch Menace — a beret-wearing squad tasked with keeping us all in line. The process was slow but steady: 400 names to get through, each volunteer handed a card with their role and instructions before signing the Big Book.
When the “I can draw” bucket was reached, my heart leapt into my throat. The role: courtroom sketch artist for that night’s hearing, presenting work to the press. Had my name been called, the world would have been treated to stick figures. Thankfully, it wasn’t.
Instead, my name was pulled later: I’d be one of the Pullers for the Great Pull North on Friday, dragging a heavy object with ropes. Manual labour suits me fine. It’s a one-off job, leaving me free to enjoy most of the event — plus, fingers crossed, maybe a robe or some kind of ritual outfit.
Other jobs I heard about: traffic cone collector, trolley collector, tyre collector, skull painter, bishop, graduation certificate preparer, grave digger, coffin bearer, plant collector (very specific plant, apparently). And many more.
A selection of other roles I have since heard about are; Traffic cone collector, trolley collector, tyre collector, skull painter, bishop, graduation certificate preparer, grave digger, coffin barer, plant collector (I can’t remember the name of the specific plant but it was specific). There are many more.
After receiving jobs, we were free until 7pm when the hearing at the Black E began. Most of us passed the time at the bar or ping pong table. The atmosphere was jovial, relaxed, full of laughter — not at all the high-pressure environment many of us had feared.
The Superfans, though, went full throttle. Within minutes, multiple Badger Kull social accounts were live, complete with fan-made content. Tweets, memes, and photos spread hilariously fast. Anytime a band member appeared, they were mobbed for selfies. Within hours, they had a manager, roadies, designers, fly posters, merch, and trending hype online. It was like watching a parody of the music industry — except real.
Where most bands slog for years to build a following, Drummond, Cauty, and co. had created a machine that built itself in hours. And they’d even got people to pay to be fans and do the work. Genius.
Somewhere in that garden conversation, someone joked about how long it would take for a Badger Kull tattoo to appear. Unfortunately for me, I was there to hear it. Within the hour, I had one.
I’m covered in tattoos already — good, bad, silly, story-filled, story-less. At a certain point it doesn’t matter anymore. Unless you’re tattooing your face, another one’s just another one. So why not? It’s hilarious, it’s got a better story than most of my ink, and now I’m the proud owner of the world’s first Badger Kull tattoo.
At 7pm we gathered at the Black E. Each volunteer was handed a £1 coin before the panel was introduced: artist Jeremy Deller, art historian Anebella Pollen, Idler editor Tom Hodgkinson, economist Ann Pettifor, and Vice journalist Clive Martin.
Each gave their take on the question at hand: Why did the K Foundation burn a million quid?
The answers ranged from conceptual anti-market art, to an act of magik, to a clearing of debt with the Bank of England, to simply wanting rid of the money, to a prediction that money itself would lose value. Every explanation carried weight.
Then came the witnesses.
Gimpo stole the show with a chaotic, hilarious, and mind-bending account of 23 August 1994 — including his fleeting thought of pocketing £50k, his later decision to abandon Drummond and Cauty mid-tour just because he really liked their van, and finally the bombshell: that in some ways, they never burned a million quid at all.
According to Gimpo, after Money: A Major Body of Cash (the nailed-to-wood exhibit), the notes were either destroyed by the Bank of England or declared invalid — and the K Foundation were then charged £500–£600 for the bank to reprint the million. Meaning the “value” of that million was, technically, only equal to the bill. Were they burning money, or burning an artwork? My head spun.
Other witnesses followed: Jim Reid, who reported on the burning and recalled how little attention it got at the time. Mick Houghton, KLF publicist, who still believes Drummond and Cauty themselves lack an explanation. Chris Brook, author of K Foundation Burn a Million Quid, who recounted the disastrous screening tour. Even audience members from the Liverpool screening gave testimonies — recalling a night that split the room between fury and inspiration.
Ann Pettifor made a powerful point about art as collateral in today’s market, contrasting it with the K Foundation’s act, which was the opposite. The crowd roared their approval.
Jeremy Deller got the night’s biggest applause with: “But we all know there’s no greater work of art than a perfect pop song.”
Finally, John Higgs stepped up. He argued that the why doesn’t matter. What matters is what followed — 23 years of mystery and meaning. Because they were compelled to do it. And compulsion doesn’t always come with an answer. Using Robert Anton Wilson, he reminded us that some things are true, some false, some meaningless, and some all of the above. There is no single answer.
Buckets went round for the vote. Each volunteer cast their £1 coin into the explanation they favoured. A verdict needed 23% to be valid.
I abstained. By then, the arguments had blurred together. And I agreed too much with John Higgs: the why doesn’t matter.
The result? Anebella Pollen’s reasoning won: “In a deep historical tradition of weirdness.”
The JAMs were called to the stage to receive the verdict. “Why did the K Foundation burn a million quid?” “In a deep historical tradition of weirdness.”
Jimmy and Bill’s response? “Whatever.”
Perfect. I couldn’t have asked for a better answer.
And yes, I’m pleased with the verdict too. Essentially, it boils down to: because they’re weird. And that’s good enough for me. It also means we avoided another 23-year moratorium.
That said, in my view the moratorium hasn’t ended. The K Foundation still refuse to talk about it themselves. Tonight, they gave no extra detail, no explanation. If anything, they seemed more interested in whether they now had to burn Gimpo’s van.
Either way, the contract is over. The response they couldn’t solicit 23 years ago has finally been given. And a new age begins.
The Dark Ages.
Whatever.
Jimmy and Bill’s response? “Whatever.”
Perfect. I couldn’t have hoped for a better response.
In reflection I’m pleased with the verdict too. Essentially we’re just saying “ Because they’re weird” and that’s a good enough reason in my book and we avoided another 23 year moratorium.
That being said in my mind the moratorium has not ended and continues on, because The K Foundation have still refrained from talking about it themselves. They gave no additional information this evening as was expected and gave no response to it. In fact they were more concerned as to whether they were or were not now supposed to burn Gimpos van.
Either way, the contract is over. The response they couldn’t solicit 23 years ago has finally been given. And a new age begins.
The Dark Ages.
Whatever.