Saturday, 26 August 2017

14 - The KLF: Chaos, Magic and the Band Who Burned a Million Pounds

A tenet often espoused - usually on "humorous" fridge magnets - is that if you open your mind too much your brain will fall out.

On the other end of the spectrum, the internet is full of people who claim to have conclusive proof that the world is being controlled by a sinister cabal of the global elite who have already brainwashed the masses - the Illuminati.

In 1994, Bill Drummond and Jim Cauty, at the time the two halves of electronic music duo The KLF, took one million pounds in cash to a Scottish island and proceeded to burn it on camera. As they departed, they suddenly realised that neither could quite remember or understand why they had just done what they did. In The KLF: Chaos, Magic and the Band Who Burned a Million Pounds, biographer John Higgs examines events before and after and suggests that the two viewpoints above may in fact be equally valid.

As far as the Illuminati are concerned, they were very much a real group. However, they existed in Germany in the 18th Century and were in fact opposed to the machinations of the establishment - principally organised religion and governments - that sought to oppress the expansion of human thought. The more modern image of the Illuminati as shady global overlords stems mainly from a group who sent letters to Playboy magazine in the 1970s claiming a wide range of conspiracy theories in their name, and the Illuminatus! series of novels by Robert Shea and Robert Anton Wilson, a bizarre work of post-modernist rambling that nonetheless laid the foundation for most of the myths propagated today.

Drummond and Cauty were part of that first group of pranksters, and were acquaintances of Wilson, and so sceptics would be quick to suggest that their actions were simply a result of overactive imaginations; their increasingly outlandish fabrications becoming an obsession and eventually manifesting as real beliefs. Yet there is also evidence that things go further than that: from an extra who appeared in one of their films insisting that he had been stalked by an agent of some unknown organisation to a wide range of admittedly surprising coincidences without which none of the events in the book could have come about.

But while Higgs devotes some space to the questions surrounding the pair's crowning performance, the book serves more as an account of the weirder side of British punk culture from the 1970s to 1990s. This incorporates some amusing anecdotes, such as how Bill Nighy, of all people, upon reading Illuminatus!, suddenly starting seeing Illuminati imagery everywhere when watching TV. Unnerved, he decided to go to the pub, taking the book with him, only to run into director Ken Campbell, who was putting together a stage production of the work at the time. Nighy joined the cast and appeared in the play in London, where the sets were designed by none other than Bill Drummond. It is also interesting to note that The KLF were successful in their ultimate aim of erasing themselves from music history. I consider myself reasonably knowledgeable in the area and was vaguely familiar with a few of their other projects, most notably The Timelords and The Justified Ancients of Mu Mu, but had never heard of The KLF and found their music comparatively hard to track down online. Not a bad achievement for a band who were going multi-platinum at the time.

The book also serves as a neat summary of some of the more left-field schools of philosophy through the ages, from Daoism to Dadaism to Discordianism. It also deals with much older ideas, such as magic, paganism and collective consciousness. Higgs allows all of these equal merit, suggesting that they too may have influenced Drummond and Cauty to burn their remaining cash. He also introduces an interesting concept of his own, which suggests that the period 1991-1995 is something of a wasteland in time - after the major geopolitical events of the 20th century but before Windows 95 and widespread internet, after the old norms of empire and the Cold War had died but before the new ones of worldwide communication and commerce had begun. It was a time that produced a huge amount of music that was both hugely successful and popular, and yet never seen as part of mainstream culture, and The KLF's art film is portrayed as the culmination of this. Any earlier and it would have been accepted as surrealist or anti-establishment art. Any later and it would be a protest against capitalism and the reckless practices of the investment banks that were about to bring about global economic collapse. Instead, the duo were left with uncertainty about why they had done it, despite being so sure that it was what they had to do.

It helps immensely that Higgs is a good writer, approaching the topic with a healthy dose of scepticism and no shortage of humour. "They had been asked to appear the previous year, but negotiations had broken down following their plans to fill a stage with angels and Zulus and arrive on the back of elephants. The deal breaker, with hindsight, was probably their plan to chainsaw the legs off one of the elephants" could well be the best passage I will read all year. And ultimately I had to agree with Higgs' conclusion that the burning of a million pounds was the result of a pair of artists too caught up in their own hype and desperate to outdo their peers.

But the book is wide-reaching and engaging enough to make me think, and question my world view, and it isn't often that that can be said of a biography.

4.5/5

Drummond and Cauty recorded under a wide variety of aliases, and nearly all of their music is disappointingly mediocre: a classic case of the idea behind the music being more interesting than the music itself. However, nothing will convince me that this song is anything other than an absolute masterpiece:


Sunday, 6 August 2017

13 - The Road to Little Dribbling

When it comes to patriotism, I've always had mixed feelings. On the one hand, I find it somewhat pointless to take pride in something so arbitrary as the patch of land on which you happened to be birthed. And yet I also think it is very much justified to praise the achievements of your forefathers and the culture and environment that have helped shape you as a person. Convert that to the form of sporting success - something that is becoming increasingly common for the UK, in fact - and I feel ready to tattoo a bulldog onto my chest while singing Rule Britannia and saluting a picture of the Queen.

So it was with these mixed emotions that I read Bill Bryson's latest collection of writing, The Road to Little Dribbling. Essentially a sequel to his original analysis of the UK, Notes from a Small Island, the author travels the country from bottom to top, revealing the history of the places he sees as compared to the present day; and all with his trademark accessible writing style and wit.

There is a lot in this book that paints my country in a less than positive light. Whether revisiting places from Notes from a Small Island or exploring (in a lot of cases relatively unknown) new locations, there is a clear common theme. As an American who has lived for a large portion of his life in England, Bryson is able to offer a different perspective, one that is unhindered by any misguided loyalty an English writer might have when trying to be objective about the state of their own country.

In short, Bryson is not happy with what he sees. The book portrays a country in neglect and disrepair, of slowing dying towns and unloved rural areas. It must be said that nearly all of this can be traced back to some truly awful decision-making at the level of public administration, and Bryson is merciless in tearing down the officials and bureaucrats who have allowed this to happen. Thanks to profit-first governments huge portions of our nation's heritage have been lost or wasted, and living conditions in a lot of places have become a lot worse than you might expect.

This makes for a surprisingly powerful book, because this is clearly a country that Bryson is very fond of. He sees the state of affairs as a true shame, and to his credit appears to be very active in campaigning for the stopping or reversal of the problems he describes. So while he does lament the mistakes that have been made, his outlook is ultimately optimistic.

And it's not all bad, either. In some cases - the occasional museum or park, mostly - things have been done very well, and the writer's enjoyment is clear to see. His conclusion, too, on how despite all its faults the UK still has a lot going for it - arguably the best education system in the world, more heritage than it would ever be possible to see in a lifetime and a unique culture - is enough stir up the kind of feelings I described above.

I absolutely devoured this book: we're talking a single-figure number of sittings. Bryson's sense of humour has become slightly gentler with age, but his writing is as light as ever and there are more than a few passages that are very, very funny. It's not quite up there with his "classic" works, but this still serves as a solid analysis of modern Britain and all of its quirks, problems and triumphs.

4/5

It could only really be this: