Dear Me, Scott King

We’re back soon.

We Practice by Night (Version 1), photographic print, 30cm x 40cm, 2010

Chris was on his way back to Primrose Hill, it was his turn to feed Apple, Gwyneth was going to her Yoga night. He looked at his watch. »Fucking rats bollocks!«, he thought to himself, »I’m really late, and I still have to get to Sainsbury’s. I hope there’s some organic stuff left or she’ll have my fucking guts for garters«.

Luckily when Chris got to the organic aisle there was still plenty of produce left. »Thank Bono for that«, he thought. »She would’ve had my fucking testes on toast if I hadn’t got all this organic gear. Right, I’ll just get some wholegrain bread then I’m out of here. Fuck me, I’m boiling in this woolly hat«.

As Chris was queuing up at the checkout he noticed a man staring at him. »Bono Christ!«, Chris thought, »that’s all I need, that fat underclass cunt has recognised me, he’ll be after a fucking autograph next… and if I try and tell him that I’m in a rush to get home, he’ll think I’m the type of rock royalty who doesn’t care about his public. I hate being fucking famous«.

»Oi mate! It’s you, innit!«, the bloke pointed. »What’s name… Coldplay!«

»Erm, yes. Hi… my name’s Chris, actually. Coldplay are, like, the group«.

»I fought it woz you!«, the ordinary bloke was beside himself with excitement.

Chris smiled and made his way out into the busy street. He checked his watch again: »Fifteen minutes late… BASTARD!«, he thought. »She’ll have my bollocks for fucking breakfast when I get back.«

»Oi, mate! Oi, Chris!«, it was the fat peasant again. He came waddling up to Chris, his sweaty bulbous body weighed down with shopping bags. Chris noticed that the man didn’t shop organic, worse still, he seemed to have only tinned food, home-brand cola, oven chips and white sliced bread. »How hideous«, Chris thought, »what a fat common cunt«.

»Chris mate. Will you sign these? My missus loves you«. The porky non-worker thrust a packet of ginger biscuits at the agitated star. »Sorry, I haven’t got one of your CDs on me, or any paper…«

»Er, like… those biscuits are produced under sweatshop conditions in Northampton. What’s more the so-called ginger in them is actually a chemical. It’s not ginger at all. This country has stopped importing West Indian ginger – which has caused a catastrophe among the West Indian ginger workers resulting in civil unrest and three deaths on the picket lines of Montego Bay. Fight the power!«

»Will you sign this then?« The obese bloke produced the home brand sliced white loaf from one of his bags.

»No can do. Full of additives and produced by minimum wage workers in Burton-on-Trent.«

»Well… could you sign my T-shirt?«, the fat bloke hooked his thumb in to the bottom of his once white T-shirt and thrust it towards the pop star.

»I could, if it wasn’t manufactured by Filipino infants on the equivalent of seven pence per day.«

»… my carrier bag?«

»If I signed it you’d never re-cycle it, thus forcing the production of more carrier bags and therefore I’d inadvertently be giving my support to the petrochemical industry.«

»… my arm, maybe?«

»I believe that writing messages on oneself should be the sole preserve of those of us who are best able to maximise the act through exposure in the mass media.«

»Eh?«

»Do you appear regularly on MTV?«

»No.«

»I can’t sign your arm then.«

»Er, well… will you sign my…«

»Look, dude… Will you just, like, clear off? I’m in a rush. Gwynie’s going out, it’s my turn to feed Apple and…«

Before Chris could finish explaining his situation, the bloated peasant had whipped out a tin of Heinz Spaghetti Hoops and brought them crashing down on the pop star’s forehead. Chris fell to his knees, blood streaming from under his hat and into his eyes. The fat bloke staggered backwards. Shocked by his own violence, he threw the bloodied tin to the ground.

»Chris… Sorry… Sorry, mate…«

Chris stood up slowly and unsteadily, an organic pineapple hanging loosely from his right hand. The apologetic fatty stepped forward to help, as he did so Chris swung the weighty tropical weapon at the porker’s face. The crash of the fruit smashing and gashing the man’s face drew a gasp from the gathering crowd. The ordinary fat bloke fell backwards, his head hitting the kerb with a deathly crack, blood was streaming from the wound that had all but severed his left jowl from his skull. The man’s blubbery body quivered momentarily on the road before it went terrifyingly still. Black blood began to trickle from both his ears. The ordinary fat bloke was dead.

2004, with additional notes made in 2008

Nicholas Sanderson (by Brian David Stevens)

Today, Tuesday 8 June 2010, is exactly two years since my great friend and hero Nick Sanderson died. Sinders was the greatest pal anyone could ever wish for – a pub genius. Actually, maybe he was just a genius who liked pubs.

I’m lucky enough to have met many people who are considered to be great artists – people who’ve genuinely had an impact on the times they live in – people whose monographs will haunt art college libraries long after they’re dead. Nick wasn’t one of those. His genius is largely confined to a few records and YouTube clips – it doesn’t matter, for those of us who were his friends he remains the greatest artist we’ve ever met. Sadly, he didn’t do much actual ›art work‹ – his art was largely conversational, his art was most often weak lager fuelled flights of fancy that none of us ever wrote down. But, Nick’s imagined scenarios and ›What ifs‹ continue to be quoted in pubs across Britain – many people have a Sanderson story to tell.

Below is (my fellow CRASH! member) Matt Worley’s account of what became known as »The Earl Brutus Riot« – a much edited and sanitised version of the riot can be seen here – I wish I could show you the full film, but I can’t as it’s too nasty. So what you see here is just the band – ›just‹ the legendary Earl Brutus.

Earl Brutus, The Austrian Cultural Institute, London, 2001

CRASH! and Earl Brutus at the Austrian Cultural Institute, London, 2001.

By Matt Worley

»I lived through the war and never saw anything like this«. So said a small old lady from Austria who had somehow managed to find herself on the periphery of one of those great ›pop‹ moments. We, as CRASH!, had been invited to contribute to an art exhibition held at the Austrian Cultural Institute in London. The brief was vague; it appeared to revolve around some Russian anarchist chap (Alexander Brener a.k.a DJ Anarky-Baby) who had gained notoriety for doing a shit in front of a Van Gogh painting. Nevertheless, we decided that the event would allow us to do something that we had talked about for a long time; that is, to place Earl Brutus in an art gallery and so cement the kindred spirit that had always existed between us. At least, we thought, the launch party would be more interesting than the usual round of cheap white wine and pretzels.

In the event, Mr Anarky-Baby had – for some reason – targeted CRASH! as a means of critiquing British art. Unbeknown to us all, he intended to disrupt whatever it was that we planned to do and so bring down the whole edifice of British art and Western civilization in the process. Thus it was that he armed himself with a water melon and some crayon drawings in an attempt to stop Earl Brutus before they began. Chaos ensued. Mr Anarky-Baby overturned a trestle table and shouted about British imperialism; Scott punched him, I turned on the slides that we’d designed to accompany the gig, and Earl Brutus launched into »The SAS and the Glam That Goes with It«. It was great. The anarchist water melon missed its target, only to be followed by a hail of bottles and the sound of broken glass. The band played on amidst Jim’s well placed fireworks and the bobbing ranks of »Girl Brutus«. Nick – resplendent in his home-made British Rail jumper – did his thing as always. Having just spent the past three hours arguing with Martin about the exact tonal pitch of the Great Crested Grebe’s mating call he now stood at the heart of the storm that was raging around him. For all Mr Anarky-Baby’s attempts to undermine the Earl Brutus/CRASH! experience, all eyes remained on Nick. Like a great British ›Tommy‹ from the First World War, he pushed his skinny body over the top and howled at the moon. Where Van Gogh succumbed, »Navyhead« prevailed… and it always will.

Quite Well-Known Actors

Jeffrey Palmer (copyright unknown)

Richard Briars (copyright unknown)

Nicholas Lyndhurst (copyright unknown)

Just before he died, Sinders became convinced that there was a league of »quite well known actors« who were attempting to take over Britain. If they’d have succeeded in this, he was sure that they’ve had used their dominance in British political and cultural life to attempt to take over the world. In Nick’s opinion the »New World Order Conglomerate of Quite Well Known Actors« were led by the Trotskyite terrorist Jeffrey Palmer. Second in command was ›the youthful‹ Nicholas Lyndhurst (Sinders saw the recruitment of Lyndhurst as a clear sign Palmer’s foreword thinking, Lyndhurst only being in his early fifties was obviously going to become Palmer’s successor)… and Richard Briars was thought to be the head of their secret police. Palmer, Lyndhurst and Briars had used their influence (garnered by once successful careers in BBC sitcoms) to gather together a few dozen lesser figures from television in order to create a movement – a dangerous, suburban movement that, when it came to power, would force the population of Britain to wear a Maoist type uniform made from recycled beige sweaters.

In order to crush this actor’s revolt, Sinders developed an anti-terrorist squad. He was in charge of course, I was lucky enough to be given the rank of Gunner Sergeant – Sinders was unsure about the roles he’d assign to his other friends, deciding instead that he and I should first capture the leaders of the »Quite Well Known Actors« and imprison them on the Isle of Wight (his very English version of Guantanamo Bay). After a long period of incarceration we were to interrogate them. Sinders had decided that the best way to interrogate them was to force them to watch box sets of BBC sitcoms that they hadn’t appeared in. This, he reasoned, would weaken their resolve and their revolution would be crushed.

Jim Fry and Nick Sanderson at the Star Hotel, Tokyo, 2006 (by Shinya Hayashida)

Jim Fry, co-singer of Earl Brutus, has recently formed another band called The Pre New. Jim and Nick were great and long-standing friends, having originally met in Sheffield in 1981. The Pre New will be ›covering‹ some Earl Brutus and World of Twist classics – for us, fans and friends, this is all very exciting.

Scott King: Jim, I thought I’d talk about Nick on my blog – it being two years since we lost our illustrious leader. I’ve just written a bit about his ›actor prison camp‹ on the Isle of Wight – do you remember that? Can you tell me about some of his other projects – I always love the story about »Larchwood«.

Jim Fry: His prison camp was called »Minehead B«, I think… a POW camp for people like Guy Ritchie, Jamie Oliver and Gloria Hunniford and other pointless celebrities. There was a big debate about whether Phil Collins would be going there… it went on for days… In the end Phil was given a reprieve as he was the drummer on »Selling England by the Pound« by the early Genesis.

Spending time on the dole with Nick kept us all very busy, there was lots to be done: One summer he spent three to four days on a sketch of a fictitious public school called »Larchwood«. It was very »Goodbye, Mr Chips« – and was a detailed pencil drawing of an old Victorian school set in its own grounds – it looked a bit like Charterhouse, the finishing touch was a half rugby post in the foreground which cast a long shadow across the pitch, in the half light. None of the pupils were on view, they were all in for tea, very evocative, you could almost hear »Fragile« by Yes coming from an open window.

This was taken a step further that summer when Nick declared that our flat at 20 Westbourne Park Villas was going to opened as a public school called »Cloisters«. We were going to take huge amounts of money from wealthy parents who couldn’t be bothered with their kids, and in return we’d educate them really badly. Girls would not be welcome at »Cloisters«. It was decided that I was going to take the boys for maths and geography, Kevin Leadbetter would be games master, and Nick was going to be headmaster, obviously.

Scott King: Of course! The original prison camp was called »Maidenhead B«. I was getting confused… but just before he died he started texting me about rounding up and imprisoning »quite well-known actors« (Richard Briars, Jeffrey Palmer… you know, ›pullover types‹), this was a very specific prison camp that would only house fading BBC sitcom actors. But »Maidenhead B« was his real labour of love – the all encompassing celebrity death camp.

ANYWAY – What I loved about Earl Brutus was the ABSURDIST FURY – you know what I mean? – THE RAGE AGAINST THE KIT-KAT MACHINE… Tell me about the original philosophy of Earl Brutus, tell me about the song writing process, the look, the stage props: How did it come about?

Jim Fry: »ABSURDIST FURY?« Not sure about that… I think when you get to a certain age (and we were in our mid thirties when Earl Brutus was going strong) that you have a certain cantankerous anger that’s accumulated over the years – you know the world is flawed and you hate idealism and the idea of the perfect society and liberals trying to be all things to all people and you know it’s shite, and most of all you know you are expected to put up with it – so maybe that’s where the fury was coming from. I think amongst the members of the band, and you could see this with Gordon and Rob as well as Nick, that we celebrated getting in the way and disrupting the flow of things with a determination not to lie down. The make-up Nick started to wear quite late on in Earl Brutus was a classic example, I mean any young man can wear make up in his teens or twenties, but when you’re fourty-something it really starts to count. We all hoped that young people found it annoying, pathetic… or even frightening.

With Earl Brutus there was no philosophy as such. But we, as ›Bowieheads‹, all knew that if you put out a few curious contrasting signals to the public, then they would be interpreted and read into by the individual… intellectualised even. This was apparent from the very beginning. For example: Our fist song was called »Life’s Too Long« – it’s a very basic story about a bus driver going to Ibiza on holiday, he has a great time and on his return, he decides to re-decorate his house… that was it. I was cornered a few weeks after the single came out by a journalist; he asked me why we had written a song about »the futility of existence«. I suppose we give our own meaning to songs by Bowie or Dexy’s… and I guess the same thing was happening to people who listened to us.

»Life’s Too Long«, Earl Brutus, 1993

A few songs started as titles, just because they looked good written down, I don’t ever remember anyone coming down the studio with a particular ›feeling‹ they were trying to express like »I’m so in love… let’s write a song called ›JUDITH‹«, ha ha! That would have been laughed out on to the street. But I do remember Nick coming in and saying something along the lines of »Let’s do something about how offended the biker world would be by a Nigerian speedway champion!«. This was long before Tiger Woods or Lewis Hamilton. And then he added: »… and let’s make it sound like STATIC!«.

The stage props just evolved as we went along: Pub talk made real. The pyrotechnics came from our shared love of early Queen gigs – the splendour and pomposity of rock’s golden age – a great thing to have done at the time. We were surrounded by spineless shoe-gazers, plastic mods and fake ›lad culture‹. We spent most of our lives avoiding ›laddishness‹. We came from the 70s. We came from the Bowie age…

Scott King: What are your greatest memories of Earl Brutus?

Jim Fry: I don’t have stories of particular events with particular outcomes. It wasn’t like that. But when we were all on track we felt invincible. In the morning I’d be pushing Alex or Edwin around in a push chair on Kilburn High Road being a nice dad, in the evening I would be in the middle of the tornado called Earl Brutus being a rock monster, on stage, showing off with my mates.

The early gigs were full on – I just assumed we’d get beaten up at some point, we didn’t… Gary Numan fans tried to bottle us off at Shepherd’s Bush Empire but we stood our ground and finished the set. It was as if we were on a mission… I remember getting recognised at a Suede gig and it giving me a hard-on… I was introduced to the lead singer of the Bay City Rollers at a drag bar we had just smashed to pieces… Leon, the lead singer of Northern Uproar, said we were like four Freddie Mercurys on stage… The Chemical Brothers said they hated us… Kevin Rowland told me he liked my attitude… perfect!

One time we all bought (nearly) matching sheepskin coats and headed off to the middle of nowhere in Lincolnshire (for weeks) to record an album – I didn’t have much patience in the studio but we worked so fast it didn’t seem to matter, we turned out a tune a day. You could really lose the plot and turn those bizarre ideas from the back of your head into pop music when you’re holed up in the country – really identity crisis stuff … superb! We should be proud of both records. Right across the two albums I spent a lot of time with Rob, Nick, Shinya and Gordon. We felt that cameraderie thing with everyone, including you, Scott, and Stuart B and the whole Earl Brutus inner circle – it was a very special time and a lot of work was done.

When Nick died I realised that Earl Brutus was only a small section of the time-line that was our friendship. But it did burn bright. Where other people often intend to form a band or intend to go on an adventure, we actually did it; the lot; the gigs, the arguments, the albums, the laughs… and I can take a lot of comfort from that.

It doesn’t matter that we called it a day because when we did it, we did it completely, everyone can hear and see that now. Let’s face it, some people lose their edge, some people never had it in the first place but when we were on fire we ›really‹ were on fire.

The Pre New

Scott King: What are you hoping to achieve with The Pre New?

Jim Fry: At this early stage its easier to know what we don’t want to be… I  know they’re an easy target but the Simon Cowell generation won’t be welcomed by The Pre New, they’re all too ugly and stupid to hang around with us. For me the band has come off the back of spending two years working on a building project, trying to do the sensible thing and make some money as middle-age sets in. Bar a couple of good mates I met while doing this building stuff (and they know who they are), I can honestly say I have never hung around with a bigger bunch of mean-spirited idiots in my entire life, genuinely thick uninspired people who go back to thier shitty Barrett houses especially to watch »X Factor« on a Saturday night and go on about it on Monday morning.

In that context The Pre New have been a revelation already, we’ve found that specialist camaraderie you get in a band that is like no other, and I really love hanging around with George, L B, the Stuarts, and of course Gordon and Shinya. If Nick’s death has taught me anything at all it’s that good people are very hard to find and you should never ever suffer fools – like the song says: »You’ll get so lonely… maybe it’s better that way«.

I’ve always enjoyed the process of being in a band more than the final result… you know what I mean? The journey is more exciting than the destination. So the business of writing songs and preparing for some shows with your mates is a very pleasurable experience. Obviously the band would love to see some success, no doubt about that, but we should be careful what we wish for. We could end up being in the final for »Britain’s Got Talent«, sharing a dressing room with that Scottish special-needs woman that looks like Rose West…

Reg Varney

Reg Varney as Stan Butler in »On the Buses«

Scott King: It was one of Nick’s dreams to erect a 60ft-high gold statue of Reg Varney from »On the Buses« outside Victoria coach station. I know you have an interest in ›public art‹ (I’m thinking particularly about the art in South Eastern Trains railway carriages). Name ten public art works, acts of destruction or dramatic changes that you’ll make to Great Britain when you finally become Prime Minister.

Jim Fry: Only one… re-start the space programme including supersonic flight, abolish all »Star Wars« films and related memorabilia and in return destroy post-modernism for ever.

Scott King: Too-Rye-Ay Comrade Jim!

Jim Fry: Too-Rye-Ay Comrade.

The Pre New headline the Queen’s Head Stage at Glastonbury on 26  June. They will also play »Glamracket«, Islington, London on 3 July and the »1234 Festival«, Shoreditch, London, on 24 July.

Pink Cher, 2008

MH: Cher being styled as Che Guevara… In an interview in The Guardian you once stated that your work is often »about the commodification of once meaningful imagery and gestures… It’s about the failure of the left, really.« Can this be applied to »Pink Cher«, too?

SK: Yes – I think »Cher Guevara« (as this work was originally called) is a clear and simple illustration of that position.

MH: The pamphlet you once published with Matt Worley, »CRASH!«, was dealing with same issues, is that correct?

SK: »CRASH! dealt with many issues – some of which were about the commodification of »once meaningful gestures«.

MH: »Pink Cher« is a variation of »Cher Guevara«, a cover image you produced for Sleazenation – a pop culture magazine from the early Naughties – while you were working there as an art director. What, in your opinion, is the difference, what are the implications of seeing / using the »Cher Guevara« image on the front of a magazine and then… as a piece of art hanging in a gallery or a home?

SK: This is the question, isn’t it? This is the key … or the door slammed in your face. The image was created in a very ›throwaway‹ manner. Stefan Kalmar (then director of Institute of Visual Culture, Cambridge) was talking to my former gallerist Gregorio Magnani. They were discussing the fact that I wanted to do a project for Stefan using Che Guevara… it was going to be some kind of spin on the cliche of the famous Che ›student‹ poster… I wanted to make a version to give free to the students of Cambridge. ANYWAY – Gregorio, being Italian, pronounced »Che Guevara« as »Cher Guevara«… and an idea was born. I just got a bloke called Chris to mock the face of Cher on to Che. SO – »Cher Guevara« was made into a poster for the students of Cambridge in September 2000. In February 2001 I used the image as the cover for Sleazenation magazine… which I suppose, is still its best know incarnation. But I’ve also made various print editions of it and it has appeared in a few books and many magazines articles – NOT TO MENTION – being bootlegged on to T-shirts, patches, mugs and God knows what else all over the world by THOUGHTLESS CRIMINALS.

That’s the ›history‹ of the image.

Is it art? I don’t think it qualifies as being particulalry enlightening or revelatory… but it certainly has some kind of populist appeal – and for extremely obvious reasons. I always think of it as being the most important and possibly only masterwork of »The Camden Market Group«… of which I am the leader and sole member.

When »Cher« is shown in an art gallery, particularly a museum group show or similar – it is ALWAYS one of the images that the gallery sends to the press… and the press ALWAYS use it, they always REPRODUCE it. So, if that image were a disease, if I ignore the art critics that say it is over-simplistic or »unenlightening… then it’s a very successful ›viral‹ image… it has taken on a life of its own. Of course, the image can be read differently depending on its context (like any image) – but largely, it’s pretty ›self sufficent‹ from the context that anyone chooses to re-present it in. It’s quite difficult to read it as anything other than a further undermining of the ›heroicism‹ of the Alberto Korda image of Che Guevara. It’s pretty hard to read it as anything other than stooping even lower into novelty while simultaneously criticising the idiocy of ›revolutionary chic‹. I’m not sure how many readings of it there could possibly be? Actually – there could be a few – but it’s usually just read as a simplistic critique of the commodification of ›the once radical‹ it’s sometimes dismissed by Serious Art Critics as being »too simplistic« or »obvious« or just »too two dimensional« – which in many respects it is – but it was never intended to be anything else, as I said, it started as a joke about a mispronunciation.

MH: In the same interview for The Guardian, see above, you said: »I’m trying to move beyond making graphic design in frames.« What is so bad about graphic design in frames? Can pure (and very good) graphic design not be art? Is a great record sleeve not art? Do you find that proper art is more than graphic design?

SK: I meant that from a purely personal point of view – it was a very specific criticism of what I felt I’d being doing and comparing it to what I’d just done. That interview was about a solo show at Kunstverein München in 2008 (»Marxist Disco Cancelled«) – in that show, and really for the first time, I’d done a series of large wall paintings and, with Stefan Kalmar’s help, really created ›environments‹… rather than making ideas as prints that would be framed and hung on the wall.

With the whole »Can graphic design be art?« question… well, I don’t know… it’s a tired old point that gets endlessly dragged around. I’ve been thinking about this question for nearly twenty years and this is my answer: »Great graphic design provides great solutions. Great art asks great questions«. I’m sure many other people have made a similar point previously – but this is my version… and I already regret sharing it.

MH: In your solo show at the Kunstverein »Pink Cher« really had enormous dimensions: It was spray-painted on a full wall – so it actually is not just ›one piece‹, the image can be or is supposed to be used on all sorts of mediums / formats?

SK: »Pink Cher« or »Cher Guevara« is really a media image – it was created to be printed and is obviously taken from the original Che poster, which was in turn taken from the original Korda photograph and simplified… so it too could be printed as a poster. So, as I said above, »Pink Cher« has a much ›broader life‹ on the internet, bootleg T-shirts, mugs, in magazines etc. than it does as a print or painting. It has appeared on dozens and dozens of things… sadly, only a few of which are by me.

Sleazenation magazine, February 2001

Reverse of Free Derry Corner, Rossville Street, Bogside, Derry, Northern Ireland, 2004 (Cher-Guevara. Stylised version of Alberto ›Korda‹ Guitiérrez’s iconic photograph of Che Guevara showing pop diva Cher. »Revolution. Yes, you can try this at home. International Women’s Day, 2004. Bogside and Brandywell Women’s group«, the red background has slogans including »inequality, racism, violence against women, poverty, privatisation, neoliberalism, ageism, pollution, homophobia, denial of abortion rights, consumerism, war, child abuse«.)

Big Red Cher, Kunstverein Munich, Germany, 2008

Cafe in Belgium

Various bootleg »Cher Guevara« products

MH: »Pink Cher« is currently being shown in London as part of the famous Saatchi collection (see image above). Have you ever met Saatchi? Do you benefit from having a piece of yours in Saatchi’s collection? Does it mean that other collectors start keeping an eye out for you, too?

SK: No, I’ve never met him. I’ve no idea what it means in terms of collectors or being collected. I will guarantee you this though – »Pink Cher« will be in at least some of the newspapers and magazines that review the show… the image will briefly have a ›media life‹ again… but probably not a very favourable one. I get the feeling that reviewers might use it to illustrate »Where it all went wrong for Saatchi« or something like that. It doesn’t really matter what’s said about »Pink Cher« (in its form as a painting), it’s obviously not going to go away… it has just become A THING.

I don’t know what it means to be in this Saatchi show – I’m sure for some people it will become important and even pivotal in how things work out for them in the future – for most people it will probably just come and go.

MH: Have you ever received any feedback from Cher? Do you like her music?

SK: A record producer from LA told me that Cher has a framed copy of the »Cher Guevara« poster in her bathroom. I’ve never been in Cher’s bathroom, so I can’t verify this. No, I don’t like her music… well, I like »I Got You Babe«, everyone does, don’t they? It’s just one of those THINGS.

I painted this yesterday.

Tim Must Die, household primer on wood, 2010

Martin, hilf mir!, 2010

MAZ: You know Joanne from the village?

ME: No.

MAZ: She’s just bought a new car.

No To War (proposal for a wall painting), 2009

It was Paul Poole who called me in February 2000 and said: »Malcolm McLaren wants to become Mayor of London. Do you want to help him?«

Paul, in his capacity as Head of Marketing for Diesel UK, had orchestrated and funded our CRASH! exhibition at London’s ICA. Malcolm had been at the opening for the show and was very excited by it – Matt Worley (co-creator of CRASH!) and I were thrilled that Malcolm was thrilled… you get the picture.

Somehow Paul had become friends with Malcolm – I suspect, though I don’t know, that Paul saw ›cultural clout‹ in Malcolm and Malcolm saw ›financial clout‹ in Paul… this may not be true, but theirs was definitely one of those London Media Friendships… fleeting and mutually beneficial.

So, Malcolm was a fan of CRASH! and we were fans of Malcolm’s. Our first meeting with McLaren was at an Italian seafood restaurant called »Pescatori« on Charlotte Street. The restaurant was opposite Malcolm’s house and he treated the place like an extension of his living room. I remember Matt panicking because he’s a vegetarian… he ordered only a side salad and sat munching on it nervously while Malcolm spoke in unpunctuated sentences about his plans for London.

We left the restaurant in a state of mild excitement. It was true what people had said about Malcolm, he was a master of ideas and anecdotes; but we’d left with no idea of what we were being asked to do or what Malcolm’s plans for London ›actually‹ were. At some point immediately after this I must’ve tried to come up with a visual idea, a scheme, a logo… I don’t know for sure, but it’s the sort of thing I’d do if I were enthusiastic but confused. I’d move into some kind of ‘default graphic design setting’ and design something.

A couple of weeks later we were summoned to meet Malcolm again, this time at Creation Records HQ in Primrose Hill, this time to meet McLaren with his backer; Alan McGee, the Creation Records boss. Like the pop fans we are, Matt and I were excited to be in the same room as McGee and McLaren… excited to be part of the Punk Rock Bid To Take Control of London. This meeting was interesting; Malcolm illustrated his intentions more clearly. He’d devised and condensed a series of polices (or at least slogans) that illustrated his ideas. Despite Malcolm’s babbling and flights of fancy: his ideas were brilliant, if largely unrealistic. As great as some of McLaren’s ideas were, there was no way (ten years ago) that any of these ideas seemed even vaguely realistic – BUT – look at the stickers now – some of them make perfect sense. In the hands of Ken Livingstone (Mayor of London 2000-2008) some of them even became a reality… of sorts.

Some time after this second meeting Matt and I came up with the graphic for Malcolm’s campaign. The official New Labour campaign for their candidate (Frank Dobson) was to be based around a series of asterisks: the graphic splodge being applied to images of problems that Dobbo was going to rectify – for example – a picture of a grotty London bus, above it the asterisk… then the copy line »AS MAYOR, DOBBO WILL SORT OUT LONDON TRANSPORT« or something like that. The asterisk was to become the symbol of the New Labour government’s campaign to get their man in as Mayor of London. Our idea, the CRASH! idea, was to steal the asterisk and make it punk rock. We’d take the official symbol and make it Malcolm’s own… in exactly the same way Jamie Reid had taken the Queen’s portrait, stuck a safety pin through it and claimed it for the Sex Pistols – we’d stick a safety pin through the asterisk and claim it for Malcolm.

A few days later we were back at Creation Records – this time there were more people – things were hotting up. An arrogant young man who looked suspiciously like a junior Tory MP had taken charge of the campaign, he was surrounded by voluntary oddballs of all shapes and sizes, ordering them to »Call ›this person‹ NOW! Call ›The Guardian‹ NOW! ›Ignore‹ HER! ›Ring‹ HIM!’

Matt and I sat with McGee and McLaren and unveiled our plan. As requested, it took the form of posters and stickers outlining McLaren’s policies. Malcolm loved it, loved the simplicity, loved the ›detournement‹ of the New Labour asterisk.

We thought we’d done our job and started to relax a little. But, as we sat there listening to McLaren and McGee it quickly became apparent that all was not well. There’s only one part of that meeting that I remember with any clarity – it went something like this:

McGee: »This is all very well, Malcolm. But, if we’re to get through to the next stage, we need to find another £20,000.«

McLaren: »What about Bono? Will he give us some money?«

McGee: »Yes, he might do. I’ll ring him.«

McLaren: »Yes, ring him. We could fly to Dublin tomorrow and meet him for lunch.«

McGee (to Tory Boy): »Look into getting us two flights to Dublin and see if Bono is free for lunch tomorrow.«

Tory Boy (to voluntary oddball): »Prepare to book two ›first class‹ tickets to DUBLIN!«

Matt and I looked at each other and stifled a laugh. What were we involved with here? Both McGee and McLaren had made millions out of the music business. Why did they have to book two first class flights to Dublin so they could go and beg twenty grand off Bono?

Over the coming days it became apparent that we’d been involved in something more akin to an art project than a genuine bid to seize control of the capital (though McGee recently stated that McLaren really did want to become the Mayor of London).

Anyway, the posters were printed and they looked great – we met Malcolm again once more, but he was distracted – he seemed to have moved on to something else, something more pressing perhaps – a new scheme, maybe.

When the fly-posters (50,000 of which had supposedly been printed) and the stickers (250,000 of which had supposedly been printed) finally appeared on the streets of London, it was down one alleyway in Covent Garden. The threatened ›blitz of London in poster and sticker form‹ never materialised. In reality, a dozen posters and a handful of stickers stretched down one side of an alley that ran parallel to St. Martins School of Art… which in retrospect seems somehow appropriate.

Nevertheless, and I’m sure I speak for Matt too; I’m still thrilled to have met and worked with the legendary Malcolm McLaren.