We were The 17, a vocal project that has no audience only participants. A human ring around the financial district where one person after another would scream the word MONEY.
Waiting for the scream to come around, you are left thinking about the pre-crisis office architecture surrounding you, the consensual hallucination that art and banking is, the power of the voice and the trust involved in such a performance. When the scream comes to you it is more of a football chant or rural command, not singing, not melodious. As it passes it feels like the unity of a dance party, solitary individuals united by a moment. The energy of communal experience, a line that passes through acid house, singing in taverns, mosh pits, sport chanting and choirs. The voice – the very first thing and the very last thing.
The White Room was the first ‘grown up’ album I bought. The mythic qualities of the KLF seduced me. Masked pop stars. Sample heavy production. Symbolism and shadow. Read Drummond’s book 45. It’s a self-help text for me, in the same hallowed territory as my viewing of Tarkovsky’s Stalker every six months. Two weeks ago I came across a plastic-wrapped copy of 45 at a small departure lounge shop in Sandakan airport Malaysian Borneo. Sitting amongst Malay fashion and beauty magazines, looking solitary and bemused, it was some kind of omen. I made a photograph of it and took it with me to Amsterdam.
This entry was written by defiance, electricity, hysteria, warm and tagged live action, mokum alef, neverneverlands, voice. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post., posted on May 2, 2012 at 8:56 pm, filed under