#mark dery

100

Bill Drummond

Penkiln Burn

I Must Not Think Bad Thoughts: Drive-by Essays on American Dread, American Dreams

Mark Dery

University of Minnesota Press

Subversive thinkers rampage through 21st century life, perturb deeply.

In 1975 the 22-year-old Bill Drummond, then a set-builder in a Liverpool theatre, spent an evening working with Ralph Steadman on set designs and listening eagerly to his Hunter S Thompson anecdotes. One in particular stuck with him – a story of Thompson and Steadman undercover of night painting “FUCK THE POPE” in gigantic letters on a ship, which then sailed down the Hudson river behind the Pope and mayor of New York live on primetime TV. Spectacularly crass, and – it transpires – almost certainly untrue, but the scale of the supposed prank clearly had a powerful and lasting influence on the man who would machine gun the Brit awards and take Tammy Wynette to the top of the charts in an ice cream van.

In 100, Drummond answers 100 questions about his life and work from 25 interlocutors in language so sternly understated it would – if he weren't so reluctant to self-identify as a “Scottish artist” – be tempting to describe it as Presbyterian. He looks back over Quixotic missions and arrogant mischief – from looking deep into the heart of Haiti to trying to hunting Abba – always with a cool eye, puncturing his own pretensions and admitting his inconsistencies. Clearly, though, the love of provocation and blunt urge to tip up tables is still there as powerfully as it was in that impressionable youth or in the KLF years. 

His subject matter is often prosaic, with an underlying rejection of the modern: recurring motifs include woodworking tools, white emulsion, Creedence Clearwater Revival, untrained people singing together. But he uses and clearly understands technology, and his meditations on downloading and copyright, and on how Goebbels would have used the internet, provide as much to get your teeth into as those by any zippy young tech guru. Drummond mistrusts almost everything – language, culture, the art establishment, recorded music, his own ideas – but his desire to tug at each thought or assumption, to test its strength, leads him into the most glorious trouble, and to ask questions that very sorely need asking.

Mark Dery is another outsider thinker, but one with a furiously different approach to Drummond's deadpan, sidelong observations. A punk by inclination, an academic by trade, he runs headlong into every topic, picking fights, firing off linguistic zingers in all directions, creating a vivid vision of 21st century life. In his world, the blogosphere is “this dictatorship of the commentariat... this grotesque hypertrophy of the chattering class”, his own stepfather is “Conan the Vulgarian” and his favourite Queen song (“The Fairy Feller's Master-Stroke” since you ask) features “laser-sharp harmonies by robo-seraphim, heavy-breathing, glam-metal harpsichord that sounds like Scarlatti shtupping Liberace... and to top things off, a gong.” 

Looking at the image of the undead in pop culture, he races from contextualising Marx's vampiric capitalists within the Victorian Gothic to holding a magnifying glass to US survivalists' addiction to the zombie apocalypse trope. He outs HAL9000 in 2001 as gay in a discussion of Alan Turing and artificial intelligence, and punctures Lady Gaga's pretensions to transgression (albeit, in a rare misfire, missing the point of repetition in dance music along the way). 

Behind the firework display of wit and way-outness, though, there is an analytical mind as calmly, insistently enquiring as Drummond's: Dery's topic is always the American psyche, with all its militarism, machismo and pornographic greed, and he illuminates it with equal measures of love and despair. Running through his hallucinatory menagerie of jock politicians, self-help gurus, Star Trek slash fiction, rappers' dentistry, Santa Claus conspiracies, stoner noir, zombies, guns and “buck-hungry retailers of the unspeakable” is a thread of cool-headed analysis and disciplined questioning.