Now known as The Justified Ancients of Mu Mu, the electronic band are back – here, we chart their most controversial stunts
- TextTom Connick
The KLF, The Justified Ancients Of Mu Mu, The Timelords: whatever name they went by, Bill Drummond and Jimmy Cauty brought oddities along for the ride. Emerging in the late 1980s, the pair brought performance art to pop like few have managed since, merging headline-grabbing stunts with hedonistic sounds and a wry, knowing (and often hateful) outlook on the music industry. From taking out cryptic adverts in NME, to publishing The Manual (How to Have a Number One the Easy Way) – their how-to guide to heading straight to topping the charts – they framed their Illuminati-inspired experimental pop odysseys with ever more bizarre antics.
It was a stance that divided opinion. Some accused them of style over substance, while others celebrated their wit-first takedowns of the po-faced world of pop. Their influence lingered long after the initial hook of each stunt though, and even their (literally) explosive retirement didn’t stop their madness. Turning their back on the music industry in early 1992 was only the end of chapter one, as Drummond and Cauty later morphed into the K Foundation – a faux-organisation which thrived off wreaking havoc on the even stiffer upper lips of the art world.
This week, The Justified Ancients Of Mu Mu are set to return, with a typically complicated and creative launch event for their new book, 2023. It’s a move which feels essential in an increasingly sterile pop landscape; one which thrives off TV karaoke and a dwindling pool of pioneers, with artistry often playing second fiddle to political blandness and financial security. Below, we prepare for their second coming with a celebration of the duo’s most notorious stunts.
They helped pioneer sampling and angered ABBA
The Justified Ancients Of Mu Mu’s debut album 1987 (What The Fuck Is Going On?), released in June of that titular year, was a tapestry of samples of other tracks. Recorded long before such things were commonplace in pop, the unauthorised clips of other tracks were reminiscent of the then-underground world of hip-hop. It also prompted an almost immediate legal backlash from ABBA, whose hit single Dancing Queen was extensively plagiarised – as a result, The JAMs threw cases of records into the sea, and torched the remainder in a field in Gothenburg, Sweden. A later-released version, titled The JAMs 45 Edits, saw them remove all the samples and replace them with extended periods of complete silence – there was so little audio left on the record that it was officially classed as a 12” single.
They angered the BBC too, on multiple occasions
The JAMs’ ferociously anti-establishment view came to blows with the BBC a number of times. They butchered the Doctor Who theme music back in May 1988, releasing their re-imagined version Doctorin’ The Tardis as a single under the name The Timelords and subsequently achieving a number one single. Bizarrely debuting the track on Top Of The Pops alongside Gary Glitter, they donned hats and capes for the telly appearance and cemented their place as pop’s premier weirdos. A bunch of subsequent appearances became the stuff of legend, before a later request to perform a new, speed-metal version of their rave-pop classic single 3AM Eternal was rejected.
They announced their break-up with a dead sheep
Top Of The Pops’ loss was the 1992 BRIT Awards’ gain, as The KLF took their revamped 3AM Eternal to the pop world’s annual celebratory back-patting bash. Not ones to willingly enter the pop mainstream, though, The KLF’s performance found them machine-gunning the audience with blanks, before an announcement of “The KLF have now left the music business”. They confirmed their end by dumping a dead sheep on the red carpet of an afterparty – scrawled on its side was their farewell note, “I died for you – bon appetit”. Their entire back catalogue was deleted soon after.
They upstaged the Turner Prize
Morphing into The K Foundation, Drummond and Cauty then sought a higher-class target, taking on the upper echelons of art. Announcing their own art award, they took on The Turner Prize in 1994, pitching up outside the Tate gallery to award the Turner Prize’s 1993 winner Rachel Whiteread with their own gong for the “worst artist of the year”, and a £40,000 cash prize – double that of the Turner. They also exhibited their own ‘artwork’, Money: A Major Body Of Cash, which consisted solely of various sums of money arranged in different manners.
They burned a million quid in cash
Pitching up on the remote Scottish island of Jura on August 23rd 1994, The K Foundation took the cash from their art exhibition and what remained of their earnings from their past musical career and controversially set the whole lot ablaze. Filming the whole endeavour and subsequently releasing it as a film, K Foundation Burn a Million Quid went on to become one of Drummond and Cauty’s most infamous acts, attracting extensive criticism from both the press and the public. The K Foundation was dissolved in November of the following year, with the pair largely disappearing from public life - tomorrow marks their promised return, 23 years after their last public appearance. Anything could happen.
2023 is out today, published by Faber & Faber.
faber.co.uk
