Art Sex Music

by Cosey Fanni Tutti

  We were panicking about how we were going to get our work distributed. Paul Taylor came to our rescue, suggesting Mute Distribution, and Paul Smith put us in touch with Cargo Distribution. Having lost money on TG and now this, the offers of TG gigs were looking more likely as an option to solve our dilemma. But the TG gig saga was rolling on in the same confused and raggedy fashion, with Gen annoying us all by playing TG tracks ‘Discipline’ and ‘How Do You Deal?’ as part of his own band’s ‘Best of’ live set, then Sleazy talking to Barry about TG and confusing Paul Smith’s negotiations. That was the point at which Paul started to take on TG managerial duties.

  Setting aside the disappointment and chaos, I continued with my own projects and returned to Hull to do a lecture on my work to media technology students. I wasn’t sure how I’d be received after so many years. It went well and I was especially pleased Pam had come along with Les. Neither of them really knew the details about my sex-magazine work so I didn’t know how they’d take it. Pam had a tear in her eye and said how proud she was of me. From there I went to the Frieze Art Fair, where my work was profiled on the Cabinet stand and duly sold to collectors.

  That side of my life was on track and I felt good. I’d completed the second ‘Self lessness’ action in the Sandringham woods, the Queen’s country estate. Me and Chris had found a secluded area that felt suitable for a short ritual. The piece referenced my historic connection to the Queen: as reigning monarch she owned the building that housed the ICA, the site of the sex-magazine-and-tampons scandal. I’d collected some leaves from the site and used them as a template for leaves made from the cache of my last tampons, which I’d crushed and pulped into papier-mâché. The different sizes, shades of white, spots of pale blue (tampon string) and varied hues of dried red blood looked beautiful. On the day of the action we drove to the Sandringham Estate, parked in the tourist car park and took our video camera, tripod and all my materials to our designated spot. The woods were pretty much empty other than the occasional dog-walker who passed by without noticing us. It was so still, with only birdsong, the rustling of squirrels and other woodland creatures, and the ground gave off a musky, earthy, composting-leaf-mould smell. It felt warm and comforting, evoking memories of my childhood, when I’d sit in solitude among the long grass, feeling at one with nature. I hung my tampon leaves from the branches of the nearby trees and shrubs, which had supplied the leaf templates, and placed some among the layers of fallen leaves. A token, an imprint of myself.

  *

  The TG gig at ATP was cancelled yet again, causing another all-round freak-out in the TG camp. We accepted another compromise from Barry. TG would headline at Jake and Dinos Chapman’s curated ‘Nightmare Before Christmas’ ATP weekend on 3 December.

  Sleazy was behind with the TG Astoria video and artworks – Geff had been on a drinking binge again. At 6.30 p.m. on 14 November I received an email from Sleazy to inform us that Geff had died. I shouted downstairs to Chris, ‘Geff’s dead!’

  Not being able to take it in, we both read Sleazy’s email again together. After what Sleazy described as ‘a three-week dip into the oblivion of vodka’, Geff had fallen over the upstairs banister, hitting his head on the hard tiled floor below. He was rushed to hospital but his head injuries were so severe that he was pronounced dead soon afterwards.

  We were bereft and kept thinking of Sleazy and how he must feel in that huge house that screamed Geff from every corner. Although Sleazy had left Weston in many ways, going to Thailand at any opportunity, it was still the hub of Coil and supposedly the place where Geff could find himself and be free from his dependency on alcohol. But it had become the site of his death.

  I called Sleazy and offered to come to Weston but he had others there and wanted to spare me. I said the TG show would of course be cancelled, but he said he wanted to do it. I kept thinking about when me and Chris walked with Sleazy along the Harrow Road after the TG Mute meeting just eight weeks earlier, when he’d been a bit melancholy about Geff, saying that he blamed himself for Geff’s demise, that he didn’t think it would be long before Geff would die. That had turned out to be tragically prophetic.

  Sleazy was devastated and he understandably couldn’t talk about the accident. I doubt that the full story of the circumstances of Geff’s death will ever be known. Sleazy refused to discuss it or why Geff’s most recent (ex-) lover inherited such a large share of his estate.

  Geff’s private funeral took place ten days later, with about a hundred invited close friends and family. The small chapel was festooned with flowers, vegetables and fruit, a truly beautiful setting that wasn’t too heavy with sadness. Sleazy sobbed uncontrollably at times as he led the ceremony. He said at the beginning that he didn’t think he could get through it without tears and that he wanted people to know that they too should feel free to cry. We did. It wasn’t reverential or formal, just very, very personal. Geff’s soft nature was countered with a reminder by Sleazy that ‘Geff could also be a nightmare, bless him.’ As much as he had at times been an utter pain with his drinking, I, like Sleazy, remembered the person inside. The sweetness Geff had about him, the fact that he was so lost and desperately trying to find himself. When that got too difficult he drank, and that killed him. I was so sad and angry he was gone.

  Sleazy stood beside the open silk-lined wicker coffin and Geff’s mother and sister sat beneath a large photo of Geff as a child. The contrast of such innocence and his tragic death was heartbreaking. There were readings and selected recorded and live music, including Coil’s ‘The Dreamer Is Still Asleep’ and their version of ‘Going Up’, the theme tune to the TV programme Are You Being Served? Maybe a weird choice to some but it felt anything but to everyone there. The ceremony was powerful and emotional, especially when we all lit a candle and walked up to say our final goodbye to Geff and lay a token of our love beside him in his coffin. Me and Chris saw it as the greatest and last Coil performance.

  The ceremony over, we watched as the black, glass-sided, horse-drawn carriage disappeared into the distance, taking Geff for cremation, his ashes to be scattered under a hawthorn tree. Sleazy was bent over crying, then let out an enormously loud, heart-wrenching wail as Geff left us forever.

  Everyone gathered in a hospitality room for the wake, where a spread of food and fruit was laid out, with a centrepiece of a huge heap of broccoli forming a ring around the largest bottle of vodka I’d ever seen. Everyone noticed it but no one mentioned or touched it. Sleazy entered the room, walked straight up to the table, smiled, grabbed the vodka bottle, poured out a glass and drank it.

  Still reeling from the ceremony, I was on stage the next evening playing a solo gig at Spitz club in London. I dedicated it to Geff and did my best to transcend the deep hurt inside. Chris recorded the show but I’ve never listened to it.

  A few weeks later TG was about to kick off again, starting with us all meeting at Mute Studios to run through the set, then drive in convoy to Camber Sands to finally play the ill-fated ATP gig at a Pontins holiday camp. The ‘TG family’, as it became known, arrived safely and took up residence in chalets, with Sleazy and Gen either side of me and Chris. Sleazy was pretty isolated from us to help him to get through the evening, and was tearful when I was discussing with Gen the idea of dedicating the gig to Geff.

  After soundcheck we went back to the band chalet area. Sleazy and Gen were discussing drugs and I made my way to hospitality to get some food. It was dark and the light on the corner was broken so I couldn’t see the step. I fell to the ground with such a thump. In a split second, I’d managed to put my hands out to save me from going face-first on to concrete. There was nobody around so I got up and made my way back to the chalet. I was shaking with shock. ‘I’ve just fallen over,’ I said to Chris. My wrists and knees had taken the brunt of the force when I fell. Both my wrists were throbbing with pain and swelling up, and my knees were bleeding and felt like they’d been hit with a hammer. Chris called Paul, who came with Susan and Kirsten to assess the damage an
d whether I’d be able to play my guitar. A paramedic was called but was useless. I ended up telling him to just leave some support bandages for my wrists and I sat on the bed waiting and hoping it wasn’t as bad as it felt.

  The decision was made for me to do the best I could within the limitations of my pain threshold. Mitch, our roadie and tech assistant, was wonderful. When we got on stage he put my guitar over my shoulder for me, placed my plectrum between thumb and forefinger and stayed knelt at my side to help me at any time. TG were ready to go even if I was the worse for wear, with my bandaged wrist and aching knees. Sleazy wore his white-fur mirrored Coil costume in memory of Geff and as a tribute to Coil, who should have been performing on the same stage the next night but were now no more. He held his head down to weep whenever he was overcome with sadness. The gig started with Gen’s dedication to Geff and we all focused in on the sound. Sleazy managed to transcend his difficulties and I endured the agony with the help of painkillers.

  The concert was recorded and mixed by Live Here Now, immediately burned on to CD-Rs and put on sale just ten minutes after we’d finished playing. Sleazy disappeared really fast after the show, throwing all his gear into his bag, retreating to his chalet and dropping acid to enter another world for the rest of the evening. Gen stumbled into his chalet and we didn’t see him again. Our room filled with sweet, warm-hearted people helping me re-bandage my wrists and asking if there was anything I needed. We said our thanks and goodbyes and settled in for the night, with Chris having to wash me and brush my hair and teeth for me. I couldn’t sleep – the painkillers weren’t effective and I was in agony with my wrists, which had ballooned in size. I spent the night propped up, resting my arms on soft pillows.

  We left for home early the next morning. Chris drove straight to our local hospital. I was relieved I hadn’t broken anything but it took nearly a year and many visits to a chiropractor to put things right.

  1 January 2005

  I think many of us are thankful that 2004 is over when we think back on all the traumas that it delivered in abundance. But then I have to also consider that it was the most successful and inspiring year we have had in decades.

  Our new guise as Carter Tutti had gone so well, with radio play, reviews and live work all tumbling into our laps. My art was forging ahead too, with sales to museums and collectors and forthcoming exhibitions in Europe and America.

  I felt so elated and blessed, not least because our music was to be part of the ‘Visual Music: Synaesthesia in Art and Music Since 1900’ exhibition at MOCA in Los Angeles. I was to give a lecture on ‘Synaesthesia’ and Carter Tutti were to play at REDCAT, a theatre inside the Walt Disney Concert Hall. Once again I was performing in a Disney space. The theatre was ideal for our audiovisual work, so technologically advanced and versatile, offering a huge screen that filled the wall behind us and a sound system and acoustics we could only have dreamed of. The concert sold out fast and there was a second concert offered for the fans that had missed out, but this wasn’t a ‘gig’ as such – this was a different context altogether.

  9 May 2005

  I got back from Eindhoven late last night and am still a bit worn out from it all. It was amazing to work there for a week and gradually have everything emerge so beautifully and seem so right in that library setting.

  Andrew and I had been going through my sex action works, sifting through the archive to put together the first comprehensive presentation of the material ready to install for the exhibition ‘In the Vitrines’ at the Van Abbemuseum in Eindhoven, Holland. I was absolutely thrilled and excited, but scared when I thought of how much work was involved. It was the first time I’d fully engaged on such a scale. Re-viewing and analysing my magazine works and all the related letters, model cards and photographs was a strange (but not unpleasant) revisiting experience. Andrew’s assistance and informed critical gaze were invaluable and we worked with one of the museum curators, Diana, who was totally committed to helping us bring the show together. We worked in the library reading space for a week, forming coherent readings from the vast amount of material laid out in six vitrines and accompanied by captioned informational text and a four-piece framed magazine work across one wall. We put out a desk with reading matter on it: my Confessions edition and a transcript of an email conversation between me and Lucy McKenzie on our work, the exhibition and about being pornographic models – she’d worked exclusively for Richard Kern. It looked serene in its simplicity and so elegant in the quiet setting.

  The library itself consisted of two walls of art-related printed material, spanning two floors and twelve shelves high. I had appeared in over two hundred sex magazines and as part of my show I placed my magazines in one stratum of the library shelves. It looked great to see all the colourful glamour covers, my art taking its place alongside so many other printed works on art.

  Everything had gone so well, then on the eve of the opening an ICA moment raised its ugly head. One of the museum staff took exception to the framed work in particular as being too confrontational and said that the museum could be closed down by complaints. I couldn’t believe that revisiting the ‘Prostitution’ works had resulted in the same censorship issues. Me and Andrew remained calm but firm and suggested a warning sign stating that the lower-floor area of the library contained pornographic material, and that there was no access to anyone under the age of sixteen. What made the situation worse was that there was a retrospective of a male Dutch artist in the main museum space, which included pornographic collages. There was no demand that he install warning signs for his work. That male/female artist hierarchy prevailed. Just one guy had caused the unnecessary angst. The other museum staff and the director were very apologetic and supportive. The opening went ahead with very discreet signage for my show.

  3 July 2005

  I was so shattered when we got home from Turin on Thursday, well we all were. It took us until today to feel anywhere near normal.

  TG gigs had been offered, assessed and declined or accepted. A gig in Turin was agreed but attached to the deal was what I’d expected – a demand from Gen. He wanted a return business-class air ticket from New York. TG was certainly not a stadium band and the budget was tight. Sleazy was pragmatic and just said, ‘He can fly with a coach and horses as long as HE pays.’

  Gen’s demand (without which he wouldn’t play) pissed off all three of us, as well as the promoter who’d recently seen Gen in Spain and knew that he had flown economy and seemed healthy and well. That ran contrary to the health issues Gen had given as the reason for the extra cost. The promoter thought Gen was being opportunistic at his and TG’s expense.

  Turin was to be a performance with some additional time booked in a recording studio – a chance to do some recording together for a second TG album and finish Gen’s vocal and instrumental parts for the album Part Two: The Endless Not. Sleazy had come to stay at our house and work in our studio to prepare. We hadn’t heard from Gen, either about the album or the gig. He was on tour in the back of a van doing ‘Best of’ gigs with his band – and, much to our annoyance, still playing some TG songs. He got in touch two weeks before the Turin show to let us know that he was now going on holiday to Mexico. We kept things civil and focused on the bigger picture, hoping that Gen would work ‘with’ us at some point, as he repeatedly said he wanted to.

  The festival organisers had decided TG would play in an ‘industrial setting’ on an outdoor stage with ‘the cement men’, all thirty-six of them underneath us throwing cement all over the place as we played. That wasn’t going to happen. Paul insisted TG play in the indoor theatre but because it only held 1,500 people, TG would have to play two concerts with an hour’s turnaround between sets to get the second audience in. It was Italy, is all I can say.

  Back at the hotel for a rest and there was a crisis with Gen. He was jet-lagged and without his usual ‘medication’. He was in a bad way and was eventually taken to the emergency room at the hospital to be ‘fixed up’ with legal pharmaceutica
ls. TG wasn’t top of his to-do list. Rather than being in the studio with us preparing for the show and recording for the new TG album, he was out dining and shopping for a dress to wear for the gig.

  The first day in the ‘studio’ was absolute hell. It was what you’d call a ‘project studio’, a small space with no air conditioning or fans and the temperature gauge topping forty-two degrees. We were sweating buckets and the gear was turning itself off as it overheated. As arranged, we arrived at 11.30 a.m. with Charlie, our TG sound engineer. Gen showed up at 4.30, did six minutes of vocals, then wanted to leave because it was too hot. By that time so did we, as we’d been there for five hours, so we all left.

  Backstage was heaving with people before the shows. John Duncan was there, so glad to see Nick, who was about to see TG for the first time. Sleazy’s Coil friends, Massimo and Pierce, were there, as was one hard-core Coil fan who had their logo carved across the full expanse of his back. Gen displayed his breast implants to the room, blurting out to the women present, ‘It’s all right for you, you’re lucky you were born with them. I had to work hard to get these.’ But, ever the showman, once Gen had a stage he delivered the goods.

  8 August 2005

  Well onwards with the new album … which sounds great!

  Sleazy came back to our house from Turin to work on the Part Two album. Having Sleazy stay again was a total pleasure. He slotted in so easily, as if he’d always lived with us. He wanted to get as much done on the album before he got distracted by moving house. He’d sold Weston and was moving to Thailand to set up home there, taking his two dogs, Moon and Pan, with him. Chris was to mix the album, ready for an end-of-year release in time for the next TG gig in Berlin.