Across the capital, strange things are happening. Next to the bus stop at London Bridge, Trinny and Susannah’s billboard ad for Nescafé has been cut into squares and artfully scrambled into an image of an Asbo youth. Behind St Pancras parish church, a shop has started selling books with no barcode ISBN number and no author. And over in the East End, a derelict railway arch has been transformed overnight into a boutique for an avant-garde designer, which will open for a day, only to disappear at dusk.
This is the shadowy world of the creative guerrillas — a global movement of non-aligned artists, musicians, writers and fashion folk who are ambushing mainstream culture in pursuit of their separatist aims. Working in disguise or under the cover of darkness, they perform acts of creative subversion designed to challenge orthodox thinking. And the point of it all? Freedom of expression. Cultural independence. Oh, and simply seeing how far they can push it before they get caught.
Among the inner circle, news of forthcoming guerrilla “actions” spreads virally via the internet and word of mouth. Even for those outside the loop, the clues are there. Spot a group of shifty individuals in gorilla masks and you can assume that the Guerrilla Girls, an American feminist art collective, are up to something. If you see six 18-30s in yellow reflective jackets “hijacking” billboard adverts, it’s probably the London art collective CutUp. And full marks to anyone who spied the first edition of Billy Childish’s latest novel, Sex Crimes of the Futcher — he deliberately left his name off the cover. Incidentally, if you receive a banknote with a picture of a bespectacled Queen on it, don’t spend it. It’s art — painted by the artist D*Face, then put back into circulation to stick two fingers up at the Establishment.
For all their rule-breaking, however, the guerrillas have a strict code of conduct — not least the need for absolute secrecy. Would-be cultural guerrilleros must resist the temptation to explain their work and should communicate only via e-mail. They should also use a pseudonym or mask to protect their identity. “My gorilla mask is disarming to men,” says Frida Kahlo (not her real name), of the Guerrilla Girls. “Then the focus is on the issue, not on personality.” The mystery factor works wonders for a guerrilla’s cachet.
To sustain mystique, guerrilla interventions are typically fleeting and leave fans wanting more. The indie band the Others, who pioneered guerrilla gigs in Britain last year, conjured up blink-of-an-eye performances on the Tube, up trees and at Abbey Road’s famous zebra crossing. “We had a megaphone, two battery-powered amps and a toy drum kit, so we could set up very quickly and be in and out,” says the lead singer, Dominic Masters.
A degree of illicitness is key. Banksy, whose work teeters between Crimewatch and the Turner prize, says the adrenaline that comes with the risk of being caught beats institutional recognition any day. He writes on his website: “Be aware that going on a major mission totally drunk out of your head will result in some truly spectacular artwork and at least one night in the cells.” The guerrillas see themselves as agents provocateurs, whose role is to shock, educate and sometimes entertain. “You have to offend, upset and irritate people,” says Guerrilla Girl Kahlo. “It’s the only way to get people to talk about issues.” D*Face, meanwhile, tries to provoke reaction by making the art “uncomfortable or downright ridiculous”.
While humour may be the guerrillas’ catalyst, authenticity is their ultimate goal. “What other cultural movement is there where its players would go to jail for their work, or even to their death, as one slip of the foot could be fatal?” says D*Face. Most guerrillas deny the existence of a bandwagon — they’re just doing their thing. The Guerrilla Girls have been stirring up trouble for 20 years; Childish claims he’s had the same motivation since he was five. “Life’s a spiritual journey, not a commercial one,” he says. “My fans look to me as having genuine spirit, not marketed rebellion.”
Alas, marketing types have cottoned on to the fact that rebellion sells. What’s more, the overheads are low, public space is limitless, there’s all that passing traffic delivering new audiences, and chat rooms and the media always go mad for the story. It’s a dream marketing strategy.
So, the BBC is promising a major event “in a big urban centre” early next year. “Will it be groovy and surprising?”asks Peter Maniura, head of classical-music TV at the BBC. “You bet. Can I tell you what it is? No.” Oh, the suspense. It follows on the back of the BBC’s Flashmob opera (held first in Paddington station, then in
a Sheffield shopping centre). For Maniura, it’s about “confronting people with it — opera for the masses”. But it’s BBC-branded and all above board. No complaints to date.
Coming to an alley near you are unbranded pop-up “experiential” shops from the likes of PlayStation, Levi’s and Nike. They last for one month only and aim to provide a “social destination for consumers to experience the brand”. “It’s not about selling, principally,” says Tim Bourne, of the creative marketing agency Exposure, which recommends pop-ups to its clients. “It’s about romancing the consumer with the brand. It’s a countertrend to logo mania, so it’s about the brand doing, not saying.” And if doing means providing the consumer with comfy sofas, toys and new friends while they shop, is that so bad? So what if we miss our train, if it means we get free opera without going out of our way for it?
Yet the benefits of quick-strike guerrilla marketing are shortening the shelf life of the real guerrilla movement. The Others, for one, have taken leave of the scene. “Since everyone started copying us, we’ve decided to give it a rest,” says Masters. “When U2 performed on the back of a flatbed truck as it drove through Manhattan, that was the end. Execs are getting paid to think up strategies, so they filter down to our level and take it back up to make themselves look relevant again. It’s meant to be spontaneous — that’s hardly guerrilla.”
“We’re not trying to exploit a cultural creative movement,” says Bourne. “We want to show brands how to be genuine, so the consumer can see right through to their centre. Traditional advertising is failing to engage consumers with any integrity or authenticity.” So the average billboard isn’t cutting it any more? Not surprising, really, if CutUp have had a go at it.
