ARTISTS TALKING

Masks of lycra were worn, BMX’s bought, humiliation rituals undertaken, dog suits made, fine wines over-consumed and accent diluted to a big Sean nice-shitty.

I have been a lonely cock, a gang banger, a gallery hair dresser, a spandex spud punnered rocker and an ass-waxed cowboy chauffeur.

Crimson tide nuclear-fuelled compartments, stoked with middle-aged eccentrics have become clean as the ghostly halls of art establishments, as I switch from grease monkey to art flunky.

In August 2004 I gathered together a crack squad of creative bampots and set about seeing what we could do to the gigantic Spike Island in Bristol.

Allowed to stay in the gallery 24/7 for a week, 1,000 yards of CLS and 150 OSB boards were transformed into a fully-functioning utopian modular community with sleeping quarters.

There was an event weekend. Deejays played from the Nelson WWII watch tower, bands performed on the mini stage, ale was served from a pick up truck, a cinema showed transvestites, flame-throwing children and hairy beasts and a couple celebrated there fortieth wedding anniversary.

Most recently I travelled the USA highways with the Prairie Oysters, a self-proclaimed darts team Bon Jovi, armed with weapons of mass seduction (high powered traditional food launchers).

Britain’s hardest inmate Charles Bronson became our fitness guru battering our puny sun-hidden bodies into supple, strong hooligans through his solitary fitness book.

We carved our way from Memphis to New York hooking up with ex-pro basketball-cum-southern-songwriter Justice along the way, and finally shot our righteous load at handmade targets in the PS1 gallery, Queens NY.

I’m currently planning to drive a harmonium around British battle sites singing and running my way from South to North.

Kevin Reid is an artist. The Prairie Oysters will be playing live at the launch of ‘Uncle Chop Chop Volume 2’ at the Glasgow Project Room on 5 March.

UPDATE 2006:
I’m currently sitting in the land of the staturally elite, Amsterdam. Doing the SAC residency. The past year and a half’s art splurges have taken me from Glasgow to Memphis again, this time to leave 2 coffins draped with burial flags. These cotton crests were all that was left after ROGER & REID toured the UK battle sites in our wee van and played tunes to the dead. Graeme and Abs couldnae make it to Memfi as Wee G’s a crim to the OO-S-A government, like Hannibal! Then Glasgow for a bit, built a utility music research monkey head, worked with women at Goma built a non-violence booth with them and used it, then a lot of fishing. Then Amsterdam! Cold. Windy. Biking. Lots of ijk! 24-hour 30,000 feet trauma. Sun! ‘GANGHUT’ vs OZ delirious, sweaty, Big Joe, the colonel, 1kilo of kangaroo, barbi’s, $5! You’re in my heart! You need back up. You got it! Then back to Amsterdam. Finally leave Glasgow. I’m a Fifer! Summer sees up to SSW Edinburgh then Lumsden double ‘GHUT’ whammy! Bosch! ‘GHUT’ the book. Possible Harry Butler comeback! Graphic novel wi’ Kelty undertones fae Charlie. Bad Pussy Lightning’s first ep! Jeesch! I thought I was feeling a wee bit bored, back to the piano.
Toot Ziens.
REIDYJK