An ART KILLS Production | Outta Time | funhausenatgmaildotcom | Absolutely No Rights Reserved
There was much internal debate as I was making Funhausen: How should I present this stuff? Should I come clean, or just stay mum? Either way, the result could easily have been the same. No reaction at all, or very, very little. Just seven lonely tracks accompanied by some bullshit text adorned with asinine tags devised by mercantile, implacable, authoritarian bureaus. I knew, and am still convinced, that the Fun House derivation that sits at Funhausen’s core could have gone completely unnoticed by anyone who cared to listen if they weren't cued to The Secret. Only people who really knew the record, and I mean knew it to the degree that they could identify Ron Asheton’s final wah wahed chord at the end of Dirt, or could peg his brother’s drum fill that signals the end of the middle guitar freakout on TV Eye; only those people might’ve thought, “Hey, that sounds familiar.” Deep down, I always knew that the project’s true value for myself and potential listeners that might actually give a fuck would be that I had taken great, sacred music that was not my own, and sculpted it into something that only I could have done. So, I consciously left clues, both sonic and textual, as to The Source, but worked very hard to take The Source into alternate territories.
I’m not afraid to be honest with myself (well, maybe a bit), so I must admit that I also knew that the (slim) chance would increase that people would listen and maybe even (gasp!) go through the trouble of downloading Funhausen if I told The Truth. The last thing I cared about was challenging copyright as a political/aesthetic statement. Are you serious? The Stooges made an everlastingly kick-ass fucking record that will never, ever be equaled. They OWN that shit, motherfuckers, and they deserve every fucking dime they never got for making it. If the universe were equitable, all the riches amassed by hugely successful whitebreads like U2 would be redistributed equally between Iggy and the estates of Ron and Scott Asheton and Dave Alexander. If by some miracle I had been given the chance to release Funhausen legitimately and do what was right by Iggy (predicated on the probably fantastical notion that people might be willing to buy it), I would have done so joyfully.
On a related note, Funhausen is not plunderphonic in the classic sense of the term. “Plunderphonic” requires the immediate distancing mechanism of ears identifying the typically insipid and profiteering source material. By being instantaneously recognizable, the subsequent sabotaging wrought upon the original work had much more weight. Funhausen was never intended as an act of ruination, though the context is essential to fully appreciating Funhausen’s story. To be candid and brutally frank, my motivations were also self-serving. Maybe people would actually listen this time.