On the Many Deaths of Amanda Palmer (29 page)

But there is one important, nay, fundamental, point that you have missed, a point so essential that without grasping it you have largely misunderstood everything about my intentions and execution. Now don't get me wrong, I completely understand—it can indeed be hard to see beyond the petty bubbles in which we live and work—the human mind is after all a pattern seeking machine; it searches out meaning by recognising forms, rules, roles; then seeks reinforcement from
others. That is what belief systems are; that is how societies are built; that is how cliques evolve: those little bubbles of self-importance founded upon shared understandings, however absurd or laughable. And thus I must imagine that all among you who work so diligently for the Amanda Palmer Trust, who each day enter that building, pass the paintings, the posters and that grotesque sculpture in the foyer, who then sit in your artsy offices devotedly promoting and developing the life, works and memory of Miss Amanda Palmer, must hold her in some awe indeed. To you she must by now have become an icon of sorts, almost a goddess, a martyr, a figure-head, a leader, the very glue that holds your organisation and its vision together. But you see, to me, and this is what your little book completely fails to grasp, to me Miss Palmer herself, alive or dead, is of no consequence whatsoever!

Certainly she was a popular singer, by all accounts fairly good at her job, but, frankly, so what! Sure, she wrote her own songs, and some, it is claimed, may even get close to being almost poetic, but again, so what! And yes, she “looked good in clothes”, but so the fuck what! I mean, and I don't expect you to understand this, but does that shit really count for anything at all? I mean, really? On the scale of things? Did she cure cancer? Did she solve the global population crisis? Did she end, or even temper, famine in the third world? Did she make even the smallest difference to the many urgent and important issues facing humanity and human beings each and every day? No, no and again no! She was an entertainer, nothing more, nothing less. She got up on stage and pranced about in her underwear singing songs . . .

And yet, and yet . . . to her fans, and here I mean her real fans, those for whom her music has become a part their identity, to them she is, alive or dead, a magician with the power to transform, to comfort, to empower and inspire . . . or so it seems . . . and that is where my true fascination lies, not with Miss Palmer herself, but with the faith invested in her by her
fans, and the power they derive from it . . . Ok, re-reading that last passage I see I have allowed grandiloquence to cloud the issue, something of a habit of mine—what I mean to say is what really interests me, what made me involve myself with all this shit in the first place, is the imagined Miss Palmer, the Miss Palmer invented by the needs and requirements of her fans. The distinction is subtle and yet essential. It is
that
Miss Palmer whom I have been playing games with all along; it is
that
Miss Palmer whom I have killed repeatedly in hundreds of different ways, each born within the inevitable dichotomy between
that
Miss Palmer and her more “real” twin. The difference between the two is indeed both telling and painful. And now that the “real” Miss Palmer has been summarily dismissed from the equation,
that
Miss Palmer's power seems to be growing un-checked, for a while at least. Thus I felt it was my duty to meddle, to see if these things could be subverted, for the experiment, for the fun of it all. So please do not confuse the one issue with the other.

As for the questions you are no doubt keen to have me answer: am I really the author of all the texts including Text Number Nine? Was I in some way involved with Miss Palmer's death? Did I witness it? Am I really a criminal mastermind who has turned all my powers towards infiltrating the editorial board of a small time Arts organisation for no profit other than self-satisfaction? . . .

Well, I wouldn't want to spoil all your fun just yet . . .

But I will say this, you were right about my wallet—it was indeed a gift from my “elderly” uncle.

Most sincerely, Tobias James.

R
OWEN
K
AYE
was born in 1961 to a Hungarian father and French Mother living in Cricklewood, North London. (He changed his name to Rohan Kriwaczek to “outwardly express [his] inner exoticism” in 1981.) Young Rowen was a problem child from the beginning, and spent a great deal of his youth in and out of hospital for various, usually self-induced, injuries and illnesses. He left school at seventeen having achieved less than the bare minimum and spent the following fifteen years making little if any impression upon a remarkable number of artistic professions: illustrator, poet, composer, choreographer, interior designer, historical-hoaxer, plumber, musician, dramaturge, theoretical tap-dancer; it wasn't until he became involved with the Guild of Funerary Violinists in the mid 1990s that he finally found his vocation as a gifted artistic executor, quickly rising to the position of Acting President of the venerable Guild. Following his evident success in that post he took on the additional role of Executive Curator for the Rohan Theatre in 2000, (the similarity of name is merely a coincidence), later re-establishing the Rohan Theatre Band and developing a new younger fan-base for the once celebrated institution.

It was in the aftermath of the Rohan Theatre Band's now notorious “final gig”, (a show which left emotional and in some cases physical scars on all who attended), that Kriwaczek first stumbled upon Amanda Palmer amidst the wreckage of the venue,
suffering from a broken ankle and severe shock. That proved to be the beginning of a life-long friendship that was only ended by Miss Palmer's tragic death eighteen months later.

With the establishment of the Amanda Palmer Trust in 2006 Kriwaczek took on the role first of General Secretary and then later as Associate Chairman and Contributing Editor, before stepping down in 2009, although he is still actively involved in many APT funded projects.

Kriwaczek has, over the past ten years, been the recipient of numerous accolades and awards for his various contributions to the arts and funerary industries, although, with typical modesty, he has asked for them not to be listed here. He is, however, proud to mention his bronze medal in the “Most Luxurious Imperial” category of the International Beard and Moustache Tournament 2007.

Also by Rohan Kriwaczek:

An Incomplete History of the Art of Funerary Violin

It is only by staring Death in the face that you can truly say you have known Life; it is only by losing that which you hold most dear that you can truly say you have known Love; such is the Art of the Funerary Violinist.

From its origins in the Elizabethan Protestant Reformation, to its final extinction amidst the guns of the First World War, the art of Funerary Violin was characterized by many unique and frequently misunderstood qualities that set it apart from all other forms of music. Despite its enormous influence on classical music generally and on the Romantic Movement in particular, this music has almost entirely vanished. In a series of ‘funerary purges', the art of funerary violin was condemned as ‘the music of the devil' and the Guild of Funerary Violinists driven into silence or clandestine activity. This is the music that, despite all attempts at suppression, has haunted Europe's collective unconscious for more than a century. Now Rohan Kriwaczek reveals its incredible history. Painstakingly pieced together from a handful of fragments and unsubstantiated and frequently unspoken rumours, and making use of a number of extraordinary recent discoveries,
An Incomplete History of the Art of Funerary Violin
celebrates a unique musical tradition that refuses to die.

‘The Art of the Funerary Violin is a fascinating work in its own right, an unorthodox alternative history novel filled with left-field characters and quirky details.' - Sydney Morning Herald

‘This truly is a bizarre book' – The New Statesman

‘In seinen besten momenten streift dieses scurrile und sehr britische Buch den Humor von Sternes „Tristrum Shandy” oder Boswells „Dr. Johnson”.' - Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung

For more information on Funerary Violin, and to hear samples of the music and purchase CDs please visit
www.guildoffuneraryviolinists.org.uk

Recordings by Rohan Kriwaczek
Solo Studio albums

Ghost Train

New Ritual Dark Music

Walking East

Looking Back

The Wandering Jew

Moby Dick

Ritual Dark Music

New Bigger Ears

Instrumental Albums

Dr Asperger's Klezmer Tonic

Nostalgia's Own End

Rohan Kriwaczek – Funerary Violinist

Salon Concert Music

King David Report
Two Violins

Circles in the Sand

Live

Rohan Theatre Band albums

Introducing the Infamous Reverend Rohan K.
Love and Loss

Unhealthy Leftovers

Perfect World

Cemetery Songs

Rants and Accusation

Unsavoury Songs

Editor of the Guild of Funerary Violinist's Archive series:

The Art of Funerary Violin

The Funerary Notebooks of Herr Gratchenfleiss
Pierre Dubuisson

Herbert Stanley Littlejohn

Babcotte, Sudbury and Eaton

 

Find out more at
www.rohan-k.co.uk

To read more examples of
palmeresque
or to post your own piece online please visit
www.amandapalmertrust.com