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Banksy in FHM, by HowAboutNo on Nov 2, 2006 0:10:07 GMT 1, Article about LA show in December's FHM, not read it properly, but a British take on it at least. Lots of cohorts mentioned.
THE PASSING police helicopter's searchlight flits through the windshield of Banksy's broken-down lorry as we fumble around the cabin in pitch darkness looking for the handbrake. It's 11 pm in LAs gun country and if we can't move this truck soon, the impatient African elephant whose trailer door we're blocking might stampede. "She's getting grumpy, Lee!" shouts one of Banksy's street gang.
To complicate matters further, just outside our lorry Keanu Reeves is getting drunk, Banksys lawyer is vomiting and our armed guards have fled having heard that a group of gangsters are on their way to see Banksy's limited edition artwork (then if they've got time to maybe cap some ass). We see a tiny lever labelled "Parking Brake", slam it down and clamber out of the window Dukes of Spazzard style - like the engine, the door no longer works. "Now everyone of you push!" shouts a man who officially "isn't Banksy" but unofficially is so unquestionably Banksy we just want to steal his face and put it on eBay. On Not Banksy's instruction the entire crew put down their beer, rush to the truck and heave.
How we got this level of access to Britain's most notorious vandal baffles even us. You won't have read any articles written from within his inner circle before now- if the police can't reach him despite numerous arrest warrants, there's no way a writer could, right? Wrong...
THE HUNT
We heard that Banksy was about to break America so we've gone to LA with nothing but a statement from his PR claiming the Bristol street artist is producing his biggest ever project, somewhere in Hollywood. Getting close to a man that nobody has ever seen in a city of ten million people is going to be tricky. We start our hunt at LAs graffiti hot spot, Melrose Avenue. Local street artist Guillermo tells us, "An Englishman wouldn't dare
tag here. These walls belong to the ECBS crew! Last week five South
Central gangsters wanted to tag here, and they were chased away. One of the CBS just took his top off, showed his bullet wounds and said, `Shoot me first.' But, while you're here, you might as well see some of the best new pieces in town." Guillermo points, and there it is, a 20-foot man in a cape on the side of a psychic's house. It's undoubtedly a Banksy. What's more, his spray cans are in the binthis stuff is as fresh as a daisy's bottom. "That's a Banksy?" Guillermo asks as we grin from ear to ear. "Dude, that's impressive."
And there are more. "He sprayed a rat saying `Where Is Hollywood?' on my shop two weeks ago," Dory De La Cruz, the owner of a vandalised T-shirt shop tells us. "It was amazing, but then on Friday he came back in the night and painted right over it again. Now my shop has a grey front. I want my rat back!" This is our first lead on how Banksy operates - he's clearly a controlfreak in complete charge of where, when and by whom his work is seen.
"I have seen your man!" says four-foot psychic Miss Leona. "I felt his spirit when he painted a rat on my practice and cursed it. My landlord painted over it, but your man came back and painted a superhero on my nice clean wall. Next time, I'll pour boiling water on him. I see a great future for you..." Holy spray cans, Batman, she's giving us an impromptu reading. "You will find everything you need on your journey. My husband will show you how the man you seek climbed our roof."
Having received details on how Banksy scales buildings (up drainpipes at 4am basically), we try his routine ourselves. "There's one of his crew!" shouts an English voice as we're halfway up a bush reaching for a gutter. "Excuse me, sir..." It's the BBC and suddenly we're being filmed for the NewsAt Ten. Seems everyTom, Dick and Huw Edwards is on the trail of Banksy. The mere fact England's boy is in Hollywood has made the cover of The New York Times and The Los Angeles Times while ABCs Good Morning America, CBS, and even Al-Jazeera have all dedicated slots to the stop- that hasn't even unfolded yet. L s simply sniffing around drainpipes isn't going to be enough to bag an exclusive, though.
THE FIND
We get a call. "So you've been to Melrose?" It's Brooksy.: Banksy's PR and thanks to the BBC being c our trail, she's onto us being or Banksy's trail. Brooksy's job is basically backwards PRdistracting anyone who is sniffing around her client. We explain the Beeb have been filming F1 in bushes, we've managed to find new pieces of Banksy street art fresh even she doesn't know they exist yet. This impresses. Suddenly she's willing to divulge info the of the media don't get a sniff at "Get to Disneyland now, then meet you at the Roosevelt Hot 8pm," she says. "Don't tell any Not even your editor."
We tiptoe to the magic kingdom to find that Disney has just been pranked by Banksy. Near the,' Small World ride, he has tied up a sex doll dressed as a Guantanamo Bay prisoner, then snuck out in a box amidst security chaos. Go won't give us a comment, the police want us out of their park, but we manage to glean enough information for a "so you went in through that fence?" chat with whoever it is we're about to meet at our secret hotel rendezvous.
The decision to convene at the Roosevelt is a stroke of genius - it's a celebrity Mecca with so many A-list faces to gawp at, nobody's trying to Banksy-spot.
We neck gin next to Colin Farrell and Orlando Bloom as Kelly Jones from Stereophonics points out famous people to his mate. But the most important recognisable face is that of Brooksy. She wants to know what's going down at Disney as the Banksy crew can't really return to the scene themselves. The more booze we buy, the more people we're introduced to. We act dumb, listen in on conversations, and desperately try to seem like we're not out to reveal Banksy's identity (and we're not! It'd be like advertising that Santa doesn't exist on Nickelodeon). We meet Jackie, Jonesy, Ruth, Mark, Jude, Stephan, Simon (Banksy's mate and a stand-up comedian who makes a living by pretending to be his lawyer) and-crucially-Steve Lazarides. The highly stressed Lazarides is Banksy's agent, photographer and right-hand man. He's so constantly busy we only ever see him in blur format. No wonder the Daily Mail, Wikipedia and the BBC all claim he is Banksy himself. He is, however, not Banksy. As he puts it: "I just find Banksy paintings in the car park of my local supermarket and then sell them." Knowing he's central to the whole operation we smile at him a lot in a non-gay manner. Then in a gay manner, just in case.
Our creepy tactics work. The following day Brooksy drops the info on what's about to go down. Two hundred invites are being sent out, right now, to Hollywood's rich and famous. They are being lured to a giant downtown warehouse where Banksy will flog them stencilled pieces of spray paint art for ludicrous amounts of cash. For three days after, the warehouse will then open to the public who can buy £300 prints of what the Alisters spunked thousands on. Due to FHM "getting Banksy", we're allowed in before anyone.
THE VANDALISM
Okay... you've seen the elephant already, but imagine our absolute shock when we pull up at 2476 Hunter Street to see a 14,000 16 Dumbo being vandalised in the car park. We were expecting a few phone boxes, not a living, breathing, elephant 10,000 miles from Africa. When the world's media get to see it (the next day) they'll declare it cruel and barbaric. Two days after that, the LAPD will literally storm in and scrub the elephant clean. But that's only because they don't have the access we have been graced with today.
The truth is, Big Ears couldn't be happier. We see her poo in a bag (fun), run around the warehouse (a hoot), sniff us (we smell good), eat about 7,000 M&Ms and have a kip. "She used to live on Neverland with Michael Jackson," explains her trainer - surely anything is better than that. But a happy elephant doesn't cause mass hype across the globe, so the press and police don't get to see this side of the show.
Inside the warehouse, the work is more frantic. One of Banksy's crew is banging up a canvas that says, "I can't believe you morons buy this shit". The paint is still dripping on another sign by the till that simply reads, "Fuck off". Leaflets for the celebs are being produced saying, "There's an elephant in the room. There's a problem that we never talk about. The fact that life isn't getting any fairer. 1.7 billion people have no access to clean drinking water. Twenty billion people live below the poverty line. Every day hundreds of people are made physically sick by morons at art shows telling them how bad the world is but never actually doing anything about it. Anybody want a free glass of wine? Banksy, Los Angeles, 2006."
The wine, however, is not yet chilled. And with the world's press still locked outside, FHM gets to see the last minute stencilling, crate unloading and manoeuvring of plastic rats. There are cockneys on cranes, men with guns, a crew member is smoking a doobie on a broken sofa as a pube-headed bloke is going through the camcorder footage of sticking one up on Walt Disney. Banksy is hiding out of sight outside, spraying a rat on a skip for fun. As the last pieces get hung, the titling about begins. One
of Banksy's crew simulates intercourse with one of his boss's inflatable sex ladies. "She's the twin of the Disney doll," he says, riding her in Banksy's personal policeman helmet. Splendid, but what does the man himself think of all this?
"This show has been quite a big undertaking for me," says Banksy (via about 15 different people to guarantee his cover, but only for FHM. "It represents nearly a month of getting up early in the morning. Some of the paintings have taken literally days to make." With some pieces set to be sold for £ 100,000-plus, that's not bad work. "Essentially, it's about what a horrible place the world is. It's about wanting to make the world a better place while not wanting to come across like a jerk," he continues. "Imagine what would happen if we took all the money spent on weapons and gave it to the poor. Then I'd have to grow my own cocaine; my manicurist would kill me." Fair point. Unleash the celebs!
THE SHOW
By the time the likes of Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie, Jonny Lee Miller, Jane's Addiction, House Of Pain, Keanu Reeves, Kimberley Stewart, the Sex Pistols, Duran Duran and The White Stripes are entering the venue, the crew are relaxing with beers. Except of course for Banksy who again is hiding, and Lazarides who is running around taking credit card details. There's still no press allowed within 10m of the building, and men with guns are standing under a "Fight The System""' piece - not to be post-modern - and have been ordered to "shoot any paparazzi who try to sneak in." Tonight is only for Hollywood's very rich, the famous, the crew and FHM.
"I remember when Banksy and I came here looking for venues six months ago," says crew member Jude (erm, Law), who also happens to be a major celebrity, adding another layer of irony to the event. "Banksy said he needed somewhere with a door big enough to fit an elephant through. I thought he meant because he had a massive sculpture he wanted to get in. Who knew he actually had a fucking elephant?" No time to talk, Judith, there's someone more famous than even you for us to pester. "I'm measuring up a couple of pieces," says Brad Pitt as Angelina pouts behind him. "I really like his politics," he continues. Angie's now smiling. "And you know what, he makes me laugh." Keanu however, politely suggests we toodle off back to Britain. This boy is not buying, but is merrily enjoying the free booze just as the leaflet told him to.
Minutes later it's us who are being hassled for attention, not Keanu. "Excuse me," says a baldy movie producer. "Can I have your autograph please, Banksy?" We're not Banksy. "I can confirm that he is not Banksy," pipes in Banksy's lawyer Simon. "Or is he? I'm not even that sure I'm not Banksy. And the man I work for, is he actually Banksy at all? I don't even think he knows what he looks like any more." This doesn't help. The producer explains how he's watched us hanging with "our crew" and spotted how our watch matches that of the man in the Disneyland footage. The more we declare we're not Banksy, the more he thinks we are. Eventually, we sign his art and he runs off delighted that's he's just doubled the value of his purchase.
It's at this point we're told to make ourselves useful and find the stuck truck's handbrake. It's also around now that we start to get wind on just how successful the night has been.
There's rumours coming from the sales office of takings between £ 1.8 and £2.1 milllion. Brad's bought three spray-painted canvases, including one for £130,000. Christina Aguilera's bought two, Macaulay Culkin's splashed out £ 15,000 and rapper Everlast has ordered seven items (at £40,000 each). This is a million miles from Banksy's roots of spraying "Fuck Pigs" for fun on Somerset sows. It's even a long way from last month's defacing of 500 Paris Hilton CDs. Unsurprising then that a few people are tittering, "Banksy's, like, totally sold out." But then, heading to the airport - job done-we see yet another new piece of Banksy street crime that has literally just gone up.
There's a granny mocking MySpace on La Brea Avenue, and it's free for everyone to enjoy. A tramp shouts "That's the shit right there!" as we take photos of it. Having exclusive witnessed what a huge operation manoeuvring his massive crew (at elephant) is, you can't really Mama Banksy for funding his art in this way. "When someone buys my work," Banksy later says, "They know that they're indirectly funding street damage. You'd be surprised who's cool with that."
Article about LA show in December's FHM, not read it properly, but a British take on it at least. Lots of cohorts mentioned.
THE PASSING police helicopter's searchlight flits through the windshield of Banksy's broken-down lorry as we fumble around the cabin in pitch darkness looking for the handbrake. It's 11 pm in LAs gun country and if we can't move this truck soon, the impatient African elephant whose trailer door we're blocking might stampede. "She's getting grumpy, Lee!" shouts one of Banksy's street gang.
To complicate matters further, just outside our lorry Keanu Reeves is getting drunk, Banksys lawyer is vomiting and our armed guards have fled having heard that a group of gangsters are on their way to see Banksy's limited edition artwork (then if they've got time to maybe cap some ass). We see a tiny lever labelled "Parking Brake", slam it down and clamber out of the window Dukes of Spazzard style - like the engine, the door no longer works. "Now everyone of you push!" shouts a man who officially "isn't Banksy" but unofficially is so unquestionably Banksy we just want to steal his face and put it on eBay. On Not Banksy's instruction the entire crew put down their beer, rush to the truck and heave.
How we got this level of access to Britain's most notorious vandal baffles even us. You won't have read any articles written from within his inner circle before now- if the police can't reach him despite numerous arrest warrants, there's no way a writer could, right? Wrong...
THE HUNT
We heard that Banksy was about to break America so we've gone to LA with nothing but a statement from his PR claiming the Bristol street artist is producing his biggest ever project, somewhere in Hollywood. Getting close to a man that nobody has ever seen in a city of ten million people is going to be tricky. We start our hunt at LAs graffiti hot spot, Melrose Avenue. Local street artist Guillermo tells us, "An Englishman wouldn't dare
tag here. These walls belong to the ECBS crew! Last week five South
Central gangsters wanted to tag here, and they were chased away. One of the CBS just took his top off, showed his bullet wounds and said, `Shoot me first.' But, while you're here, you might as well see some of the best new pieces in town." Guillermo points, and there it is, a 20-foot man in a cape on the side of a psychic's house. It's undoubtedly a Banksy. What's more, his spray cans are in the binthis stuff is as fresh as a daisy's bottom. "That's a Banksy?" Guillermo asks as we grin from ear to ear. "Dude, that's impressive."
And there are more. "He sprayed a rat saying `Where Is Hollywood?' on my shop two weeks ago," Dory De La Cruz, the owner of a vandalised T-shirt shop tells us. "It was amazing, but then on Friday he came back in the night and painted right over it again. Now my shop has a grey front. I want my rat back!" This is our first lead on how Banksy operates - he's clearly a controlfreak in complete charge of where, when and by whom his work is seen.
"I have seen your man!" says four-foot psychic Miss Leona. "I felt his spirit when he painted a rat on my practice and cursed it. My landlord painted over it, but your man came back and painted a superhero on my nice clean wall. Next time, I'll pour boiling water on him. I see a great future for you..." Holy spray cans, Batman, she's giving us an impromptu reading. "You will find everything you need on your journey. My husband will show you how the man you seek climbed our roof."
Having received details on how Banksy scales buildings (up drainpipes at 4am basically), we try his routine ourselves. "There's one of his crew!" shouts an English voice as we're halfway up a bush reaching for a gutter. "Excuse me, sir..." It's the BBC and suddenly we're being filmed for the NewsAt Ten. Seems everyTom, Dick and Huw Edwards is on the trail of Banksy. The mere fact England's boy is in Hollywood has made the cover of The New York Times and The Los Angeles Times while ABCs Good Morning America, CBS, and even Al-Jazeera have all dedicated slots to the stop- that hasn't even unfolded yet. L s simply sniffing around drainpipes isn't going to be enough to bag an exclusive, though.
THE FIND
We get a call. "So you've been to Melrose?" It's Brooksy.: Banksy's PR and thanks to the BBC being c our trail, she's onto us being or Banksy's trail. Brooksy's job is basically backwards PRdistracting anyone who is sniffing around her client. We explain the Beeb have been filming F1 in bushes, we've managed to find new pieces of Banksy street art fresh even she doesn't know they exist yet. This impresses. Suddenly she's willing to divulge info the of the media don't get a sniff at "Get to Disneyland now, then meet you at the Roosevelt Hot 8pm," she says. "Don't tell any Not even your editor."
We tiptoe to the magic kingdom to find that Disney has just been pranked by Banksy. Near the,' Small World ride, he has tied up a sex doll dressed as a Guantanamo Bay prisoner, then snuck out in a box amidst security chaos. Go won't give us a comment, the police want us out of their park, but we manage to glean enough information for a "so you went in through that fence?" chat with whoever it is we're about to meet at our secret hotel rendezvous.
The decision to convene at the Roosevelt is a stroke of genius - it's a celebrity Mecca with so many A-list faces to gawp at, nobody's trying to Banksy-spot.
We neck gin next to Colin Farrell and Orlando Bloom as Kelly Jones from Stereophonics points out famous people to his mate. But the most important recognisable face is that of Brooksy. She wants to know what's going down at Disney as the Banksy crew can't really return to the scene themselves. The more booze we buy, the more people we're introduced to. We act dumb, listen in on conversations, and desperately try to seem like we're not out to reveal Banksy's identity (and we're not! It'd be like advertising that Santa doesn't exist on Nickelodeon). We meet Jackie, Jonesy, Ruth, Mark, Jude, Stephan, Simon (Banksy's mate and a stand-up comedian who makes a living by pretending to be his lawyer) and-crucially-Steve Lazarides. The highly stressed Lazarides is Banksy's agent, photographer and right-hand man. He's so constantly busy we only ever see him in blur format. No wonder the Daily Mail, Wikipedia and the BBC all claim he is Banksy himself. He is, however, not Banksy. As he puts it: "I just find Banksy paintings in the car park of my local supermarket and then sell them." Knowing he's central to the whole operation we smile at him a lot in a non-gay manner. Then in a gay manner, just in case.
Our creepy tactics work. The following day Brooksy drops the info on what's about to go down. Two hundred invites are being sent out, right now, to Hollywood's rich and famous. They are being lured to a giant downtown warehouse where Banksy will flog them stencilled pieces of spray paint art for ludicrous amounts of cash. For three days after, the warehouse will then open to the public who can buy £300 prints of what the Alisters spunked thousands on. Due to FHM "getting Banksy", we're allowed in before anyone.
THE VANDALISM
Okay... you've seen the elephant already, but imagine our absolute shock when we pull up at 2476 Hunter Street to see a 14,000 16 Dumbo being vandalised in the car park. We were expecting a few phone boxes, not a living, breathing, elephant 10,000 miles from Africa. When the world's media get to see it (the next day) they'll declare it cruel and barbaric. Two days after that, the LAPD will literally storm in and scrub the elephant clean. But that's only because they don't have the access we have been graced with today.
The truth is, Big Ears couldn't be happier. We see her poo in a bag (fun), run around the warehouse (a hoot), sniff us (we smell good), eat about 7,000 M&Ms and have a kip. "She used to live on Neverland with Michael Jackson," explains her trainer - surely anything is better than that. But a happy elephant doesn't cause mass hype across the globe, so the press and police don't get to see this side of the show.
Inside the warehouse, the work is more frantic. One of Banksy's crew is banging up a canvas that says, "I can't believe you morons buy this shit". The paint is still dripping on another sign by the till that simply reads, "Fuck off". Leaflets for the celebs are being produced saying, "There's an elephant in the room. There's a problem that we never talk about. The fact that life isn't getting any fairer. 1.7 billion people have no access to clean drinking water. Twenty billion people live below the poverty line. Every day hundreds of people are made physically sick by morons at art shows telling them how bad the world is but never actually doing anything about it. Anybody want a free glass of wine? Banksy, Los Angeles, 2006."
The wine, however, is not yet chilled. And with the world's press still locked outside, FHM gets to see the last minute stencilling, crate unloading and manoeuvring of plastic rats. There are cockneys on cranes, men with guns, a crew member is smoking a doobie on a broken sofa as a pube-headed bloke is going through the camcorder footage of sticking one up on Walt Disney. Banksy is hiding out of sight outside, spraying a rat on a skip for fun. As the last pieces get hung, the titling about begins. One
of Banksy's crew simulates intercourse with one of his boss's inflatable sex ladies. "She's the twin of the Disney doll," he says, riding her in Banksy's personal policeman helmet. Splendid, but what does the man himself think of all this?
"This show has been quite a big undertaking for me," says Banksy (via about 15 different people to guarantee his cover, but only for FHM. "It represents nearly a month of getting up early in the morning. Some of the paintings have taken literally days to make." With some pieces set to be sold for £ 100,000-plus, that's not bad work. "Essentially, it's about what a horrible place the world is. It's about wanting to make the world a better place while not wanting to come across like a jerk," he continues. "Imagine what would happen if we took all the money spent on weapons and gave it to the poor. Then I'd have to grow my own cocaine; my manicurist would kill me." Fair point. Unleash the celebs!
THE SHOW
By the time the likes of Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie, Jonny Lee Miller, Jane's Addiction, House Of Pain, Keanu Reeves, Kimberley Stewart, the Sex Pistols, Duran Duran and The White Stripes are entering the venue, the crew are relaxing with beers. Except of course for Banksy who again is hiding, and Lazarides who is running around taking credit card details. There's still no press allowed within 10m of the building, and men with guns are standing under a "Fight The System""' piece - not to be post-modern - and have been ordered to "shoot any paparazzi who try to sneak in." Tonight is only for Hollywood's very rich, the famous, the crew and FHM.
"I remember when Banksy and I came here looking for venues six months ago," says crew member Jude (erm, Law), who also happens to be a major celebrity, adding another layer of irony to the event. "Banksy said he needed somewhere with a door big enough to fit an elephant through. I thought he meant because he had a massive sculpture he wanted to get in. Who knew he actually had a fucking elephant?" No time to talk, Judith, there's someone more famous than even you for us to pester. "I'm measuring up a couple of pieces," says Brad Pitt as Angelina pouts behind him. "I really like his politics," he continues. Angie's now smiling. "And you know what, he makes me laugh." Keanu however, politely suggests we toodle off back to Britain. This boy is not buying, but is merrily enjoying the free booze just as the leaflet told him to.
Minutes later it's us who are being hassled for attention, not Keanu. "Excuse me," says a baldy movie producer. "Can I have your autograph please, Banksy?" We're not Banksy. "I can confirm that he is not Banksy," pipes in Banksy's lawyer Simon. "Or is he? I'm not even that sure I'm not Banksy. And the man I work for, is he actually Banksy at all? I don't even think he knows what he looks like any more." This doesn't help. The producer explains how he's watched us hanging with "our crew" and spotted how our watch matches that of the man in the Disneyland footage. The more we declare we're not Banksy, the more he thinks we are. Eventually, we sign his art and he runs off delighted that's he's just doubled the value of his purchase.
It's at this point we're told to make ourselves useful and find the stuck truck's handbrake. It's also around now that we start to get wind on just how successful the night has been.
There's rumours coming from the sales office of takings between £ 1.8 and £2.1 milllion. Brad's bought three spray-painted canvases, including one for £130,000. Christina Aguilera's bought two, Macaulay Culkin's splashed out £ 15,000 and rapper Everlast has ordered seven items (at £40,000 each). This is a million miles from Banksy's roots of spraying "Fuck Pigs" for fun on Somerset sows. It's even a long way from last month's defacing of 500 Paris Hilton CDs. Unsurprising then that a few people are tittering, "Banksy's, like, totally sold out." But then, heading to the airport - job done-we see yet another new piece of Banksy street crime that has literally just gone up.
There's a granny mocking MySpace on La Brea Avenue, and it's free for everyone to enjoy. A tramp shouts "That's the shit right there!" as we take photos of it. Having exclusive witnessed what a huge operation manoeuvring his massive crew (at elephant) is, you can't really Mama Banksy for funding his art in this way. "When someone buys my work," Banksy later says, "They know that they're indirectly funding street damage. You'd be surprised who's cool with that."
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