Mark Fisher Booklet

Ice Cream Man David Greene Summer 1998. An email from Fisher asking me to contribute to a book on his work. ‘I know how scornful you are of these things, but then it is your rapier wit and cynical vision that I seek.’

(MF 98/07/07, 04:03) The internet makes geography invisible. Only the timestamp hints at location.

‘Are you anxious to legitimise your career by support acts from the word industry?’ (DG 98/07/16, 20:13) ‘The book will be nothing more than another piece of vanity publishing masquerading as an intellectual review of the pop-consumer fin-de-millennium position. I am currently in Yokohama working with a Japanese rock god who lies on his back on the stage waving his legs in the air and playing the guitar with his teeth.’ (MF 98/07/17, 02:41) Typically blunt, and mired in trivia, Fisher was in Japan.

22 July 1999. 10:50pm. On Channel 4, Mark Morrison gives a fair impression of aggression, a mixed-race gang of good-looking kids performing against a psychedelic background reminiscent of San Francisco in 1965. The song Crazy completes the time warp. I flick to another channel, avoiding the Great Ford Summer Drive (cute graphics of hyper-red strawberries drifting against a white ground) and zap a video on the website of the model Caprice, singing her new single against another 1960s psychedelic background. This banal scene, the background noise of recycled media, is the real site of Fisher’s work: an environment of images and sound. His architecture is