Killing Joke formed originally in 1978 when Coleman and drummer Paul Fergus (who’d played together previously recruited guitarist Kevin ‘Geordie’ Walker and bass player Martin ‘Youth’ Glover to form a new band. While the abrasive edge of punk was gradually being buffed, and replaced by the insipid sounds of new wave, Killing Joke explored darker musical and philosophical territory, with heavier beats that provided the heavy rock foundation for subsequent bands such as Nine Inch Nails and Ministry.
“Bands like us, Public Image and Joy Division, we didn’t just do that simple 4-4 sort of beat – we tried to explore different beats, and we thought out of the box when we thought of rhythm. We wondered ‘what is an English rhythm?’ which is really an interesting question. And given in England the Christian church got rid of the old Celtic churches, you don’t really know what an English rhythm is!”
To some extent, the Killing Joke philosophical ethos can be traced back to the band’s interpretation of the punk attitude, and Coleman’s own desire to explore the boundaries of philosophical and educational experience. “If I think back to when we started and going on European tours, everywhere there was a punk bar, or a small alternative gig with graffiti on the wall,” Coleman says. “The sense of liberty was widespread across Europe and the UK. There was much more of a sense of belonging to a way of thinking that was outside of the box. Some people fell for the whole Sid Vicious, that you had to have spiky hair and a safety pin in your nose, but for other people who felt more about punk, it was about individuality, not going along with the herd, thinking about things for yourself. It was about education really, and the pursuit of knowledge.”
Killing Joke went on to have major commercial and popular success in the ‘80s, with albums such as 1985’s Night Time conveying the underside of the human and social condition. Coleman, never a shrinking violet on or off the stage also used his lyrics to explore the imagery of the occult, an interest he shared with some of his fellow band members. (In the early ‘80s Coleman, Walker and Glover even retreated to Iceland where they intended to witness the apocalypse.)
While the omnipresent threat of nuclear war in the ‘80s meant that global apocalypse was, in theory at least, only an ill-considered push of the button away, these days the threat is more insidious, invariably tied to the damage to the environment caused by errant industrial practices. Coleman remains as disappointed in the inadequacies and imperfections of the human race, though he hasn’t completely given up on the notion of immediate apocalypse.
“That’s a very good point – I think my mood on that issue depends on the day in question,” Coleman laughs manically. “I’m speechless at the state of the world – man manages to get to the moon, but still manages to shit in his own water. We can’t even work out decent drainage so we don’t have to put all the crap from the city into the oceans; wonder why the fuck all the fish are dying! Some days I despair about the human condition!”
BY PATRICK EMERY
