In keeping with the great English tradition of confiding over a cuppa, Jeremy Deller has something to admit as we sit in a cash-only caff on Holloway Road. ‘I’m probably the only person who’s ever cried at a Motörhead concert,’ he says conspiratorially when I ask him if he is easily moved. ‘It was so beautiful, the scene, it was elemental and simple and elegant, the whole stage set-up and the power of it. It was just overwhelming, the classicism. This is the essence of rock music, this thing I love, distilled down to the simplest thing: these men playing, the racket they’re making.’
That little anecdote sums up the unique way Deller perceives the world. He has a knack for finding beauty in absurdity and, in turn, can weaponise absurdity to make pertinent social commentary (see 2017’s ‘Strong and stable my arse’ poster). And he is completely devoid of snobbery; inspiration is everywhere, there for the taking. So, when I compliment him on his ice-creamcoloured windbreaker, he doesn’t insist we return to the work but rather tells me he got it on sale and later, frustratingly, saw it further marked down at Bicester Village. Huh? I can’t really imagine you at Bicester Village, I say. ‘Going there is a spectacle, isn’t it? It’s just fascinating, anthropologi - cally. It was chaos. It was amazing.’ I believe him, he probably did find it fascinating.
