Peter Kirk should be writing these words.
He’d have done it with more humour, insight and mischief than any of us. His endless passions and energy make you believe he’s somewhere still, watching himself being formed on this page piece by-piece, and twitching with an irresistible urge to make it even more mega. Not because it’s about him. Not because he thought his words were better than anyone else’s. But because, for Peter, creating something beautiful and unforgettable was as much for other people as for himself – he understood that things come alive as they come out to play.
And Peter came to fucking play.
You might think he had no rules. In fact, he had two.
The first: there were only two types of music… Acid and Techno.
And second: the only lights needed for any event were a laser and a strobe. Smoke machines allowed – but nothing else.
His unspoken order was that everyone in his life was weird, wonderful and interesting to the most interesting of humans. Being picked as his friend meant all of those things. And if you ever made a recommendation for a song, or an artist, or a book – and Peter loved it – you’d never ride a wave of pride as high again in your life.
Peter’s life was one big, messy side-quest to create, illuminate and entertain. He’s remembered by so many people in so many ways – via Stroud, Bristol, Sydney, Leeds, Berlin, Cornwall, London. His all encompassing, non-ironic love for Mr Blobby. The Outlaws. Giant Robot. Resin art so full of life, it seemed to reverberate and would break itself in your hands. Fried food. Matching knitted rainbow ponchos at a death metal gig. My Old Place. A pirated version of his favourite film, Repo Man, played at quadruple chipmunk-voice speed.
His plans for the world’s first Acid Morris-Dancing concept album. Finding examples of Berthold Block font in the wild. An unexpected, passionate enthusiasm for the right kind of magnesium supplements. An obsession with the Berghain DJ toilet, so all-encompassing that he drew up detailed plans for a scale reproduction that he was convinced would sell for a fortune. And more. And more. And more.
He oozed fun and silliness and curiosity into the world around him with a fearful intellect and delightful mischief. No snobbery, no elitism and no filter. He responded to high and low art with purity and strength of emotion.
If there’s one thing we all wish we could do it would be to let Peter know that the way things he loved made him feel… is how he made us feel too. A minute, an hour, a day and a weekend could get you so beautifully lost in the night you couldn’t quite remember what happened – yet all time spent with Peter Kirk was unforgettable.
Peter spent his time meandering with purpose. He was kind. He was flaky. He was late. He was thoughtful. He would disappear and reappear like an eccentric wizard. He was frustrating. Illuminating. Beautifully dressed in a carefully curated, crumpled Issey Miyake wardrobe. Painfully self destructive. Of course he was. How could someone so full of life not see how far they could take it? But it was Peter’s time to use, and he used it as hard or as gently or as loudly or as quietly as he wanted.
More than any of the things he loved, Peter loved us. He had a fierce love for his Mum and Dad and they for him; though rocky when he renamed them, in his youth, Minx and Dinks. The time he spent with every single person mattered a great deal to him – not one second spent with his people was ever, ever wasted.
Peter hoarded his passions in his head and his heart, and he poured them into this world before he left, leaving us to spend what should have been his time, loving, and sharing every piece of music, art and culture he left behind. Listening to techno, and remembering how good it felt when you first saw him smile.
Bye Sunshine