A Funeral, But Make It Fashion

Last week's Reframing Death prompted a range of responses in support of our call to create a new positive narrative around death that moves it beyond a niche introverted conversation. One such DM was from Jonny Banger, the man behind the renegade clothing brand Sports Banger and co-curator of the latest iteration of The Peoples Pyramid, a project initiated by the electronic duo KLF.

"Death is the one constant in life, so we might as well have some fucking fun with it" - Jonny Banger

The pyramid is designed to be built from 34,592 Bricks of Mu, each containing a small portion of an individual’s cremated remains. This process, called MuMufication, offers a unique form of memorialisation, blending both funeral rites and a celebration of life. The pyramid is expected to take centuries to complete, evolving into a lasting, collective tribute that transcends individual lifetimes.

Each November, new Bricks of Mu are ceremonially laid during The People's Day of Death, a public ritual blending mourning, art and celebration.

Let’s start at the beginning. Tell us about how you got involved.

I really didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I arrived in Liverpool in November 2023 at the designated meeting spot, then we boarded a ferry across the Mersey to Birkenhead. The journey, done in complete silence, felt pretty surreal. It stayed that way until they started reading out the names of the bricks over the tannoy – the names of the people whose ashes were being laid that day. And then it really hit me: this wasn’t just some abstract project. This was about real death, real people, real families and real friends who were grieving. 

Then what happened? What else were people doing? 

Everyone going to the funeral was wearing high-vis workwear, which added another surreal layer to the whole experience. So I was on a ferry with about 400 strangers, gale-force winds rocking us back and forwards, thinking, What the fuck have I got myself into? 

Towards the end of the ride, they asked everyone to break the silence by shouting out the names of their dearly departed loved ones. I was standing there, shouting my mum’s name in my head, along with the names of friends I’d lost. It was powerful. But the strange thing is, I couldn’t bring myself to actually say the names out loud. It takes so much to shout out the names of your friends and family who’ve died. 

On to the funeral itself… 

When we disembarked, the base of the pyramid – still small and portable – was loaded onto a forklift truck. There was a bagpiper hanging off the side, and a strobe light flashing as it made its way through the streets of Birkenhead. There were no road closures or anything; this was all happening in the middle of everyday life. But there’s something about funeral rites where walking in the road feels natural, like a way of reclaiming space. That in itself felt beautiful and powerful.

When we reached the ceremony site, the bricks were laid, and words were spoken about each person whose ashes were being added to the pyramid. And then, at the end of it all, there was a party.

“Bill and Jimmy asked if I’d be interested in getting involved the following year,” Banger tells us. “I said yes, shook their hands and they looked at me, smiling, like, ‘He doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into’.”

What connects The People’s Pyramid with your own brand’s ethos?

Death has this strange way of bringing out the best in a community. You see people stepping up – making food, doing the shopping, supporting family and friends. That kind of solidarity speaks directly to the ethos of what we do at Sports Banger.

I mean, the word “community” gets thrown around a lot these days, but in the context of death, it’s something real, something you see firsthand. When they asked me to create a collection of high-vis workwear for the pyramid builders, I was all in. They wanted me to put on a fashion show, and I like a challenge, but this was more than just a show – it carried real weight.

Over the following year we worked on it, I felt the burden of those bricks. One of the looks we sent down the catwalk was literally a body bag. I had to call up different performers, friends and designers to get them involved, and every time I had to explain what the project was about. Eventually, I just broke it down to, “We’re doing 26 funerals in a fashion show.” And people were like, “Right, cool. I get it.”

How did people react? 

They’d hear about it and say, “That sounds weird. It’s a bit culty.” But I’ve never seen it that way. It’s memorialisation. What’s the difference between building this pyramid and putting a plaque on a park bench? I think people struggle with alternative funerals because they associate them with green issues, humanism, paganism or something New Age. But really, it’s just about participation. It’s all conveyor-belt crematoriums with 20-minute slots and then on to the next one. The People’s Pyramid encourages people to participate, to reclaim those rituals.

The funeral industry is so commercialised – black limousines, corporate funeral homes that feel cold and detached, and do you really want six creepy blokes who look like nightclub bouncers carrying your mum to her grave?

How did the 26 funerals go?

When the ceremony happened, a lot of my friends told me it was one of the most moving experiences they’d ever been part of. But as the final brick was laid, things got hectic. The ferry and procession were faster than expected, and the fashion show had to start an hour earlier. If you know anything about fashion shows, you’ll know they never start early – an hour late is more normal.

So, as the bagpiper finished playing the last note, I looked around and couldn’t see any models. People were crying and sobbing around me, and I just put my head down thinking, You’ve finally fucked it. You’ve ruined a funeral. But then, one of the models appeared, and it all started to come together.

In previous years, there had always been the death part, but this time we really brought the life after the death. The fashion show was absurd, but so is life. We cast people who’d never walked a runway before, took our whole crew to the Adelphi, and suddenly, there was this energy, this celebration of life.

Afterwards, talking with the KLF, they were like, “You’ve completely fucked us—what are we supposed to do next year?” And I felt the same way, like, You’ve fucked me too. I mean, I do fashion shows that are radical in their own way – we do them in warehouses in Tottenham, call it off-London Fashion Week, no buyers, barely any press. But after doing a fashion show at a funeral, with real emotion and real purpose? Anything else feels kind of empty and vacuous now. So yeah, I’m committed. I’ll be back every year. It feels like part of my responsibility now.

In what ways does the project challenge conventional perceptions of death? 

I think there’s this widely held belief – especially in Britain – that people don’t like to talk about death. But honestly, I’ve found the opposite to be true. Once the conversation starts, people are actually grateful and eager to join in. Talking about death feels deeply authentic, and it’s one of those subjects where, once you open the door, you realise how much people have been holding back.

When I first saw that Protein was discussing how we are reframing death, I thought, Yeah, it’s about time. It felt like a shift was happening. The fact that we’re here, having this open, upfront conversation about death – it shows that people are ready. I’ve been having these kinds of talks with my friends, and it’s powerful. It’s good to talk about it.

You know, there was a revolution around childbirth not too long ago. People started taking control over how they give birth, reclaiming something that had been heavily medicalised and standardised. Now, there are countless ways people choose to bring life into the world, ways that feel personal and meaningful to them. I think it’s just as important that we take control over how we deal with death – how we honour our dead and how we process loss.

How have you noticed culture beginning to engage with these themes in more positive ways? 

Death has become an industry, like everything else, and trying to find cracks in that system, moments of light or ways to subvert it, feels essential. It’s about not getting fleeced by capitalist forces that profit off something so universal and personal.

I think these conversations are happening more now because we’re living in a time where everything is consumed and digitised. We’ve never exchanged more words than we do today – online, on our phones, everywhere. And yet, death still feels like one of the last taboos. But the thing is, we’re all going to die anyway, so why not just talk about it? It’s the one constant in all our lives so we might as well kind of fucking have some fun with it, you know.

What do you see the future of death-related rituals or practices looking like, and how can creativity help reshape traditions?

Yeah, I mean, I’d like to see outdoor funeral pyres fully legalised again. That’s how cremation actually started in this country. Pyres are still central to how many cultures and religions, like Hinduism, deal with death, and there’s something really honest and powerful about that. There was a guy, William Price, a Welsh druid from the late 1800s, who, when he passed away, had his cremation on top of a hill in front of 20,000 people. That eventually led to the Cremation Act in the early 1900s, which gave us the crematoriums and the sort of conveyor belt system we have today. But personally? Stick me on a pile of wood, or under one, and watch me burn from a hill – that sounds pretty ideal.

I think what we need is just more honesty around death. You’re starting to see it in other areas – people reconnecting with the land, leaning into folk traditions. Death fits naturally into that space. We used to have a much better relationship with death, or at least with how we treated the dead. I think creativity can help us get back to that – finding ways to make rituals feel personal, meaningful and connected to who we are and where we come from.

Are there any inspiring projects you have seen that you would like to share?

Now that I’m in it – and it’s been about a year and a half – I feel like my eyes are open. I’m starting to notice these kinds of projects everywhere. Like that piece you guys wrote the other day – before, I might not have connected with it. But now, after having this experience, it really resonates. I think I’ll keep seeing more of it. I mean, it’s beautiful, and to call it radical feels strange because it really shouldn’t be radical. It should just be a given that we can talk openly about death and handle it in whatever way feels right for us.

These aren’t conversations I ever expected to be having, and now here I am, talking to you about it. I’m even speaking at a festival in May about this stuff. Claire, who’s been an undertaker for 20 years and is part of The People’s Pyramid, will be there too, along with a few others involved. It’s called Neo Ancients, curated by Weird Walk, and it’s happening up in Stroud. And honestly, I’m just a working-class kid from Colchester – I didn’t think I’d be the kind of person drawn into this world. But whenever I talk to people about it, especially young people, they’re interested. And getting young people involved in these conversations? That’s the way forward.

Would you eventually like to be a brick in The People’s Pyramid?

You know, when you’re cremated, it’s a lot of ashes. Like, 23 grams is just a couple of fingers’ worth. So, people have all these ashes, and they do different things with them. One option is to have a bit of it put into a brick for The People’s Pyramid, and you can still do whatever else you want with the rest – scatter them, keep them, whatever.

As for me, I don’t know. I think I’d want to be cremated, but then again, cremation uses a ton of energy – like, the amount someone would use in their regular life over three months or something. So maybe I’d go for being buried instead. But if I did that, I’ve always said I’d want to be buried face down, so flowers can grow out of my arse.