Doin’ the Head Boogie with CHINGA CHAVIN [1977]

Text by Lincoln D. Kirk / FFanzeen, 1977

Intro and live image by Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2021
Other images from the Internet

Doin’ the Head Boogie with Chinga Chavin

This article about Country Porn lead singer Chinga Chavin was written by Western New York rock historian Lincoln D. Kirk, and was printed in FFanzeen Number 2, way back in October 1977.

A previously unreleased interview with Chavin by myself was published last year on this blog (HERE). At the time of this article, Chavin had only released one eponymously titled album, Country Porn and later would have Jet Lag, and years later, Live and Politically Erect. – RBF, 2021. 

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What’s this? You say you hate country music? But you do dig smut, don’t you? I thought as much. Well then, good buddy, allow me to introduce you to Chinga Chavin’s Country Porn, the world’s first X-rated country band.

X-rated country? Doesn’t sound like something that’ll go over big in the Bible Belt, much less country fairs, John Denver Rocky Mountain  hideaways, the Grand Ole Opry, or even beer-brawl Texas roadhouses. But that won’t stop Nick Chavin. He’ll hit all those circuits anyway, knowing full well he’s setting himself up as a target for rednecks waiting in parking lots across America to tear him limb-from-limb., for verbally raping their virgin kid sisters’ ears with his explicit raunch – after all, it’s happening to him already.

Chavin’s demented combination of rugged individualism, hucksterism, and salacious pornography can be traced back to his years as a teenage pervert in Juarez,. That fabled flesh-hole, across the border from his hometown, El Paso, quite probably the most debauched of all wide-open Mexican border towns (Juarez, that is; the El Paso Chamber of Commerce as been known to get awfully nervous when people allude to the two cities in the same breath!), serves as the inspiration and origin for many of his outrageous lyrics. To hear those who were there tell about it, New York’s modern-day street-punks are practically model of strait-laced gentility compared to the denizens of Juarez’ golden era. Pre-teen sex, bestiality as night-club entertainment, and other fun depravities most people only read about, watch in porn flicks, or fantasize about could easily be had for a price, and not an overly high one at that. To be sure, for most Texas teens in the ‘50s, these pockets of paradise were rarely more than temporary outlets, places to sow wild oats and to taste the pleasures of manhood, a very occasional thing at best. To Chavin, Juarez became an obsession (“love at first sight,” he’s characterized it), and fond memories festered in his warped psyche long after he went respectable and became a high school English teacher in the San Francisco Bay area, living the good life in Marin County.

But then along came the 1970s. Charlie Rich’s “Behind Closed Doors” opened the floodgates, causing an uproar over its supposedly “dirty” lyrics. Nevertheless, despite bitter denunciations, country and pop fans lapped it up in the millions. In its wake, a rash of bedroom songs invaded first the country airwaves, then peaked over into Top 40.

Keep in mind that the young honky-tonkers  who thrilled to barroom weepers and cheating laments in the ‘50s have long since grown up into staunch conservatives, to whom country music is the last bastion of true, red-blooded, God-fearing, moral Americanism in the media. All those songs about warm and tender bodies, making love in the hot afternoons, and having daydreams about night things are ruining their teenage children’s morality, breaking up marriages and families, causing a decline in church attendance, and eating away at our democratic institutions. And you think you’ve got it tough being a punk? Try being a Christian parent, what with sinners like Billie Jo Spears, Barbara Mandrell, Bill Anderson, and Mel Tillis seducing your youngsters and loved ones into a life of lust and slavery!!

But, let’s face it. Even with all the Ruby’s taking their love to town, the afternoon delights, the blankets on the ground, the girls who get prettier at closing time, and similar manifestations of decadence run amok, all these songs of illicit sex and forbidden pleasures are pretty smut-less. The strongest four-letter words are still “hell” and “damn,” and even these can still get a record into trouble (Farron Young’s “Here I am in Dallas” was banned on dozens of country stations simply because of the vehemence with which the former singing cowboy repeated the relatively innocuous line, “Where the hell are you?!”). The actual sex act is never mentioned in any of these songs (the lovers generally just considered it, or just woke up following their dastardly deed). Besides, sex in country lyrics is generally dignified as a daring, meaningful expression of love and tender emotions instead of pure animal lust. IF there’s no “true love” involved, the singer is usually beset by enormously crippling guilt pangs. All acts considered “deviant” by a random panel of evangelists are strictly taboo, and sex in general talked about rather than done. So much for smut in country lyrics.

Into this setting steps Chinga Chavin, to whom the very idea of porno lyrics in an idiom which continually tries to clean itself up is enough to change the entire course of his life, from reputable to purposely offensive. Even his name is extended to be offensive, “chinga” being Spanish for “fuck you.” Even his guitar is depraved, being constructed out of a toilet seat. This guy is all the evil, filthy things that so-called evil, filthy AM-country isn’t. Forget that idealized, romantic balladry – you won’t get it from Chinga. This pervert says everything straight out. Lyrics like, “She wore my ring around her neck/But she wore her legs around mine” (from “Tit Stop Rock”) ain’t something you’re gonna hear on a Ray Price record!

If you suspect the Nashville-music press is ignoring his existence, you’re almost right. Country Music, perhaps the top mag in the field, did make the mistake of reviewing his album and has lived to regret it. But the porn press has done much to publicize Chinga, almost to the point of landing him major-label contract (from – believe it or not – Motown, who backed down at the last minute and signed Pat Boone instead; true story!). Indeed, he was an underground hero, particularly in San Francisco, before he ever committed a note to vinyl. If nothing else, his exploits have made for what is known in the press as “hot copy.”

You see, Chinga’s the sort who would play a concert in a divinity school without toning down the pandering obscenity of his lyrics and stage act. He would and did hire porno film star Gina Fornelli to bump, grind and reveal her world-famous mammaries – while dressed in a nun’s habit! He wasn’t asked back. Then there was the time he played San Quentin, fondling his dancer’s boobs as he sang with a plastic dick on his nose. He caused such a riot among the crowd of ultra-horny inmates that he almost found himself staying in prison as an unwilling guest of the State! This Chinga Chavin fellow is so low, he didn’t even soften his act when his own, very-mainstream mother was in the audience. Now that’s nasty!

If some of this garbage seems to stretch credulity a bit, if you think I’m making this up, send $8.95 (I know that’s a lot, but put things in perspective; it was also the list price of the soundtrack of A Star is Born, which has about as much redeeming musical value as Chinga has a redeeming moral value!!) to CP Products, [New York address that is no longer valid – RBF, 2021], and ask for album CP-666, Chinga Chavin’s Country Porn. (Don’t look for it in your local stores, cos they won’t have it!) If you’re into unmitigated trash, it’s worth every penny.

No expense was spared! Chinga attempts to supply you, the consumer, with a worthwhile product, one that will bring you hours of disgusting entertainment. Chinga brought in no less a record-industry-respected figure than Michael Brovsky, the man who brought you Jerry Jeff Walker and similar namby-pamby (in comparison to Chinga, at least) “outlaws,” to professionally produce the album. The engineering is first-rate, thanks to the facilities of Quadraphonic Studios – one of Nashville’s finest. Augmenting regular Country Porn members – Chinga, Beaver Bob Herman and Blue Berry – are some of country’s most awesome sidemen. If names like Kenny Buttrey [d. 2004], Norbert Putnam, Bobby Emmons [d. 2015], Bobby Thompson [d. 2005], and Chip Young [d. 2014] don’t mean anything to you, look through the personnel listings in the country bins of your favorite record stores and count how many times these names pop up. And on steel guitar, Chinga managed to procure the services of the man whom many worship as the greatest steelman of them all, Curley Chalker [d. 1998]. Helping out on background vocals is no less than Dobie (“In Crowd,” “Drift Away”) Gray [d. 2011]. This ain’t no low-budget quickie, nosireebob!

Musically, it’s more country-rock than hardcore country. Hold it – I didn’t mean to conjure up Eagles and Poco images with that term “country-rock.” Imagine a middle ground between rockabilly and Merle Haggard. Take it down to a Texas sleaze tavern and throw in some R&B and Tex-Mex, give it some Nashville-tinged gloss, and you’ll get an idea of what sort of country-rock this is. The music is performed pretty much straight, all the better to emphasize the discrepancy between Chavin and “proper” country music. There’s only one drawback – poor Chinga can’t sing to save his ugly ass (there’s a photograph of his ass on the inside cover, such is how I know it’s ugly!). But while his voice lacks all flexibility and he has the gosh-darndest ol’ time trying to carry a tune, he does have this sardonic leer-turning-to-sneer in his voice that is simply perfect for the under-the-counter rancidity of his lyrics.

And, after all, it is the lyrics that you as a punk are more interested in than the music, right? Things get off to a great start with “Talkin’ Matamoros First Piece O’ Ass Blues,” in which Chinga rewrites his glory days at Juarez. Our hero recounts the loss of his innocence to a “cute little Chicano whore” in one of the album’s most explicitly, humorous, and smoothly produced (mariachi trumpets, castanets, and all) tracks. To fully appreciate it, you really have to hear the way Chinga says things like “Psst, hey meester / How’d you like to fuck my seester” and other deathlessly poetic lines. On the other hand, “Cum Stains on the Pillow (Where Your Sweet Head Used to Be”) is an almost poignant love-lost lament which, with a few lyric revisions, would be just right for a Tennessee barroom jukebox.

Probably the only song which could get any airplay at all is the trucker song, “Get It On the Run.” You won’t find a radio station in America, though, with balls furry enough to risk their FCC license by playing the rockin’, rollin’ “Four A.M. Jump,” with its all-time irresistible singalong chorus, “We’re gonna jump, suck, lick, fuck / And hump all night… / Till we ball away the blues.” And what a Capella doo-wop group wouldn’t love to shake their middle-class/middle-age audiences up with a few sounds of “Sit, Sit, Sit  (Sit On My Face)”? Don’t overlook the R&B stomper “Head Boogie” (“Get down and poach them eggs / Three minutes soft cooked / and well done” sure ain’t no Julia Child cooking lesson, friends and neighbors!!).

Two cuts deserve special mention. “Asshole from El Paso” is Chavin’s biggest hit, so to speak, though no one gives him credit for it. Seems an old University of Texas frat brother, Kinky Friedman, heard Chavin do this parody of “Okie from Muskogee,” added it to his (Kinky’s) act, and now everyone thinks it’s a Freidman original. But Kinky is strictly a lightweight when it comes to porn-country. If you want to hear how lines like “We keep our women virgins ‘till they’re married / So fuckin’ sheep is good enough for us” should really be delivered, forget Friedman, and rely on Chavin to show you the true way.

Speaking of “the true way,” perhaps the most controversial of all Country Porn favorites is “Cum Unto Jesus.” Here, Chinga  takes on that most sacred of all country cows: fundamentalist evangelism (simplified for all you atheistic punks out there, that means “religion”). As Bobby Emmons plays “Rock of Ages,” that scurrilous heathen Chinga renders a sermonette from the Anal Robert Show, with a devastating attack on country-gospel music. This wicked sinner, Chavin, apparently hopes to draw his listeners with him into the flaming pits of Hades, claiming our dear sweet Savior actually encourages us to engage in perverted sexual activity. May the red-hot fires of eternal damnation forever punish Nicholas Chavin and all his propensity for darin’ to disseminate the blasphemous chorus, “You’ve got to cum for Peter / Cum for Paul / Cum for Mary, too / If you cum twice / Jesus Christ will bless you.” It’s enough to give a Bible-toting Christian a vicious hardon, I tell you. Anyone who listens to this heinous record will surely perish from the face of the Earth! Satan, himself, must be turning the record presses for this diabolical lump of vinyl. Hallelujah!!!

Believe me, this guy China does have a way with smut. So even if you don’t dig country music, you owe it to your immoral [sic] soul to check out Country Porn. 10-4, good buddy!!

An Interview with CHINGA CHAVIN [1979]

An Interview with Chinga Chavin

Text by Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 1979/2020
Live image by Robert Barry Francos 
Other images from the Internet

This interview with Country Porn lead singer Chinga Chavin and the introduction has never been published before. FFanzeen printed an article about Chavin back in 1977, written by Western New York scholar Lincoln D. Kirk, in FFanzeen #2 (which will make it to this blog eventually). At the time of the interview, Chinga Chavin had released two albums, Country Porn and Jet Lag. Years later, he also released Live and Politically Erect, which I have not yet heard as of this publishing.

I don’t remember exactly how I connected to him, but I did the interview in the office of his advertising company in 1979 in promotion for Jet Lag; I had the opportunity to see him play at the Lone Star Café in New York City, and may have approached him then. It was a kind of Country-punk-boogie show even a punk rocker like myself could love, or maybe because of it. Note that this was years before country punk bands like Rank and File and Uncle Fucker.

When reading this again in retrospect, there are some attitudes by myself and Chinga that I find cringeworthy when it comes to discussing certain sexual details, gender bias, or racist terms (inherent or blatant). It’s important to see this in the context of 1979 when I was still a young’n. The wording of my questions are different than ones I would ask today, for certain. My apologies in advance. – RBF, 2020.

 

Chinga on the left (photo by RBF)

El Paso, Texas, and across the bridge is Juarez, Mexico, the most infamous of all border towns due to its open carnality and perversions in the mid-1950s to mid-’60s. Whatever you wanted was there for a price – and not an expensive one, at that. Sex, drugs, anything.

In this environment grew a not-so-quiet boy named Nick Chavin. By his early teens, he was well indoctrinated into the ways of Juarez, a short distance from where he lived. After hanging out in this town for a few years, he developed his nickname: “Chinga,” which is a Mexican slang word for fuck. Thus was born Chinga Chavin.

Despite the depravity of his youth, he grew up and became, of all things, an English Teacher. Together with his knowledge of the English and Spanish languages and their slang, he added his musical influences of rock’n’roll. Eventually, he quit his schoolwork for the fame and fortune of the stage.

Chinga formed a band, Country Porn, which he fronted. Becoming quite popular in areas of the Southwest and California, he put out an album, titled after the band, Country Porn, sponsored by Penthouse, which sold it through ads in the magazine. On it were such diverse cuts as “Cum Stains on My Pillow (Where Your Sweet Head Used to Lay,” “Four A.M. Jump,” “First Piece O’ Ass Blues,” “Cum Unto Jesus,” “Tit Stop Rock,” and his most famous song, “Asshole from El Paso” [Editor’s Note: the latter was co-written with Chavin’s college roommate, singer and mystery novelist Kinky Friedman – 2020]. Along with this track, his trademark is his guitar, which is made out of a toilet seat.

And now there is his new album, Jet Lag. It is new in both style and song. Some of the songs include “$49 Divorce,” “Hard Love,” “Mechanical Man,” “One More Ride,” and the only cut that sounds anything like the previous album, “Jailbait” [Editor’s Note: at the time, this was a surprisingly common theme, with examples being The Marbles’ “Jailbait” and The Gizmos’ “Jailbait Janet” – 2020.]

I interviewed Chinga Chavin at the beginning of the Autumn of 1979, the day after his first New York appearance. The show was at a Country & Western club on Fifth Avenue in the Village called The Lone Star Café. The audience was enthusiastic and included the likes of Al Goldstein [d. 2013], editor of Screw magazine, and family. It was enjoyed by all.

Chinga is not overly tall, but he is very thin, with a large-ish nose, a mole on his cheek, shoulder-length hair, and a not-too-pronounced Texan accent (due to living in California for so long). His wit is sharp and is a fun person with whom to talk.

The following is the transcript of the time I spent with him, proving him to be one of the few unpretentious musicians I have met. As many times as he as been interviewed and God knows how often he’s had to answer some of the questions I asked, he was enthusiastic – and that made it a lot easier.

* * *

FFanzeen: What’s one of your sets like?
Chinga Chavin: The second set has the finale of “Cum Unto Jesus,” from the Country Porn album, along with “4 A.M. Jump” and a stripping nun. It turns from a nun’s habit to a punk rock outfit. It’s all leather with her breasts sticking out. It’s the erotic environment of Catholicism: I think Catholicism is naturally erotic. Catholicism is the S&M branch of Christianity. That’s part of the whole monologue I do, setting (“Cum Unto Jesus”) up. The sets are hot.

FF: Do you sell out most places you play?
Chinga: In California, yeah. Last week I played my first East Coast performance with Vassar Clements [d. 2005], and it was sold out. I opened for Vassar and they shot the shit out of us. They popped our hemorrhoids. That band is very Christian. The Lone Star Café was reasonably sold out since they wouldn’t let any more people in after the first show. It will take me a while in Manhattan to develop that word of mouth. It depends on where I play. I wouldn’t sell out a 3500 coliseum. Up to five or six hundred seats, I probably could. When I develop a word of mouth type thing and have played a few months in an area or club, that’s when I really start packing people in, because without the massive airplay – even though Jet Lag is an airplayable record – I can’t sell out in the same traditional manner. It has to be word of mouth. It was in New York on WNEW-FM’s playlist, but I didn’t get the promo push since I am not on any major label. Word of mouth is the only thing I have going for me.

FF: Do your audiences come to see the singer, the songs, or the girls?
Chinga: I’d say the singer and the songs, because I’ve worked without women. A year or a year-and-a-half ago was the first time I started working with women. Okay, the answer to that question: the songs and the idea of using the girls in that way comes from me. So, I think it’s sort of the whole demented approach I use for the stage set. Like, once I used a mannequin on stage. I’ll eat live chickens. I’ll do crazy things on stage. That’s the main catch. I don’t just do a straight set. There are going to be some people coming for the girls, but I use skin in a one-hour show in the last 120 seconds. That’s two minutes of skin in a one-hour show. I mean, I really don’t think it applies to that. Here in Manhattan, you can go see a topless show, or see anything you want, but for five bucks at the door and another five or ten for drinks for two minutes of skin, well, if I thought that were true. I’d leave show business and throw 30 women on stage.

FF: Because of your set, is there any place you’ve been afraid to play?
Chinga: Last week with Vassar Clements, I had serious misgivings. He’s an ex-Klansman and a strong Christian. Yeah, the Palomino Club, I’ve been afraid to play in Los Angeles. It’s getting a little more rock’n’roll there now. I’ve played army bases, service man’s clubs; sex is sort of a common surrogate that cuts through a lot of things. It’s hard to find some place that’s devoid of sex, unless it’s a nunnery or something like that. I’d have a real hard time playing the Vatican. Yeah, the Vatican. It started with a fear of Mexicans, what with using the name “Chinga” and the whole Chicano thing, but Chicanos loved the set. Texans are bananas. I have played in Texas and I usually play at conventions – and they go bananas. There’s a corporation called BWM, Inc. – Blue Water Maintenance, Incorporated – that cleans oil pipelines and refineries, who put on conventions with the oil companies twice a year, and they have us there. We do “Asshole from El Paso” 15 times. Texans are as reasonably chauvinistic about Texas, as I am, having lived there some years. Since a lot of the songs deal with Texas, they love it. The thing I fear more is that since I use some religious stuff in the show, I get more of the people on the religious things. Occasionally, there’ll be a guy with veins popping and he’ll walk out, but basically, in the early days of my shows when I was in a bar band and someone was coming in that bar, and they heard we were Country Porn and they knew we were playing there, with “Dry Humping” and “Cum Stains on my Pillow,” when he was giving his money he knew what he was coming to see. I mean, he’s either bought the record or read about us, so it’s like, we have to live up to his expectations. I play to a following. It’s not massive, but it’s a following. They come specifically to see this thing called Country Porn. That is, unless they mis-read it as Country Prune, or Prawn or Country Prone, that type thing. It would be like going to see Deep Throat and being offended by the sex.

FF: Do you ever get hostile audiences?
Chinga: I know what it’s like to have a hostile audience. Like last night, during the second set, I got some real good response on “Catholic Girls.” During the first set, they were pretty good, but there was one line they didn’t laugh on: “Pornography is just technology’s contribution to jerking off.” I couldn’t believe it . I never knew a West Coast audience not to go bananas over that. And there was no recognition. They just didn’t understand what I was trying to say: that without media, this thing called pornography would not exist. But, I mean, even the thing that the courts call “pornography” is media’s and technology’s slotting in to whacking off. The first caveman that wacked off from a drawing on the wall as opposed to in his mind, I mean, that was it. There is no such thing called pornography. What there is, is masturbation. And that’s why I added sensuality; that’s why I added that rap. And then they started laughing when I said that guys don’t have to apologize to the palm of their hand for cumming too quick.

FF: George Carlin [d. 2008] has a whole bit about masturbation – you know, don’t tell your right hand you’re doing it with your left. It’s called “Teenage Masturbation.” It’s on the Evening with Wally Londo Featuring Bill Slaszo album.
Chinga: Oh, no. I didn’t know that. I gotta check some dates ‘cause I played with George Carlin in San Quentin. There’s an article about it in the San Quentin News. That was quite a few years ago and I did that rap. I wonder if that son-of-a-bitch ripped me off. Goddamn! I thought that approach was unique. The line of rap that I go at is psychological. Like, the idea that all connotations that deal with reproduction and excrement are bad. You don’t mind being called an ankle.

FF: Who made up the line the announcer said, that you “put the cunt back in country”?
Chinga: I did. I didn’t like the way the announcer said I was coming on stage for the second time – get it? – a second time. I can make love up to once a night, that’s it. Next question.

FF: Out of pure curiosity, do your friends refer to you as “Nick” or as “Chinga”?
Chinga: Chinga.

FF: What happened when you were supposed to be signed with Motown and they signed Pat Boone instead?
Chinga: Oh, that was years ago. Motown, unbeknownst to me, in those days, was just using my titles and staff. They needed publicity. They wanted a few random notes so they used me. I don’t think they ever really seriously considered signing Country Porn. Not since Debby Boone’s “You Light Up My Wife.”

FF: How about when you played at a prison and got locked in overnight?
Chinga: Well, I wasn’t actually locked in. We were just detained there for a while. What happened was I brought in these North Beach strippers, my own side of Sodom and Gomorrah, and they were wearing tops that were see-through, and I got a little carried away and ripped it off one of them. These guys started fighting for a better view and a small riot started. It wasn’t because of what was happening on stage, but this mass fight started. Then there was an investigation and we had to fill out a lot of forms. It took quite a few hours. We just thought we might not be leaving for a while. I have a review of the show at San Quentin that said it went real good.

FF: Have you ever been arrested?
Chinga: I was arrested for indecent exposure in Haywood. This is a couple of years ago. Haywood, California. I used to go on, in those days, in Bermuda shorts that were cut-offs, cowboy boots, and a raincoat or trench coat. It looked like I was naked underneath it so they grabbed me. It was only after taking off my clothes that they could see that I actually wasn’t indecent. I thought it was sort of a paradox situation. Removing clothes to show you’re not indecent.

FF: What’s some of your upcoming unrecorded songs?
Chinga: “Remedial Dancing for Whites.” It’s a comedy disco concept. We did one tape of it already. The music stops with a percussion break, and I say, “Alright we’re all gonna learn to clap right on the beat. We’re going back to basic remedial rhythm.” “I got a Ph.D. in Sociology to clap? Whaddya mean, like this?” “No Debbie, turn your hands over the other way and clap.” Then there’s this spastic arhythmic clapping.

FF: Sounds good.
Chinga: It goes right after the white dancer. I’m becoming sort of a New Wave artist, which is sort of a joke because, my Country Porn album, that’s punk; I mean that pre-dates punk by years. I always considered myself a lot more outrageous. My engineer, who coproduced the album, Ed Stasium, did the Ramones and Talking Heads. The Jet Lag album is pretty New Wave in sound.

FF: Country Porn was basically a mail-order album. Can you buy Jet Lag in the stores?
Chinga: It’s in stores. It’s in New York right now. We set up CP Records, an independent record distributor. You can buy it in Korvettes or Sam Goodys. The first album’s in 49 states. The only state we’re not in is New York. It’s in Alabama, but not New York. I can’t find a major distributor in New York to take Country Porn.

FF: That’s surprising.
Chinga: Yeah. Well, the big distributors like Alpha and Malbern are the main honchos. We got Jet Lag, but we haven’t got Country Porn in New York yet.

FF: I have seen it in some stores in New York, but it sold for list price of $8.95.
Chinga: It does not lose anything off the list price when it hits the used record stores.

FF: How is Jet Lag different from Country Porn in sound?
Chinga: The first album was a humorous look at human sexuality. It’s very innocent and very humorous. Of course, it cannot be played on the radio. [Jet Lag] is look at relationships, a breakdown; from “Jailbait” to “$49 Divorce.” Jet Lag, of course, can be played on the radio. There are no X-rated lyrics though. The first album was fun and no airplay, and the second, treacherous, convoluted – all the airplay you want. The second one’s the obscene album. I had to go obscene to get straight radio play.

FF: The first album was recorded at Quadrophonic Studios in Nashville. Jet Lag, too?
Chinga: No, I did the one with Don Oriolo. I started in Fur Studios in San Francisco and then we finished it in Media (Sound Studios), in New York. I really recorded it in New York.

FF: Is your present Country Porn band new?
Chinga: I brought one guy out. I’m what you might call a bi-coastal band. I have an East Coast band and a West Coast band. John Erokan, my co-writer and guitarist, he and I are the common denominator. Like, I’ll play both East and West Coast gigs with him.

FF: Is the old album getting any airplay?
Chinga: The new album is. The old one gets airplay on certain occasions. A very, very progressive station, and WBCN is playing “Dry Humping” now in Boston. A disc jockey decided to play suicide by playing Country Porn and leaving his job that way.

FF: Oedipus [aka Edward Hyson]?
Chinga: Oedipus, right. He loved Country Porn. It never gets a lot. The new one is getting, though. Radio play is the name of the game.

FF: Are there other Country Porn songs not yet recorded?
Chinga: Yeah, some of them that did not make the album are “Feeling You, Feeling Me”; another song called “Feeling Pornographic Over You,” “Muff Divin’ Man,” “Sado-Masochistic Transvestite,” “Pin-Up Boy,” “Edna’s White Nigger Band,” “Groupie Therapy.” I probably wrote 50 Country Porn songs. “Pity the Lonely Pervert,” which used to be in the show, sounds like “Tumblin’ Tumbleweeds.” “Pity the Lonely Pervert” was one of my favorites. I wrote it as a straight song, no dirty words. Audience anxiety to that, man, is, well, they don’t know how to take that. You know, you can pity the coal miner, but this is pity the lonely pervert. I found the most effective thing I used to go off the stage with was with this.

FF: Yeah, the way I see it, is to have the girls sing the chorus and then you come back with the trench coat.
Chinga: That’s what I did. That was the whole bit. I really want to do Country Porn II. Another idea I had was the Country Porn Songbook. All music books are sold in music stores, right? I’ll get some photos of some girls and have music, and then pictures, or the song right over the pictures, and it’ll come out on the newsstand. The first songbook ever to make the newsstand. Is that a hot idea or not? I’m going to write some people about it.

FF: Have you ever confronted Merle Haggard [d. 2016]?
Chinga: Yeah, but it’s gonna sound a bit anticlimactic. When Kinky Friedman recorded “Asshole From El Paso,” lawsuits came in; not from Merle Haggard, but from Buck Owens [d. 2006]. You see, Buck Owens owns that song. Merle has no interest in it. We went over to Merle’s house in L.A., and we played “Asshole” for him and he loved it. He loved the shit out of it. But he said, “Hey, I don’t own it.” I’ll show you how treacherous the music business is. Buck gets every penny from that song. Merle Haggard would never have become Merle Haggard if he hadn’t sold out the interest of that song. Personally, I’d welcome a lawsuit.

FF: On the record it says “Buck Owens”?
Chinga: No, I claim it as my own.

FF: No, I don’t mean on your record, I mean on Merle’s.
Chinga: On his, it says that Merle Haggard wrote it, but the publishing company is Buck Owen’s publishing company. In other words, Owens doesn’t claim he wrote it, but anyone who writes a song can write away their writer’s royalty. Merle Haggard had to write away every penny to Buck Owens. Theoretically, I ripped his music and didn’t list his publishing company because I want that lawsuit. Buck Owens is scared and won’t sue Chinga Chavin, man, he won’t. He’d come out mangled if he sued Chinga Chavin. CBS backed down and took it off the record. They still call “Asshole from El Paso” Kinky’s record. Do we want to get sued by Buck Owens? Oh, we’d love it. In court, we’d do “Asshole from El Paso” in choir. I’d get on the wire service. Buck has an attorney, Larry Groene, whose job is nothing more than dealing with litigations suing people for rip-offs.

FF: Are you upset that credit for it always goes to Kinky?
Chinga: Yeah, Kinky fucked me. I mean, he was a college chum. I gave him the name Kinky when we were pledge brothers together.

FF: You were roommates?
Chinga: We were roommates in University of Texas together. I mean, he not only claims he wrote it on the Rolling Thunder Tour, but there’s a book called On the Road with Bob Dylan [Editor’s Note: written by Larry Sloman, with introduction by Kinky Friedman; the “Ratso” character in Friedman’s mystery novels is based on Sloman – 2020] and in it, it reprints “Asshole from El Paso,” and in the front of the book it says, “reprinted with permission of the author, Kinky Friedman.” We wrote to Bantam and Bantam said, “Hey, well, they told us they did it, and sorry, next pressing we’ll print a retraction.” I mean, to go so far as to tell Bantam Books that he wrote it. What am I supposed to do, sue Kinky? I mean, I can’t even prove damages.

FF: Do you ever see him?
Chinga: Yeah, he was there last night. We’re still real good friends. With Kink, it’s like, “Hey I don’t know how it happened.” Now that I’m around, he introduces me as the author of “Asshole from El Paso.” But he, in actuality, pulled a Milton Berle [d. 2002] on me. For me, “Asshole from El Paso” is a second-rate song and a first-rate parody. Like “Dry Humpin’” is a great rock’n’roll song, but not “Asshole.” From the very beginning, when everybody told me to write it up, I said, naw. I never believed in the song from the beginning. It’s a bitch. On the Rolling Thunder Tour, Dylan would do all his heavies, everyone would do their heavies, then Kinky would do “Asshole from El Paso” and upstage everything. I mean, that was done at every performance of the Rolling Thunder Tour, did you know that? And all those people think he wrote it.

FF: Do you consider yourself New Wave or Country?
Chinga: The Country Porn album isn’t really Country. It’s rock’n’roll. “4 A.M. Jump” and “Dry Humpin’” and “Head Boogie” are all straight rock. But the second album, stuff like “Mechanical Man” and “Ain’t No Mommy an’ Daddy No More” and “Jet Lag” are more New Wave. It’s really amazing that Oriolo was ahead of his time with that Jet Lag stuff. The man is a genius – an absolute genius.. The new band is Walter Thompson on drums, Jack Sonni with guitar, Michael Bart on bass, and my own co-writer and musical director and guitarist par excellence, John Erokan. Sweet Johnny Guitar is his stage name. Lyrics class with me, music class with him.

FF: Who were your influences?
Chinga: My influences? Real basic, primal rock’n’roll. I open the show with “Little White Middle Class Rock and Roll,” which is gonna be on our next album. Heavy Chuck Berry [d. 2017], heavy all the rockabilly people, a lot of Rhythm & Blues, Blues, and now I like the Rolling Stones, AC/DC. I like real, raw rock/rock’n’roll. I always sort of liked that, you know; real boogie-woogie type stuff. My comedy influences are Lord Buckley [d. 1960] and Lenny Bruce [d. 1966]. More Lord Buckley than anyone else. I can do a great version of “The Nazz.” Originally, I was interested in jazz for a while. But with rock’n’roll, I never really knew how primal it was in my life. Really thumping rock’n’roll. When I was growing up in El Paso, that was real Rockabilly country. Buddy Holly [d. 1959]-Last Picture Show type country. I really like screaming, loud music. I don’t like Country music. The parody of Country was always in my act. You’ll notice that sometimes I talk in a Western accent on stage. I used to do it a lot more. The kind of persona I developed was incarnate parody at the very beginning.

FF: Do you still visit Juarez?
Chinga: I was in El Paso about two years ago to visit and it changed a lot.

FF: In what ways?
Chinga: Well, it smells the same. El Paso has changed less, actually. El Paso is a few years behind the rest of the country. Juarez isn’t the fantastic bed of primal decadence it was when I was growing up there. It was a climate condition created by abject poverty from the largest border city in Mexico. It’s the third largest city in Mexico. Abject poverty suddenly infused with American dollars and two big military bases. What this does is form a perversion stew. I worked at the Club Conquistador as a bartender, in Juarez. Now it’s slicker and more commercialized with rats in the street and potholes. I remember once there was a big rain and I was there at about five in the morning, and I was ready to go home after a night’s work, and there were torrential rains. They have no kind of drainage system so the streets just flood. All the whores were walking down the street with their dresses pulled over their heads because of the waist-high waters. They didn’t want their dresses wet and there’s fuckin’ tits and cunts all over the place. All they wanted was to protect the dresses. It was so funny seeing 50-60 women walking down the street like that.

FF: I wanted to go to the Juarez of the 1950s.
Chinga: God, it was exciting, man. At age 14, you could go across and do anything. I mean, you could eat out a chick while also ass-fucking a goat. Whatever you want. You know, the Federales and cops come in and you give them a big smile and a dollar and everything’s fine. You have to understand Mexicans. What can get you locked up a Juarez jail and never heard from again is peeing on the streets real blatantly and then insulting a cop. Like, they’ve got a weird pride. Money won’t even buy that off. Money and being hostile will not buy you off a Mexican cop. They’ve got a lot of deep-seated hatred. It’s an official thing against the State of Mexico to pee in the middle of the street. The Juarez jail was something else.

FF: What was it like growing up in the Juarez of twenty years ago?
Chinga: Being young, the whole carnal aspect of it was so fucking great. My teenage years were my heavy drinking years. I don’t drink now, but I really got into it. I’m not talking about adulthood; I’m talking about the year after Bar Mitzvah time. That’s when it started. I mean, I could actually do it. I had hooker girlfriends at 15 or 16. Juarez and El Paso join up so I’d leave El Paso High School at lunchtime and drive over to Juarez, rip off a piece of ass, and have a plate of tacos for 20 cents. Then we’d go back to high school drunk; I mean the whole afternoon in high school, I was drunk on my ass. I was in the AZA [Aleph Zadik Aleph], a Jewish youth organization when I was 15, up until the time I brought my hooker girlfriend to a dance. She made a lot of money off those horny young boys. She must have turns 14 tricks. There was another great thing. The Mexican maids there for your house – your mommy’s maid – got about 50 cents an hour. That’s $4.00 for a whole day. We’re talking about in the early ‘60s, back in El Paso, with all the nice, horny little Jewish boys. The trick was to try to talk your mom into hiring a good-looking maid because when mommy was gone and the maid was there, the maid would fuck and it was bang-o city. So we were fucking each other’s maids, and everything. They would come over and they didn’t speak a word of English and it would be like, “Hey, Ira’s mom got a new maid, and she is so fuckin’ good looking.” So mom was paying the maid $4.00 and their sons were screwing her. We never even thought twice about that sort of shit. What we didn’t do was pay heavy attention to the average El Paso white girls, if you were hip then. There were straights, but we would abandon El Paso for Juarez. Our girlfriends, our friends, our contacts were all Mexican. I had this friend, Tommy Hernandez, from one of the very rich families in Mexico. He was vice president of a bank while in high school. I didn’t know him in grammar school, but in grammar school, a famous event happened in the fifth grade: Tommy Hernandez drove to school – himself – in his own Corvette. In the fifth grade! He was in the school yard burning rubber in the fifth grade. He had a valid Mexican driver’s license. These were the guys I hung out with in Juarez. If you killed someone by accident or even on purpose, it cost you 1,000 pesos, if you knew who to pay off.

FF: How much was that?
Chinga: I could get 40 pesos for a $5 bill. Everything was so fantastically corrupt. I used to get drunk and go to the bull fights. It was all tied together. I can’t explain it. It’s the same whirlpool that comes from the American dollar and abject poverty. It was just a spectacle. It may not be apocalypse now but it was apocalypse then. No one got hurt real bad, and so it was okay. If only those Jewish mothers knew that their kids were banging away at whores. And on the other hand, the maids were stealing socks. The whole poverty thing was amazing. I was shocking.

FF: Are you afraid of reaching the point where you are no longer shocking?
Chinga: No, I’m not. Being shocking has always been with me since I was a real little kid. It’s like hearing a mirror image of myself. When George Carlin stepped up, I thought, that’s what I’d be doing if I was doing stand-up. That kind of street jargon. Anyway, I was always a troublemaker/agitator type that shocked people. I worry more about the fact that I want to do that sometimes more than pursue the straight artistic integrity of a project. I worry on the other hand that I’m all shock value. I’m not worried about not being shocking. I worry about the fact that I really love to fucking do it. I love the feeling that the audience is a little bit frightened. Ever since my experience with the Cub Scouts, I’ve been very, very anti-authority and I like being a troublemaker. I was drummed out the Cub Scouts. Did you ever hear of anyone being drummed out? I forgot my parents’ signatures on the electives. I hate authority. That’s not to say I hate bondage or S&M!