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!

GUADALCANAL DIARY [1986]

Text by Nancy Neon Foster / FFanzeen, 1986

Introduction by Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2019

Images from the Internet

This article was originally published in FFanzeen, issue #14, dated 1986. It was written by the effervescent North Carolinian native Nancy Foster, now better known as Nancy Neon.

To be honest, I still am pretty unfamiliar with this Georgia-based band. They were mostly around for the period of 1981 through 1989, but have reunited on and off over the years. Often, they are compared to the scene that gave us quirky college rock bands like R.E.M., Pylon and Let’s Active. In total they produced one EP, four studio albums, nine singles, and a later live album. – RBF, 2019

Guadalcanal Diary has been lumped in with the Athens and Southeast scene. Yet, they are really a Marietta, GA, band with diverse influences that come together to make an arresting, hybrid. Some connect them with the Byrds-like jingle/jangle magic of R.E.M., others try to pigeon-hole them with the so-called country punk of Jason and the Scorchers and Rank and File.

Yet, Guadalcanal Diary defies categorization. Just as the Athens / Atlanta / Marietta axis is a crossroads where lots of transient influences and ideas meet, so is Guadalcanal Diary a blend of several styles. Whereas some bands sound like a variety show, jumping from one genre to another, they diversify without being incoherent; they’re stylized without being static or predictable.

I love the way they put the headbangers off guard with startling versions of Cab Calloway’s “Minnie the Moocher,” a decidedly non-headbanging, esoteric version of “Johnny B. Goode,” and a scathing, sarcastic rendering of Syndicate of Sound’s “Hey Little Girl.”

It is, however, their original material that really bewilders. Murray Attaway, the lead singer / guitarist’s command post is the eye of the storm. He stands at attention in the middle of the twin cyclones of Jeff Wallis and Rhett Crowe, who whirl dervish-like on either side.

They set up a scenario that is both musically and visually thrilling. Before their show, we had been talking about how someone who had been talking about how the dBs fail to push the audience past a certain point of excitement. I was coming out against histrionics and spoon-fed hysteria. They agreed, but they said that they, themselves, did not put an emphasis on entertainment. However, the spontaneous combustion that takes place onstage ignites because of their love for, and dedication to, their music. This isn’t choreography or rock star flexing, or self-parody.

We talked about how certain acts like Billy Idol had been reduced to a set of conventional poses, i.e., the pout and the fist. What you’re seeing with Guadalcanal Diary isn’t showbiz, it’s pure joy.

The band expresses some concern that their New York City Christmas Holiday ’84 debut had not ben auspicious. Yet, it was so inspiring to see them gradually win over the Peppermint Lounge Saturday night crowd, many of whom resembled “Dance Fever” outtakes as opposed to music lovers. Despite that obstacle, they bombarded the audience with their high-quality material. Pure Pop for Now People was “Pillow Talk.” Rhett Crowe was so powerful on bass, and despite what some myopic critics say about kudzu-covered confederate bodies, she is definitely female. Her grass skirt with t-shirt, lei, and cowboy boots was the fashion statement of the year. It’s the perfect embodiment of their cross-cultural pollination. It's what you wear to a “Watusi Rodeo.”

Being in a changing environment, experiencing the class of Old World Southern values and the modernization of cities like Atlanta is part of what establishes the tension in their music. When I asked whether being from the South brought a certain romantic and mystical element to their music, Rhett agreed. Religion is a big theme with songs like “Walking in the Shadows of the Big Man” (“Big Man” meaning God) and “Why Do the Heathen Rage?” The latter is highly reminiscent of fellow Southerners from Memphis, Big Star, circa 1974 [Big Star’s singer, Alex Chilton, sang “The Letter” and “Cry Like a Baby with the Box Tops – NF, 1986].

When asked if something about the water in Athens area makes great pop with a twist, the guys confided that once the B-52s made it, “lots of bands came out of the woodwork.” They are, as I am, amazed how every band with a Rickenbacker is called “Post-R.E.M.”

Other than their home state, they also share a producer with R.E.M., Don Dixon of Chapel Hill, NC. Dixon was suggested by their rec rod company, DB. They have played dates with the Psychedelic Furs, Beat Rodeo, the Bongos, R.E.M., etc. They get some of their best reactions in Rome, GA, Louisville, KY, Richmond, VA, etc.

One of the most unusual places they played was Greensboro, NC’s Secret Garden, which had a garden in front of the stage. Back to the show: the groovy Georgia quartet gradually won over the basically stoic audience. Enlightenment is usually a gradual process. Yet when Guadalcanal Diary moved in for the kill on “Trail of Tears,” it was musical cataclysm. Murray Attaway was especially moved and moving on this one. Maybe it was my own mist, but he looked misty-eyed.

Guadalcanal Diary accomplished a lot on their second New York City gig, especially for a band on an indie label with little exposure. Rave reviews of the album, heavy airplay for “Watusi Rodeo” and a push on their video is remedying that fast!

“Watusi Rodeo” was the rave-up of the night. Their Western influences (they did Johnny Horton, George Jones, etc.) showed on this hilarious portrait of a rodeo star doing his thing on a rhino, much to the dismay of African natives. Is this an exaggerated analogy of being a hardcore Southerner in the wilds of the North? It is culture shock for both parties.

As Jeff and Rhett said, “You can be wild in New York City and have no one give you a second glance. But once they hear a Southern accent, you’re an instant curio item.”

When I said that I thought it was a healthy trend for bands like R.E.M., Let’s Active, and themselves to stay in their hometowns instead of automatically moving to New York because of the changes it could cause in their perspective and the music, Rhett said, “I couldn’t live in New York City. It gives me claustrophobia. I think Southerners are very close to the land; very territorial. Like, my father lived his whole life in Smyrna (Georgia),” and they really want to keep the influences and change out. They would build a wall, if they could.

This was intriguing me. It was all becoming clearer: the world is changing so fast and vales are changing, too. In this modern world, the Old South seems like an ancient culture. It’s solid and secure. People like the music and are intrigued with the perspective because it’s exotic – all those snake handlers and faith healers. The Southern world seems as far away from cosmopolitan New York City as Hong Kong.

Guadalcanal Diary invites you on a trip into another world full of beauty, soul and mysticism.

Hoyt Axton: Half Folkie, Half Hippie, Half Okie (Guest Article)

For the more than a decade that I’ve known Brian Dickson, his fandom of the multi-talented Hoyt Axton has been evident. If Hoyt had been younger, it’s possible he could have been called country punk, along with the likes of Rank & File, but he was more of the generation of Townes van Zandt and the hyper-realistic country that was both harsh and beautiful. This, in part, is why I asked Brian to write something about Hoyt, since little is known about him these days, and he deserves the credit he can get. Besides, feeding a musical obsession is something I will usually stand behind, especially if the subject is as worthwhile as Axton. – Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2014

By Brian Dickson, 2014
Images from the Internet

I was pleasantly surprised when Robert dropped me a line and asked if I would like to write a piece on Hoyt Axton for this blog, but I had to ask him: “Are you sure Axton fits the bill for ‘Rock n’ Roll Attitude with Integrity’?” Robert's reply: “Hoyt was as punk as Johnny Cash or Townes Van Zandt, as far as I’m concerned.” Which I believe is true in several ways. Hoyt enjoyed a long, colorful career that included not only music composition and performance, but acting, record production and commercial voice-over work. But part of my fascination with the man, I think, is that his musical approach always eluded definition. He could never be bracketed into one genre or another.

Hoyt Wayne Axton. If you don’t know the name, chances are you’d recognize him from films and TV. “Bonanza.“ Smoky (1966). The Black Stallion (1979). “WKRP in Cincinnati.” Heart Like A Wheel (1983). Gremlins (1984) [He played the dad who gave his son the Gremlin – RBF]. We’re No Angels (1989). A slew of others. But if you can’t place the face, chances are you know the voice. Extoller of the Big Mac, Pizza Hut, and Busch beer. And of course, writer and singer of some truly great songs.

Born in Duncan, Oklahoma, in 1938, and raised in Comanche; the eldest son of John T. Axton and Mae Boren (Mae, later known as ”The Queen Mother of Nashville,“ co-wrote “Heartbreak Hotel” for Elvis). He served a brief stint in the U.S. Navy after attending Oklahoma State University on a football scholarship. His career in music began in West Coast coffee houses and folk clubs in the early sixties.

I’ll admit I’m showing up at the party pretty late here. I was born in ’73; by that year Axton had recorded ten albums for six different labels. Nineteen sixty-nine saw the release of My Griffin Is Gone on Columbia Records, followed by two on Capitol Records in 1971 (Joy to the World, and the lesser known Country Anthem). In ’73 came Less Than the Song on A&M, the first of four albums on that label, which is widely recognized as Hoyt’s creative peak: Song in ’73, Life Machine (1974), Southbound (1975) and Fearless (1976).

But being an ‘80’s kid, I became aware of Hoyt not through his music, but by seeing him in movies - Gremlins, primarily - and on television, namely, “WKRP in Cincinnati” and “Diff’rent Strokes.” In tenth grade it became a daily routine after walking home from school to catch a re-run of “WKRP” at 4. I fondly recall that classic first-season episode entitled, “I Do, I Do…For Now.” Hoyt, playing the imposing “T.J. Watson from Rockthrow, West Virginia,” arrives at the station to reclaim his childhood sweetheart, Jennifer Marlowe (Loni Anderson), who hastily pretends to be married to Dr. Johnny Fever (Howard Hesseman). Hoyt sings “Jealous Man” to a captive and terrified Fever in the station lobby (“You got the knife, I got the gun / c’mon boy, we’re gonna have a little fun…”). He proceeds to tell a story about his dear ol’ pappy. And how the woman his pappy loved – his mama – was already married to another man by the name of Jenkins. But Jenkins didn’t wanna give his mama up. So his pappy - bein’ the man he was - went down to see Jenkins…and called him out. “Called him out?” Fever replies nervously. That’s right, T.J. says – called…him…out. Fever (hope diminishing): “To talk.” Hoyt: “Uh-huh. Then he shot him.” This is one of my favorite scenes in all of TV history.

It wasn’t until a road trip in the first car I ever owned – an ‘85 Plymouth Turismo, paid $650 cash – that I found Hoyt on a purely musical level. This was a solo run from Ottawa to my home province of New Brunswick, Canada, in 1999. I had been browsing CDs in a music store a couple of days prior, and stumbled across the two-disc A&M Years package, which contains Axton’s four albums released on A&M Records from 1973-76. I remember thinking, “Well, looky here. Hoyt Axton.” On that trip I cranked up songs on that old Duster’s player like “Peacemaker,” “Life Machine,” “Idol of the Band,” “Geronimo’s Cadillac,” and “No No Song.” I discovered Hoyt’s music with road tunes from Southbound and Fearless on the highway outside of Montreal that morning, which made me realize what an underrated figure the man was and is, to this day.

Hoyt is generally considered a country artist, particularly from his musical bend in the mid-to-late ‘70s and on. But let’s go back to the beginning: 1963. Consider his first folk recordings on Horizon Records: Greenback Dollar, Thunder’n Lightnin,’ Saturday’s Child. Bob Dylan broke down the door, and Axton moseyed through – not with the same lyrical prowess as Dylan, but with attitude, groove, and a voice like no other.

The following year saw Hoyt “explode”! Released by Vee-Jay in ’64, Hoyt Axton Explodes! is a mid-‘60s curio that might be loosely described as “garage folk-rock.” If Axton has a blues record, it would be Sings Bessie Smith (1965). My Griffin Is Gone (1969) is a lesser inclusion among the pantheon of classic albums of the period, but an atmospheric gem of that era, nonetheless. And Joy to the World is a rock album. A rock album with folky ballads making up half of each side, though. Folk n’ roll? Listen to the title track and “Never Been to Spain” (big hits for Three Dog Night). Regard others like “The Pusher” (big hit for Steppenwolf), “California Women,” or that classic party song, “Lightning Bar Blues.” Also a tune called “Captain America” from 1973. These are rock songs. His aforementioned albums on A&M from 1973-76 started with a somewhat experimental, progressive folk/blues oddity (Less Than the Song), but which somehow…wasn’t. The albums Life Machine, Southbound and Fearless were “country-rock,” but…weren’t. Hoyt’s other albums for MCA and the ones on his own Jeremiah label appeared to be country, but also quietly defied categorization. For the most part, his music encompassed folk, blues, rock ‘n’ roll and country simultaneously. Michael Curtis, co-writer of the Crosby, Stills & Nash hit “Southern Cross,” said of Axton: “Hoyt had his own way of writing. He didn't exactly break the rules of songwriting, but he would often ignore them. He taught me a lot.” [Quote from HERE]

Hoyt: I'm one of those fringe dudes -- Half folkie, half hippie, half Okie. My input has been very eclectic. I was always surrounded by all kinds of music as my family moved around the country: jazz, classical, gospel, whatever. The influences enter from a lot of directions. [Quote from HERE]

Hoyt died of heart failure in Victor, Montana, in October of 1999, at the age of 61. I never had the opportunity to meet him, or see him in concert. But from what I’ve read in recent years (and learned from members of my Facebook tribute group Fans of Hoyt [HERE] who actually knew him or met him), he was a genuinely nice fella. In a People magazine article published shortly after his death, his third wife, Donna Axton, said, “He used to throw twenty-dollar bills out the car window and say, 'That will make someone happy.’” Look at almost anything autographed by him and he will have written, “Joy to you, Hoyt.” “Joy” was his watchword.

I realize my observations here may be a bit biased because I am such a devotee. After unearthing The A&M Years on that trip down home in ‘99, I have since sought out every Axton album, and I am continually trying to catch his movie and television appearances; my research is ongoing. Hoyt’s daughter, April, is a member of Fans of Hoyt, and last year thanked me and the members of the group on his birthday for “keeping his spirit soaring” (it’s a pleasure, April!). But c’mon – have you ever met anyone who doesn’t like Axton’s music (if they’ve heard anything beyond “Boney Fingers” or “Della and the Dealer,” that is), or the likable characters he’s played in movies and on TV? As with Cash or TVZ, the old cliché applies: A man for all seasons. But what I also dig about him is this: Hoyt did his own thing. You could never button-hole the guy.