Coincidence in a Rock and Roll World

Text and photos © Robert Barry Francos

When my decades long good friend Joe Viglione isn’t successfully touting with corporate windmills or promoting deserving artists like Marty Balin, he is also fascinated by coincidences. In conversations with him on this very topic, I recalled a couple that were in my life, one directly, and one to someone else.

[Human Switchboard at Irving Plaza, 1980s]
In the early 1980s, I was working in a corporate in-house print shop. It was loud and noisy, and there was a radio always on playing Top 10 music. In other words, I heard “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” and “Rhythm Is Going to Get You” by Gloria Estoban every hour, and since Michael Jackson’s Thriller had recently been released, there was one of his songs playing every 15 minutes, like “Billy Jean” and the title cut, which was driving me insane. It was the period of garage punk revival in my world, and naturally I hated mainstream radio (still do). So I bought myself a Walkman to play tapes to help drown out the dreadful noise.

Around that time, the corporation for which I worked decided to do a big project, and they hired two or three temps for a few days. There I was, working away listening to my Walkman, and I caught the eye of one of the temps. Now at the time, most people who listened to a Walkman usually were playing the same type of industrial noise that was on the radio. This man gave me an eyes-rolled back look, like, “Oh, he’s another one.” This pissed me off.

I had never spoken to this person, so I walked over to him. I said, “I’ll have you know, I am not listening to the same crap that’s playing on that radio over there.”

This Asian man said, in a deep southern accent, “Oh, yeah? Then whut are you listenin’ to?” with a challenge.

“On this tape, I have the Standells’ “Sometimes Good Guys Don’t Wear White,” the Shangri-Las’ “Shout” (best cover of the song after Lulu’s), Chocolate Watchband’s “Don’t Want Your Lovin’,” the Electric Prunes’ “I Had Too Much to Dream”….

His attitude totally changed, and he said, “Oh, wow, that’s some great stuff! Yeah, I was in a band in North Carolina up to a couple-a weeks ago that played more punk, but I shore like that kinda stuff.”

Bob Pfiefer of Human Switchboard during interview described in blog]
I had recently come back from Greensboro, staying a week with another good pal, Nancy Neon (and her family), going to amazing clubs like Fridays, seeing my first Big Star food market, going to my first drive-in, and hanging out with a bunch of cool people, including Lynn, who would eventually end up in Love Tractor.

“I know some bands down that way. What was the name of yours?”

“Aw, you never heard of us, trust me.”

“Try me.”

Bernie Worrell backstage at Irving Plaza]
“We were Gang Green. Not the same ones in Boston, we were outta Boone (NC).”

I looked at him, mouth hinged open, and I asked, “Are you Jim Downs?”

The look on his face was probably as priceless and in shock as mine was. “Yeah, who the hell are you?”

“I’m Robert Francos.”

“Robert Barry Francos?”

Seems that while he was in the early stages of the band, he was promoting them, and because of my fanzine, FFanzeen, we had been writing back and forth for a while. As the band dwindled, so had our letters, and I hadn’t heard from him in a while. Jim was preparing to come to New York, and this was his first job to tide him over until he found a real job (now he’s a well respected local New York photographer).

We became fast friends after that for quite the while, until we eventually lost touch. In fact, that meeting in some ways probably led to my getting married. In a nutshell:

[Alex Chilton at Irving Plaza]
Jim started writing a very humorous column in my magazine called “Half Japanese” and did some interviews. One was with Bob Pfeifer, of the band Human Switchboard, done backstage at Irving Plaza (I was there, too; it was a great show with the Switchboard opening for Alex Chilton, with whom Bernie Worrell was guesting). That night, Jim also brought his then girlfriend, Aurora Jones. When they broke up, I remained friends with both. Aurora is an actress, and at some point she told me that she wanted to make a stab at going to LA to try her hand at the craft, but as she was paying such small rent in Little Italy, she needed someone she trusted to take over the apartment for a couple of years, but be willing to leave it if she needed to come back. I volunteered, which gave me a welcoming space to get married and bring my partner. We stayed there for two-and-a-half years, until Aurora came back.

Jim married Denise Nadvornik, and the last I heard they had a son and live in Queens.

Bernie Kugel, Under Acme, NYC, 1998]
The indirect story concerns my pal Bernie Kugel, of The Good, and then Mystic Eyes, both Buffalo core cult bands. When Bernie finished high school in the late ‘70s, he decided to go to Buffalo State College SUNY. Much of his choice was based on two elements: the first is that is was far enough way from his parents to get away, but close enough to come back and visit record stores and clubs like CBGBs. The other was the magazine Shakin’ Street Gazette, which was an extremely hip music magazine that was published by the school. Not only did he attend the school, but he also began writing for SSG, including an interview with the Ramones at Max’s Kansas City the night before they took their infamous first tour of England (yes, I was there for that, too).

The next year, out in West Babylon on Long Island, Judi Sadinsky (her moniker was the lower case judi) was graduating high school. She wanted to get far enough away from her parents but close enough to come back. She picked up a copy of Shakin’ Street Gazette and there was a huge story about David Bowie. She thought that any school that publishes this kind of in-depth story about Bowie must be okay. She went to Buff State.

While attending the school, she met Bernie and they started off a relationship. She’s the one for whom he wrote his classic tune “Judy” (a talented artist and graphic designer, she also help me with my first issues of FFanzeen). It was well into their relationship that she found out that he’s the one that wrote the Bowie article that brought her there in the first place.

The relationship didn’t last, but…spooky.

Of course, Bernie is now married for over 25 years to the wonderful Tink and they have a son, Ben (a talented guitarist in his own right), who is about to graduate college (yep, Buff State).

Remembering Liss Jeffrey

Photos taken at a Media Ecology Conference at Boston University
(c) Robert Barry Francos

Liss Jeffrey was an academic I had the pleasure to have known for a few years through my association with the Media Ecology Association. Having met her at a number of conferences, I found her headstrong, opinionated, and with a blazing sense of humor. Below is information about her taken from a number of sources:

After nearly 4 years battling cancer, Liss Jeffrey Ph.D has passed from this life on Tuesday December 16, 2008. Mary Elisabeth Goforth was born in Nakuru, Kenya and was educated at Harvard University (graduated A.B., summa cum laude), York University near Toronto(M.A.), and McGill University in Montreal (Ph.D). In her career, she was an investigative journalist (CITY-TV), teacher, author, international orator, Marshall McLuhan scholar, new media critic, naturelover, and fierce seeker of the truth.

I shall miss talking to her at conferences, as is the person below. This was taken after a forum focused on Neil Postman. RIP.

Religious Tolerance Needed This Season

Text © Robert Barry Francos
Photos from the Internet

In this season of good cheer, as the religious and secular supposedly come together, we are all drowned in ads to spend-spend-spend till our daddies take our T-Birds away.What I find astounding – and always have – is how the “orthodox” religious, no matter what the faith, keep insisting that it is their holiday and belongs to no one else but themselves. This is shown in people who demand that public displays of decorations must say Christmas rather than Holiday. Supposedly, this is a country of religious freedom and tolerance, but it seems that is only true as long as the religion and tolerance lines up the same as the “religious” person looking at it.

In my life, some of the most close-minded and evil-spirited people I have ever met have used religion as an excuse for their behavior. Below are some cases in point:

Many years ago while working in a corporate in-house print shop, I was a Phototypesetter. If you don’t know what a phototypesetter is, it really is a moot point because the position doesn’t exist anymore with present technology. When I was there during the 1980s, the shop was in Building 5 of the World Trade Center, and eventually moved to the sub-sub-sub basement (below the garages) of one of the Towers, just before I left.

In the area adjacent to mine was the layout tables, and one of the artists was a follower of Oral Roberts named Angela, who was in her early 20s. She prayed before she ate, she said “Thank you Jesus” often, and considered herself devout. Meanwhile, she tried to get anyone she did not like fired, and manipulated as many people as she could. She unabashedly told me she was justified in whatever she did because Jesus wanted her to be successful. I thought she was an attractive woman when I started there, but she became more ugly to me every day as I got to know her. Punk was devil’s music to her; her favorite was the “Born Again” BJ Thomas. I once called him lame, and she refused to talk to me for a while, and my boss said she complained to him about everything I did after that, trying to get rid of me. But my boss knew who she was, and I was good at what I did, and it did not have any repercussions on me.

Inside the darkroom, Angela had an Oral Roberts calendar. I was in there with a temp one day getting some chemicals for my processor, and we saw the calendar had an image of a hand floating in the sky and the message read, “I seek the Lord in the quiet places of my heart.” We starting improvising to the Bobby Fuller Four song, “Killing Jews and the Muslim / I sought the Lord and the Lord won / I sought the Lord and the / Lord won!” She walked in while we were doing this and started screaming at us. She tried real hard to make my life even more difficult after that. Note that we were not making fun of Christianity, but of the particular narrow thinking of who published the calendar, much as many of us protested the appearance of the JDL’s leader Meir Kahane when he appeared at Queens College for similar reasons.

She was not the only religious zealot in the printshop bunch; also she was not the most abrasive, by far. Another person working there was a huge man named Al who was a deacon in his church (he looked a lot like Cleveland on Family Guy, right down to the moustache). He used his size to bully many of the people there, but I refused to budge, all 120 lbs of me. To show you just how “devout” he was, he did some work there on the side for his church (service pamphlets and the like) and when he asked me to typeset them for him, I offered to do it for nothing because it was for his church. Later I found out that not only was he taking money for it from the church, he told them that I was also asking for money, and he kept that as well. From his church, I remind you.

One day, this religious man turned to me and said, “I hear your mother is good in bed.” And then he waited for me to react. Thing is, I had an uncle who was often instigating and obnoxious, and I did not like him at all. One day, I realized a formula for people like him: When someone says "A" expecting a reaction of "B," instead say "7." In other words, say something they totally don’t expect, and throw them off. I got along with my uncle after that. In the case of Al, what I very calmly said as the “7”: “Yeah, that’s what your daughter was telling me last night while I drilled her brains out.”

Al turned bright red and said, “I oughta kill you for that!” After he insults my mother, yet. I said back, “You won’t touch me.” Looking sharply at me, he said, making and unclenching his fists, “Why not?” I responded, “First of all, you know you can beat me up.” He gloated, “Yeah!” Continuing, I said, “Secondly, I know you can beat me up.” He looked confused at this point. I concluded with, “And most importantly, you know that I know you can beat me up.” He sighed and walked away.

There were other times he would try to rile me, but never succeeded. I was quick back then. One day this righteous man (as he considered himself) said to me, “I got me 10 inches. Bet you Jews don’t know nothin’ about 10 inches.” Not even turning around, I said, “That’s very true. I don’t know any Jew that small.” He stormed off and I kept working.

Of course, these kinds of conversations could never go on now, because of rules that have come in (and rightfully so) about workplace tolerance. Al could have been gone after his first of many “Jew” comments (i.e., his "name" for me was Jewboy. He would call across the huge room at full volume, "Hey, Jewboy, phone call for you!"

In another job years later, for a time I worked in a room with a guy from Staten Island. He was really into speed and coke (though being the non-drug person I am, I did not know this). One day at home, high on PCP, he saw the face of Jesus come through the wall and tell him to stop. Days later, his own brother shot him in the face in a botched drug deal. He came close to dying and lost an eye. After that he stopped taking drugs, and found Jesus as a replacement.

He was convinced, he told me, that God wanted him to convert me. And he sure did try. He kept turning to me, and quoting me scripture. But his minister was one of those “In the Old Testament, Jews were impure” kinds of guys (Adam and Moses turned their backs on God by disobeying him, etc.). One day, this guy says to me, “When Daniel was in the fire with Jesus…” I immediately said, “Stop! Daniel was with Jesus? Isn’t the story of Daniel in the Old Testament? If you can show me one place where Jesus is mentioned by name in the Old Testament, I will convert right now.” He said, “Daniel was there with three men, two of whom were named. The third one was unnamed, and that was Jesus.” I closed my hanging-open-in-disbelief mouth and said, “Man, that is some conjecture. So anytime someone is left unnamed, it’s Jesus? Naw, that’s not right. Back to zero.” And I went back to work. He was let go about 3 months later, because while I didn’t say anything to anyone else, other people found his proselytizing intolerance intolerable.

But not all this small-mindedness has to do with Christians I would like to strongly add. Once evening in the 1990s I was taking a car service home from work one late night and had a Palestinian driver. I’d had many pleasant conversations with Palestinians who drove cabs over the years, and mostly we agreed that common sense should rule in the Middle East, and it should not matter what the ideology is, we all three religious pray to the same God. But this driver was different. Ariel Sharon had just been elected Prime Minster of Israel (though had not come into office yet), and this man was ranting on and on about how hateful the Zionists (and he clearly meant this as all Jews, not just Israelis) were, how under Sharon they were going to kill all the Arabs (a common misbelief in that region), and Zionists in America were all part of the plot to control the world. He was screaming towards me, though I have the idea he didn’t know I was a Jew. He said “the Zionists”, not “you Zionists,” so I am assuming not. Actually, I had him drop me off a block from my house because I did not want him to know where I lived. The next day, I called the limousine service and did something I had never done before or after: I made a formal complaint about him, not as a Jew, but as a passenger.

Yes, every group has its share of religious bigots. At the funeral of the mother of a good friend, I was at the gravesite. While they were preparing the way and we were waiting for the casket to be taken out of the hearse, I started talking to the rabbi-for-hire who would do the ceremony. At some point, he asked me, what was my sect, and I told him somewhere between reform and conservative (probably more to the latter in those days…now I consider myself a secular Jew). He grimaced and snarled, “No such thing, you’re either Orthodox or you’re not really a Jew.” I couldn’t believe he was saying this crap at my friend’s mother’s grave. As it was, I was close to her and was mourning as well. I turned from the hole in the ground to face him, stuck my finger in his face, and said, “Whether you believe that or not, we would have both been in the same gas chamber, so don't you dare tell me I'm not a Jew.” Then I walked away because I did not want to say something that would have been more disrespectful in the situation.

If I have any real prejudice left, it would have to be towards fundamentalist thinking like that, whatever the belief or creed.

On the flip side, my mother had an Italian friend nicknamed “Chickie” who died when they were still young women, and my mom remained close to her mother, Rose Dolce; I knew her as “Nana” and she was like a grandmother to me as my other two had died when I was a very young age. She was strongly Roman Catholic and spent her later years creating and mending the local nun’s habits from St. Finbars, in Brooklyn. Earlier in her life, she worked in the garment industry as was fluent in Yiddish, as well as Italian. One of my strongest memories of her was that she loved everyone, and she believed her religion taught acceptance, and that we all prayed to one God, and no matter what the differences we are all God’s children. While I don’t feel any need for any formal religion these days, I learned a lot from her and thank her for her open-mindedness.

1 Peter 3:8-9 "To sum up, all of you be harmonious, sympathetic, brotherly, kindhearted, and humble in spirit; not returning evil for evil or insult for insult, but giving a blessing instead; for you were called for the very purpose that you might inherit a blessing."

Happy holidays to one and all.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NxaohwlZY2g

Justin Melkmann: GG Allin, World War IX Comics

Live photo and text © Robert Barry Francos; artwork © Justin Melkmann

World War IX is a fun New York based hardcore band, whose latest release, Brown Bagging It is reviewed by me at jerseybeat.com/quietcorner.html. But this blog is not about WWIX, but rather the personal output of their guitarist, Justin Melkmann.

For a number of years now, Justin has had his own comic strip column in the New York City underground artist newspaper – which I wish was easier to find – The New York Waste. Some of these have now been released as self-published comic books at $3 apiece (not sure of the S&H). Addresses are listed below.

Justin’s style is simple line drawing that is sort of a cross between John Holstrom, Sergio Aragonés, and Wally Wood. Though to the point, he also manages to add a bit of detail, inserting emotion and “flavor” to the action (or in some cases, stupor). Like Aragonés, much of the comics in the first book have drawn images of people around the narrative boxes that reflect the stories they inhabit.
The first collection is called World War IX Presents… Earaches and Eyesores. There are three ideas that run through this particular book. The first is fiction in a strange sort of storytelling, such as “Shit Job,” which tells a first-person humorous tale of woe about the menial job of being a Guillotine repairman (it hints at being Medieval, but of course the Guillotine was first implemented in 1789 during the French Revolution… yes, I just happen to know that!). Another is the futuristic “Lastronaut! The World’s Last Astronaut.” Like all the pieces in this book, they are short and funnily angst-ridden. Yet, most readers can identify with it.

The second aspect is life as musician in general. This is covered with some hysterical pieces including “People I’m Glad I Don’t Play in a Band With” (dissects archetypes rather than specific people), “Drunken Planning,” and “To Be in a Band…” (what it really means).

The last, and probably most obvious considering the name of the book, has to do with Justin’s band, World War IX. He humorously discusses the formation of the band, and then does his version of “On the road with…” There are the first gig, good gigs, and even those disastrous gigs. We see the band stoned beyond comprehension on the radio, and filled with both braggadocio and fears. Anyone in a new or even road weary band can identify with Justin’s stories, and those of us not in one can be amused in an “Oh, hell no!” way.

There have been some personnel changes to WWIX since this book was initiated, and I look forward to Volume 2.
For those who are not aware, Justin has been obsessed with GG Allin – the person, his music, and his legacy – since the 1980s. Justin even started a long-form strip-by-strip biography of GG that was nearly complete after years of work and research, when GG’s brother and bandmate, Merle (who initially was in favor of it to the point of personal involvement) put the kibosh was put on the project by inexplicably changing his mind.

Since Justin could no longer write about Allin, he cleverly wrote around him, by turning it into an autobiographical look at how GG’s music changed his life, and how he researched the project. He calls it Slap in the Face: My Obsession with GG Allin, and it is based on Justin’s New York Waste columns from 2003 to 2005. The book’s title is actually quite clever, depending on whose face you see getting slapped: GG’s to the world, Merle’s to Justin to make him stop, or Justin to whomever gets in his way of this multi-year project.

Justin does not just show his own life through the music, but goes into much detail of his own obsessions and short-comings, as well as victories and meeting goals (e.g., talking to GG’s mom and then dad). In this amusingly self-deprecating way, Justin tells of how he played with the post-GG version of the Murder Junkies, abused substances, worked in the real world to support his obsessions, and started a film about Allin that was thwarted by Hated! .

While text heavy, this comic is inventive and has a strong indie feel to it. Although an autobiographical theme binds these two books together, I strong recommend getting them both. As they both follow two separate paths on the same life, however, one does not rely on the other, making them both enjoyably autonomous.

When you’re done reading the books, don’t forget to listen to a healthy dose of World War IX.

jmelkmann@hotmail.com
www.worldwarix.com

On Comic Book Collecting

All photos are from the Internet

Text by Robert Barry Francos/FFanzeen

Comic books have moved in and out of my life for nearly as long as I remember.

It started in the early ‘60s when my grandfather was in a nursing home in the Bronx. The family would go and visit him, but we kids were not allowed up to the room. As this home was also a hospital and he was bedridden with a bad heart (something that would have been solved easily today with a pacemaker), no one under the age of 12 was allowed up (though I remember going a couple of times). While my parents visited him, my older (and only) brother Richie and I would stay in the lobby-level waiting area by ourselves, or run around the block (something that would be considered practically criminal these days, letting two preteen kids out on the street alone in a strange neighborhood…but I digress). Before we drove up there, my father would give us both a dollar, and we were to spend it on comic books. They were 10 cents each then, so we could each buy 10 of them. We’d sit in the waiting area and after we finished our own, we’d read each other’s (of course, we’d coordinate so we didn’t buy the same ones).

We had lots of them, including some I clearly remember, like the first Hulk, the first Spiderman, original Classics Illustrated, Charlton’s Konga movie adaptation, the first Fantastic Four, and many others of the Silver Age. We read them over and over and over again, at any chance we could. This included after “lights out.” As punishment for getting caught, my dad would rip up the comics. That’s what happened to all those I just mentioned, by the way. I’ll wait while the collective gasps settle.



The next bit of comics I clearly recall is when I went to sleepaway camp, for three weeks each summer from ages 8-15. Comics were 12-15 cents each, so my dad would give me $2-3, and I bought a stack to last me the duration. Usually, there were other kids who did the same, and we’d trade ‘em back and forth. We usually wrote our names in them, so we’d get them back at some point. Invariably, we’d come home with most of ours, and some of others.

One day at Lafayette High School, in Brooklyn, I was sitting in a class across an aisle from someone I didn’t like while reading a DC comic, and looked up and he was reading a Marvel. I’ve been brother-from-another-mother with Bernie Kugel since. I enjoyed narrative stories that were short (single or double issue at most) with the clear artwork of the likes of Wally Wood and Jack Davis (hence, the DC); Bernie was more into the genre as a whole. He appreciated the experimental artwork of Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko, and the expansive arcs of stories (hence, the Marvel). It was easier for him though, as his father owned a stationary store, so he had a better chance to seeing stories from beginning to end.

Speaking of experimental, Lafayette, was trying to keep kids from dropping out in the early ‘70s, so they tested different ways by switching out the usual English classes. We took one course in Science Fiction, and another in Comic Books. This latter class was astounding. Phil Seuiling, who opened up the very first comic book retail store ever four short blocks from my house, taught it (it is a Russian liquor store now). Phil also was instrumental in starting the comic cons. He brought famous artists like Gray Morrow and Jim Steranko into the classroom. We went to DC Comics on 53 Street and watched books being drawn and created. At his home, we saw lots of Golden and Silver Age original artwork boards framed on his wall. He got angry, though, when someone knocked one of them off the wall and the frame broke, throwing us out of his apartment. Around that same time, Phil did the voice of one of the police officers (portrayed by a pig) in the Ralph Bakshi film Fritz the Cat (1972), which was rated X, so we could not yet see it. He was fired the next year or the year after for selling a underground comix to someone in the class who was legally underage (the student’s mother turned him in).

While I read comics sporadically after high school and through college, I was not as much into them as I was into the whole nascent CBGB/Max’s Kansas City scene, and spent my money on either buying vinyl, seeing shows, or on putting out my fanzine, FFanzeen.

In 1990, I started working for a Fortune 500 company on 53 Street and Lexington. Bernie, who had moved back from Buffalo with his family four years earlier, was working a couple of blocks away. Once a week, we’d meet at lunch, and rather than eat, we’d go to a comic store a few blocks away. We’d hit the store and get our fix. We even saw David Carradine and his wife there buying books once. It was a heady time for comics, and I had re-discovered my love for Richard Corben, who I had enjoyed in Creepy and Eerie and now his work in such books as Den, and for the crisp, bloodletting of Tim Vigil, especially his Faust series. There was also Batman’s Killing Joke, the Dark Knight series, Concrete, and of course, Watchmen.

On weekends, I would make excursions with the Kugel family to Staten Island where we would hit the mall, and then Jim Hanley’s Universe on New Dorp Lane. When the Universe opened at the Staten Island Mall, we would go to both. (As a sidebar, odds are we were coming in contact with Staten Island author, musician, comic lover, and Hanley Universe employee JD Glass without even knowing it!) When Hanley closed the store at the Mall, they had a massive sale there, and we went crazy buying comics and graphic novels for 90% off. I probably spent $50 that day and came home with a trunkful.

[Faust]
Other than superhero and horror short stories, some of my favorite comics were non-fiction, either serious ones like the original Classics Illustrated series, the Lower East Side tales by Will Eisner, Keiji Kakazawa’s autobiographical Barefoot Gen, Art Spiegelman’s two-part graphic novel, Maus, and the comical look at our past in Larry Gonick’s History of the Universe

These days, I don’t buy comics much anymore, but they remain close to my heart. Due to lack of room, I’m starting to liquidate some of my collection. Many of them are worthless other than enjoyment (i.e., 10 or more copies on sale on eBay for a dime each), and I’ve given quite a bunch away, and still am sorting through. By the end, I’ll probably get rid of a more than a third of them. The fun part is that I am re-reading many from the early ‘70s that I bought during the Phil Seuling years (he would get us discounts). For those who are shocked at this, note that I am not dissolving any of the ones that I keep close to my heart, like Batman, Superman, Faust, Shaloman, comix (Zap! , etc.), EC reprints, and many others. However, I am ditching some of my indie ones, like those by Innovation, Dark Horse, and some one-offs. What I’m saying is that I’ll keep the ones that mean something to me.

Though comic books may be passé to some, so many people I know still are strongly into it. We get together and see the latest film based on the comics, and then discuss. Our big recent debate is whether The Dark Knight or Iron Man (we all gave a collective whoop at the end, after the credits) is better, though it seems as though it is still a DC vs. Marvel issue. For me, they were both great films, and though I remain a Batmaner, I am fond of both cinematic extensions. And I look forward to the Watchman movie with both anticipation and the dread that they may ruin it, like they did 300. I’m keeping my cape and cowl crossed.

Remembering Forrest J Ackerman (November 24, 1916 – December 4, 2008)

Photo and text (c) Robert Barry FrancosI grew up reading Famous Monsters of Filmland. In fact, after Highlights, Life and National Geographics (the three magazines to which my parents subscribed), it was the first magazine I read cover to cover, and certainly the first one I bought regularly with my own money.

In the late 1980s, I had the opportunity to meet Forrest J Ackerman (aka "Forry"), creater of FMoF a few times at horror film conventions (Horror-Thon, Chiller Theatre). He still wore the huge ring that Bela Lugosi had given him (the one Bela wore in the original Dracula in 1929.

Forry was infamous for being a collector of probably the coolest stuff on earth for the golden- and silver-age horror and sci-fi geeks like me. Heck, he even had the original Maria robot from Metropolis (1927). He was always willing to show people his collection.

But there were so many aspects of him that had huge culture influences that most people didn't even realize, such as helping to publish the legendary lesbian magazine Bilitis(and even publishing his own lesbian-based sci-fi novels under a pseudonym), being instrumental in getting the Perry Rhodan series translated into English, and he was even fluent in Esperanto!

When I heard yesterday that he had passed away, I actually smiled, because he had a good life doing what he loved the most, and had the longevity to see the fruits of it.

For more detailed info: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forrest_J_Ackerman

Theater Review: Onward, Forward

All photos are from the Internet with some credits

Text by Robert Barry Francos/FFanzeen
Onward, Forward, written by Michael Weems and directed by Karen M. Dabney, is the third Little Hibiscus Theater Company production I’ve seen this year, and it still continues to be worth the while. The summary of the play is stated as follows:

Onward, Forward is a comic look at the ongoing relationship between Joe, a disgruntled folk singer dying to rock out and his songwriter/manager, Ryan who searches for a cure to life in the offices of whichever doctor his insurance will allow. Their frustrating friendship is put to the test in suburbia where what starts as a typical gig leads to encounters with a sharp witted single mother, a sorority girl looking for a way to entertain herself for the summer, and parents that seem harmless on the outside. As their musical pit stop gets extended, Joe and Ryan find themselves in a situation that threatens to make them lose who they are and who they want to be. With a stellar cast (Bill Bria, Rachel Dorfman, Whit Elliott, Gregory Taft Gerard, Alixx Schottland, Michael Weems, Theodore White, and Shuo Zhang), Onward, Forward provides a humorous and moving telling of a story about staying in touch with reality, valuing friends and family, and knowing when to let go.

Theater information and dates are listed below.

Though not a musical, this play is definitely about music, and its effects and affects - directly and indirectly - on its eight characters.

[Michael Weems; photo by Brooklyn Scalzo]
The lynchpin and central foundation of the play is “Ryan Franklin,” played by the piece’s writer, Michael Weems. While the story revolves around him, he is drawn as someone not locked down to anyone or anything. One may be inclined to call him a slacker, but that is not entirely accurate. Ryan is more socially unhinged and has coped with various methods, rather than letting everything go. Michael portrays Ryan with a bit of a monotone and a bit hunched over. He is a big teddy bear of a man that one cannot help but like, and while he appears to be like a deer in headlights, actually he is managing not to get hit. One of the ways he does this is by staying in the cultural shadow.

[Bill Bria]
If Ryan is the shadow, his front is Vermont singer-songwriter “Joe Tully,” played strongly by Bill Bria. Bill is called a “dick” at one point in the show, and yes, he is. Though he is the extroverted face of the two, as Ryan writes the songs that Bill not only sings, he also has no clue what they are about because he is so emotionally stunted and blocked off. In fact, he even criticizes Ryan for how emo (my word) the topics are, because honestly, Joe wants to rock out. While the character is a bit of a cliché, with the boozing, womanizing, and being a, well, dick, he has a process in this story, and Bill keeps the audience emotionally tied to whatever phase his character is going though. Bria is definitely one of the strongest actors in an already good cast.

[Whit Elliott; photo by Brooklyn Scalzo]
When Joe (and therefore Ryan) get a summer-long gig in a run-down bar, they meet a pair of women that will change their lives. Whit Elliott plays single mom “Cara Rawley” as down-to-earth, and a bit reticent and bitter, yet enough to convey the emotions without isolating her from the audience. She is hesitant to open herself up, and even becomes a little jealous when a character shows some attention to her (unseen) daughter. She plays a catalyst role for more than one character to help them get on with their lives. Whit downplays her, which is actually appropriate, as her character is as walled as Ryan, but for her it is fear based from too much experience, rather than his fear/lack of it. They are two sides of the same coin, much like Harvey Dent’s two-sided coin that one side is mint, and the other is scarred.

[Shuo Zhang]
The other woman of the four leads is “Lauren Clayton,” played quite energetically by Shuo Zhang. Lauren is an OMG! kinda rich daughter sorority girl, who is more than she first appears. I must add that Shuo manages to take what could have been a very cartoony and clichéd character and made her into a full individual. Also, considering the type person Lauren is, Shuo imbues her into someone totally likeable, and makes the audience care about her. While she “grows” the least of the four main protagonists, she is also the one who gets the most of what she wants by using what she has.

[Rachel Dorfman]
Rachel Dorfman plays Ryan’s out-there therapist, “Dr. Stacy Alder.” This part is well written, as a way to call-and-respond with what Ryan is experiencing (i.e., she is sort of his inner monolog, if this were a novel). Despite all the strangeness that goes on in sessions between her and Ryan, Rachel never takes the easy, comedic road of goofiness, and gives her doctor very strong warmth. When she smiles or shows frustration in character, even her eyes show kindness and caring.

[Alixx Schottland]
As Mrs. Clayton (why was she not given a first name, I hear a feminist in my head ask), Lauren’s mom, Alixx Schottland plays her as smoldering and sexy. She shares much with her daughter, in that the pool is deeper than can be seen from the surface. Alixx is effective in the role, making her fierce when it comes to those she loves. Amusingly, the way Alixx kept throwing her hips when she walked, I’m glad she didn’t fall off her heels, which was good because the slink certainly worked for the character!

[Gregory Taft Gerard]
Matching Mrs. Clayton’s conniving is her husband, “Dr. Ralph Clayton” (see, even he has a first name!), portrayed by Gregory Taft Gerard (he even has a middle name, LOL). He comes across as a bit goofy and “Mr. Roper”-ish, but again, there is certainly more there. Gregory plays him almost as two separate people, sort of a good-cop/bad-cop, but manages to make them both be obviously from the same root. He also makes it clear that the doctor loves his family, and will stop at nothing to make sure that they are secure.

[Ted Reeves]
Rounding out the cast is Ted Reeves, who plays the bar owner and a long-time Clayton family friend/sycophant, “Ted White.” Much like Dr. Adler, he is there as both a sounding board and catalyst to the action. Ted really seems to be having fun playing Ted, getting to be drunk, angry, menacing, and sometimes kindly. He’s the underling who is a keen foundational character. I also smiled at Ted’s impromptu whoop at the end of the curtain call.

In case I haven’t made this clear, this is a well-written play that could have, under bad direction, been filled with over-the-top and clichéd performances, but with fine actors and under the able direction of Karen M. Dabney, it is about the story and the people, not about mannerisms and being clownish. I would also like to give a nod to Karen in making the place work in that particular space. The small Beckmann Theatre is oddly shaped in that it is long and narrow with the stage in the center being square at floor level, with the seating on risers on both sides. The blocking is well done so that cast members move around the set in ways that they face both sides of the audience without being too obvious.

Lastly, I’d like to talk about the canned music while the sets are being changed. I noticed a lot of ‘70s music, such as various cuts from Bridge Over Troubled
Water, Kansas’s “Dust in the Wind,” and Jewel’s “Who Will Save Your Soul,” but what I was most impressed by was the cut at the end, the totally appropriate “Are You Happy Now,” by the way underrated Richard Shindell. I’m not sure if that was Karen or Michael’s choice, but it made me smile and I wanted to acknowledge that.

American Theatre Of Actors - Beckmann Theatre
314 West 54th Street (between 8th & 9th Ave), New York City

Through December 7th, 2008 Performances At 8:00 PM
December 6th, 2008 Additional performance At 2:00 PM

http://www.littlehibiscus.com/onward_forward.html