Eclectic Seizure |
Eclectic Seizure Collected Radio Plays of William Gillespie
WEFT 90.1 FM Contents
Eclectic Seizure was a radio project lasting from July 1992 through May 2005, which will persist as a website even when between radio stations. Eclectic Seizure had a cast which rotated such that no member worked on the project for its entire duration, though I was usually the official host and usually took the blame. The Eclectic Seizure archives: wow, what a mess. Approximately hundreds of hours of cassettes and minidiscs. Five three ring binders of scripts in roughly chronological order, word-processed, typewritten, handwritten, randomly-generated and dot-matrix printed, and in some cases written on three by five cards (for the three by five card show) or made into decks of cards designed to be shuffled or distributed. One of the first pieces in the first three-ring binder is a text by Rick Burkhardt scored for four voices. “Jeremy is a perfectly ordinary teenager.” It’s a simple idea and it works beautifully, I think this was later incorporated in to a larger piece of his. The point is that we could experiment. “Ideas so bad you don’t want to rehearse them” someone scornfully said. That was not always the case, there were lots of rehearsals, we probably rehearsed more than the Prairie Home Companion. In any event, we certainly wrote, and usually in bizarre ways. Any attempt to reconstruct the entirety of the project is doomed to inaccuracy. In the definitive archive, I have nearly 400 (full) cassette tapes—most of which have confused labels—often elaborately uninformative collage—or labels which indicate only the date the show was aired. I have also preserved marked up texts, handwritten and typewritten scripts, cue cards of various sorts, scores, and miscellany. In short, this volume is not intended to be a complete, thorough, fair or accurate compilation. And it’s still pretty damn big. This volume consists of scripts written on my computer, a few things I have retyped or restored using optical character recognition software from typed or handwritten pages. In the case of those scripts originally word-processed, the files tend to contain notes to myself about what CDs, noisemakers, or musical instruments to bring to the station, sound effects, particular segues, poems, and even letters. I am leaving some of those notes in, and am adhering to no particular style guide, preferring to present these files in their ragged authenticity rather than edited to be consistent with one another. -William Gillespie (originally written) Valentine’s Day, 2000 / (revised) St. Patrick’s Day 2005 Copyright the Eclectic Seizure Radio Theater Collective Songs Inc.
My Life in the Eclectic Seizure Radio Theater Collective
In this article I tell stories and name names. I must be an old, old man; I have had so much fun. I have been on WEFT Champaign since 1990. In pretty much the same timeslot. The jumbled slum in the margins of strip programming: the much-sought-after Sunday at midnight (recently moved to the primetime 10 PM) timeslot. I remember the time before strip programming: before WEFT’s daytime programming involved consistent jazz & blues. I fell in love with WEFT Champaign when I heard Mitch Altman play Guy Lombardo & “Who Are the Brain Police?” in the same show. Must’ve been the late ‘80’s. I fell so in love with two consecutive station managers that for awhile I was also hosting every daytime slot I could finagle. I had an afternoon show which was bread sandwiched between two slabs of different meat: Kent McKonkey’s Old Timer’s Country Music Show & Kim Johnson’s Sludgefunk show. I called that timeslot The Human Segue’ hoping someone would get it. Back then, at the same time every week, I would destroy a record from the seventies by shattering it on the air. Stuff like REO Speedwagon’s first album—whatever struck me as particularly bad that week. I started hosting the midnight show before WEFT was a 24-hour station; it used to go off the air at 2 AM. I used to play the sign-off tape and then stay on the air broadcasting silence for many minutes, then the sound of a door slamming, then more silence, then the sound of breathing. I must admit that my only intention was to freak people out. I assumed my primary audiences were: people driving home from bars, people who had fallen asleep during Departing Platform 5, people on stimulants, people working dreary graveyard shifts (including one enthused ska fan), fatigue-crazed students up all night studying or writing papers due Monday morning, and various combinations of the above. I liked that audience. The Sunday at midnight show was first called Wading through a Ventilator. After that it was Funk, Skank & Slack. Finally, Eclectic Seizure was born from a bad joke in 1992. That bad joke was The Jack Testosterone Show (“The most well-hung man you’ll ever hear.”) It is always nice to listen to those tapes and hear Rick, Joe, Bethany, Mark and I, basically, doing our best to crack each other up until there was only one person standing to press play. We played a lot of experimental 20th century classical music, stuff that FM has totally neglected: music with silences, twelve-tone, electronic music. But we always introduced it as if it were country, jazz, or blues. I wish I could list the strangers and casual friends who wandered in off the street and ended up on the air. Like The Screaming Mummy. In 1997, two mysterious writers in one night. Brian Krumm, or Barney, Mark, & John doing improvised weather reports. But if I mentioned them it would be because I forgot about people I talked into planning shows with me: Michael Holloway, Nina Paley, Herbert Brün, Susan Parenti, Larry Goldfarb, Warren Burt, Paul Kotheimer, Address Unknown (a Chicago theater troupe of homeless and formerly homeless people), Patch Adams, Scott Rettberg_ And to mention them is to neglect the Eclectic Seizure Radio Theater Collective (people who attended regularly for at least a month in very approximate order of first appearance on the show): Rick Burkhardt, Joe Futrelle, Mark Enslin, Bethany Cooper, Keith Johnson, Carol Huang, Adam Cain, Rishi Zutshi, David Fruchter, Sam Markewich, Andy Gricevich_ And the bands? Catgut, Hardvark, Jaw, the Prince Myshkins, the Ad-Hoc Phil Ochs Ensemble, & APPA: Alabaster Pterodactals and the Plastic Attitudes. And what about the music made by the Eclectic Seizure Radio Theater Collective itself? Original songs by Bethany Cooper, Rick Burkhardt, Danielle Chynoweth, Joe Futrelle, Adam Cain, Katie McDowell, Sam Markewich_ In many cases songs were written for a particular show: for you. How many radio shows write their own music? And to reminisce about the Collective is to forget appearances by Jeff Glassman, Maria Silva, Brian Hagy, Elizabeth (Moth?), Jean Kim, Carol Huang, Ben Blanchard, Frank Marquardt, Genevieve Futrelle, Anetta Pendretti, Sam Patterson, Frank Lombauer, Tony Macauluso, Chris Kólár, Brendan Holloway, Nathaniel Holloway, Drake Depew, Aimee Rickman, the students of LAS 295 and Music 145. And now that I’ve mentioned all them, the thirty or so people I forgot must really feel stung. Please understand that one two-hour show per week for five years means that Eclectic Seizure has been on the air for about 22 solid days. That works out to be about 92 songs, 176 poems, 1078 radio plays, & 1,846,254,855 mistakes_ We’ve done our best, I think, to mythologize WEFT. There was a radio play (one of many produced by Adam Cain, the King Midas of Audio Fidelity (everything he touches turns digital), about The Great WEFT Fire of 1830 (back when WEFT was a telegraph outpost). And there was another radio play in which WEFT was a spaceship drifting between galaxies broadcasting the endangered music of Earth (which had been taken over by a corporate rock global fascist empire). Of course, there was the radio play in which WEFT (during a pledge drive) is arrested for aggressive panhandling, goes to prison, and afterward cannot find a job. At least twice, hosts of other shows were the subject of our show: Mikeljon & Doug Down. I never forgot the play where a crew of pirates sets out with a treasure map to dig up the bootlegs of old Staticbeard. The great Weft curse. Also the play called The Night the Eclectic Guy Didn’t Show Up, in which we pretended that, because the airshifter was late for the show, a series of increasingly improbable airshifters stepped in to fill the timeslot; these included a dog training show, a polka / cha-cha show, and a new-wave synth-pop show (an idea that seemed hilarious at the time, but has since actually happened). Because someone on the programming committee was listening and thought I had actually failed to show up (although I played maybe three parts in the play), I felt quite a bit like Orson Welles. And, oh yeah, there was The Death of the Eclectic Guy, when we staged my own on-air assassination. My favorite memory of all, though, is my memory of the night two tapes got stuck in Keith’s van’s tapedeck. Keith had written a play in which Adam (probably playing WEFT roving reporter Chip Wilcox or WEFT chief engineer Trevor Kajilligard) had to read his lines into a wireless microphone sitting outside in Keith’s van while playing background sound effects on the van’s tapedeck. If Adam Cain is the King Midas of Sound Engineering, then Keith Johnson is Rube Goldberg. Otherwise manageable radio plays were made way more interesting to work out with the addition of wireless microphones, tapedecks and amplifiers, detuned shortwave radios, pure static mixed in off the satellite downlink, and additional mixing boards plugged into the mixing board. Not that I helped any; I was the one who brought in laptops and printers (for a radio-show featuring only electronic music & computer-generated writing), an actual answering machine (for Answering Machine Radio), and my trusty microcassetterecorder, truly the most reliable piece of equipment I’ve owned. I was the one who miked the typewriters we were using to hurriedly try to write the show before it was over. And all this not to mention shows too complicated to even mention, like Twenty Consonant Radio and Police Scanner Radio. Eclectic Seizure is a place where local and visiting artists, including those who do not make art, get to find out how much fun Frequency Modulation can be. Yes, I know WEFT is better than anything on it, and weirder. Our show just offers a condensed version of the inconsistency, ecstasy, and madness that is WEFT. Eclectic Seizure celebrates experimental radio in a way most commercial disc jockeys would have trouble getting into or away with. As WEFT offers music you would never hear on any other station, so does Eclectic Seizure offer music you can’t even hear on WEFT — like good songs played live for the first time ever. Our show is my heart, and it only beats once a week. Sundays at 10 PM this fall: All The Hard Time Killing Floor News That’s Fit To Sing (dedicated to highly subjective reporting of local news and newspapers, in the form of original poetry, music, and theater; cohosted by Danielle Chynoweth), Paul Kotheimer Unplugged, The Herbert Brün Radio Hour (my friend Herbert has, of late, been programming music for me selected from his personal collection: waltzes, electronic music, piano concertos, and 20th century music celebrating the interrogation of capitalism), and Radio Utopia (cohosted by the School for Designing a Society). Tune in sometime. If you don’t dig it, that’s actually a good sign: it’ll be totally different the next week. Eclectic Seizure: Psychedelinquent Schizophradio. -the Eclectic Guy BaNaNaS
... means that I play a brief section of . ... Blowfish: (sighs with languid satisfaction) hi. i’m Ferg Blowfish, Senator Ferg Blowfish. as you all know, the wage freezes i implemented two years ago have helped to slow the rate of inflation and lower the unemployment rates. and that’s something to be proud of. under my administration’s new labor union ban, the price of living has fallen by nearly twelve cents meaning more abundant and demanding jobs to meet the abundant demand for jobs. and more bananas for everybody. so do exactly what you were going to do anyway and feel good about yourself: cast your vote my way this coming election and i promise you, i won’t let you be disappointed. and when you vote for me, tell anyone who does everything you say to vote for me too. ... SALESMAN: bananas. the name says it all. elegance. grandeur. spectacle. they’re part of what you are. and, they’re surprisingly expensive. because not everyone can afford bananas. but then again you’re not everyone. bananas. can you afford not to display them proudly in your home? ... [at this point Mark will, from the front office, phone the studio. the phone will ring, William will pick it up and Rick will perform his half of the phone conversation while Mark skwawks through the phone incoherently but audibly at places marked SKWAWK] Blowfish: hi there Bob. did you see my address SALESMAN: you may not even golf but you have to admit: whatta pair of shoes! patent vinyl! ... Blowfish (still on phone): he’s a model american. we’re just going to meet for a little golfing and a chat: he’s got some great ideas about something he calls a “maximum wage.” ... Salesman: you’ve worked hard to get where you are today. and you’re not about to stop. and when you get to the top, it’s time to head out to the links. I’m talking about golfcourses. and I’m not just talking about any old golf course. no. I’m talking about your own personal golf course. with friends like yours, what are you waiting for? ... Jeeny: i’m Jeeny Cheeseman with the Channel 101 evening news and we want some answers. Blowfish: oh no, it’s you again! Jeeny: Congressman Blowfish, how would you respond at election time to reports of unsportsmanlike campaign tactics, for example squeezing the opposition out of the other seats of government by bribing election officials and closing golfcourses in areas governed by the opposition in order to make the opposition unpopular, and through covert actions keeping the price of bananas up until you had assumed office? Blowfish: a desperate and unsportsmanlike last attempt by the opposition to regain popularity when they should have resigned with their dignity. now their limp bodies will be fished out of the river of history many miles downstream. once i get back into office, my opposition will be the second problem i solve. right after i abolish the press. Mine eyes have seen the gloating of the freedom of the press [in harmony with Joe] Gory gory prostitution ... Anchorman: our top story tonight, americans are not golfing as much as they used to, more after this ... Steve: (traffic noises on CD?) don’t you mean not as many Americans are golfing as used to? where is a guy like me going to find a countryclub that will even admit him? and i’ll die of thirst before i pay three dollars for a bottle of water. and i get about three hours of sleep a day if i hurry home, even sundays. ... Blowfish: hi. i’m president Ferg Blowfish. its been said that this administration’s forced labor policies could make us unpopular. however, the distribution of wealth is still a problem and we’re going to have to cut a little deeper in my second term. my new commercial will be most effective in combination with desensitivity trainin- ... Steve: Dave, on this annual report your profit margins are so big there isn’t room left for any written explanation. everybody’s talking bob, you’re the envy of the club. tell me Bob, what’s your secret. i gotta know... Dave: (chuckles) well, Steve, lets just say i hired the right people. Salesman: are you a foreign manufacturer? import cheap American labor today. watch prices continue to skyrocket while costs plummet. for amazing quantity discounts, double your output and watch the businessworld take notice. its our little secret. ... [to the tune of “Sweet Land of Liberty”] my conspirocracy ... ... STEVE: say, Dave, where’d you get that great new government? you’re the envy of all the nations of the world. DAVE: let me let you in on a little secret, Steve, its the same government i’ve always had, only bigger. and better. with 10 percent more rhetoric. STEVE: you’re kidding me, right? DAVE: not at all, STEVE, and if i were you i’d get down to that 24 hour voting booth right now and pull a lever to put all the power in the same hands who already hold most of it. take a long look at the inevitable, and then choose it. ... Blowfish very very softly: so dutiful to tasteful lies Salesman (simultaneous with hymn): the polished leather perfect hostess from the sea invites you to create a new life where innocence can be refound. drink the success while others envy the general atmosphere created by an ensemble of products. you’ll be faceless without enough money to define your interests as narrowly as possible. so, buy United States Money today ... and watch the legs. The Jack Testosterone Show Jack: Yeah. Both Hands on the Clock are pointing straight up-[doesn’t pause] Dick: fully erect Jack: -and this is Jack Testosterone, the most well-hung man you’ll ever hear. It’s time for the Jack Testosterone Show, the All Hard No Wimps Power Rock Block Around the Clock. Dick: this is Dick Sells, and tonight I’m going to count all the hairs on my back. Jack: Listener, you’d better wear a cup because tonight we’re not messing around. Dick: We’re going to come hard and keep coming. Penetradio. We’re going to split your head in half. Jack: Rock Hard, Dick. Dick: You said it Jack. Jack: Offhand, Dick, Preening Simpering Wimps make me sick. Dick: I’m putting the needle in the first cut, Jack. This oughta scare off those wimps! This track’ll kick things off. Jack.
Jack: yeah... listen to that... Ted Flaz and the Members Only Quintet with Serendipity. Dick: Yeah. Great playing on that, of course Vince Floss on bass. Bruce Fly on skins. Jack: He’s all over those skins, Dick. Really together. Dick: Roy Cooler on Yamaha Electric Stage Harpsichord. Roy Cooler has eleven fingers and he uses his third pinky so sparingly, just a touch during that solo there... Jack: Yeah. Ty Cobb on Fire there, and Stan Flanders on the Vox 88. I like that groove man. Some of the greatest cats on the circuit recorded live there at the Smoke Club in Manhattan in 1977. Dick: Yeah. Now we’re gonna take a breather here, some mellower sounds. Transparencies by Flim Mustard. Just Flim on string recorder with no overdubbing. White hot. This whole first side is like drowning slowly, man. Jack: in water. Dick: Flim one of the pioneers of Age Fusion. precursor of such releases as Mark Circle’s first album Spaces Two. The combo called Watermarks. Jack: Sunset. Dick: Yeah. Michael Sunset. Jack: So sit down for a little wistful meditation time with Transparencies, the First Selection from Flim Mustard’s new release Liquid Gases. Its abstract and cosmic. Classical
Now we turn to the music of Blintz. This is the Quintuple Trio in M flat mixolydian for bicycle and chainsaw. Joe: Franz Saxon on handmade bagpipeorgan and saxonphone for quintuplets and orgasms. We take you now to the Royal Bourgeoisie Amputarium for Rokvokalov’s Spring Air Serenade. Rick: Verner Blitzenlieber conducts the Lower East Terra Haute Car Horn Ensemble in a tribute to Cutler. The messa incoherenta in Z was composed in 1769 and orchestrated for car horn ensemble by Dieter Pincolini last year. It received its second performance in the mail on Tuesday the 1st of March, 1970. The Jack Testosterone Show: Intro you’re listening to Weft champaign. the hour of slack has been preempted this week in order that we might bring you the following special program [mix: stars on 45, california raisins, TV show themes, shockwave extract, network music, space negroes, heavy metal guitar solo from cd] Jack: Yeah. Once again its time for that rippling climax before sleep, the Jack Testosterone Show. I’m your host, Jack Testosterone, the hairiest man you’ll ever hear. Dick: and I’m Dick Sells, the man with the big microphone. Rod: Yeah, this is Rod Bass here. Tonight an All-Distortion-Heavy-Mania-Metal Frenzy Power Ramrock and Pillage Spree. Tonight we’re cutting out everything but the guitar solos for your Head Clanging Pressure. Jack: You got it. Those listeners better start drinking bad Malt Liquor now, because this show is guaranteed to cause headaches. Crank it up. I’m telling all wimps to scram Rod. Dick: Yeah. This is music for big speakers, Jack. Offhand, big is always better. Rod: Rock Hard, Dick. Let’s shake off those wimps with a cut from Pink Sabbath: Iron Death.
[generic ethnic muzak cd/joe’s music] Jack: This is WEFT champaign and the music of Ethnia. That was Gorgon Alamazid and the eleven fingered wooden stringed elbowharp. The elbowharp works with three bilabial reeds which vibrate when the wood is plucked. Rod: The Ethnian tuning system is unique in the Ardiovasc region of the Ervosistan Mountains. There are a total of four and a half notes distributed unevenly over fifty octaves, and all the reeds on the elbow harp are tuned to one of the four and a half notes. Dick: However, by bending forwards so his shoulder is touching the hip, Gorgon can increase the tension of the bow, thereby bending the note a microtone flat. And a wide array of micromicrotones in which Gorgon is well versed in traditional Timtim Folk melodies. Jack: We move now across the fiftyfifth parallel government checkpoint to the music of Yoachim Kukun Nordslav in the foothills of the Translatian Miniature Forests. Their traditional harmonies were used to call the sheep. Dick: The harmonies are played on Balkaphones, which is a sort of bagpipe made from Yew bladders. It evokes images of a peaceful Translatian history of nomadic herders, before the revolution. Rod: This is music which has been forgotten by the Translations. Replaced by the anthems of the third Yooxenth regime which is now on the verge of collapse as rioting tears through the streets of once gentle Carpikia on the shores of the heavily mined Gulf of Inlet. We hope these traditional verses will drag you back to a happier time.
Rick: And now for our tri-county forecast. I’m Rick Bliss. Well it’s cold. Our tricounty radar range shows fuzzy pink swirls to the east this is probably evidence of frost forming on the equipment. A closer look reveals a lot of Ls and they are moving westward. This shows a wet front moving in a wedge westwards across the Kaskaskia River and forcing the dry air upwards. This could result in metal forming in the upper atmosphere and when it does it can fall and do a lot of damage to your car so you’d better let it sleep indoors tonight. Also, if you step outside to the Northeast you can see giant multicolored whirling discs moving by in a V formation. These are not visitors from another planet but are in fact caused by light reflecting off the surface of the dark side of the sun. Nothing to worry about. They’re pretty, don’t you think Jack? Jack: People of earth. We have come from the funk planet to disco with you all night long.
Boston (midwest: Chicago suburb accent) so like: like. totally. totally! yeah. i know. me too. like. (east east: Boston accent) so i parked my car in harvard square and walked to the shopping mall. i saw audrey in the carpet store. she was walking her dog and her dog spot made a spot on some mauve wall to wall carpeting. paul was appalled. he said if she didn’t buy all fortyfour yards he would bop her on the jaw. it was awful. she said sorry. so we went to the coffeeshop and we each got a large coffee. and a garden salad with olives, artichoke hearts, sausage and parsley. i dropped my fork on the floor. the maitre’d came over and i apologized a lot. so we went to play golf. there were fourteen holes in all. and four ponds. we rented a golfcart and drove it all over. it was marvelous. i scored four under par. so we went to the bar and audrey bought me a bottle of sharps. normally i only drink water. my body can’t tolerate alcohol but i adore the carbonation and the flavor of fermented hops. audrey had a margarita. we saw laura there. she had just brought don in from baldwin new york. she was drinking a tom collins in a tall glass. we talked politics for hours. until four. laura told us about the time her condo on long island got robbed. then it was time for her seminar. and i was on call at the hospital in a quarter hour. audrey said it was alright, solitude was tolerable. so we all walked to my car. so then i realized it was fathers day. i forgot. i’m my father’s favorite daughter so i went to a shop and bought a hallmark card for a dollar and a quarter. it had a drawing of garfield and an envelope. so i went home to shower, wash and floss. then i did laundry. i washed a load of scarves with warm water and clorox. i was out of coughdrops so i had a lozenge. so i needed some swampwater for my bong so i walked down to the bog and saw a frog sitting on a log. i thought it was a polligog. so i thought: we have four days before the performance. we should start rehearsing. i bought all the props and costumes from the costume and prop shop. boston is awesome. all the swamps in boston are awesome
Jack Testosterone Show Farewell Intro for Four Studmuffins Jack: Oh Yeah Oh Yeah. It’s midnight on a Monday morning, and you’re tuned to the right man. I’m Jack Testosterone, the most well hung man you’ll ever hear and no I don’t take steroids. No. I drink. Yeah. And tonight’s show is brought to you by Schlurz, the thicker quicker Malt liquor that gets you sicker. Only Schlurz is 250 proof for twentyfive cents a gallon. Dick: This is Dick Sells and I’ve got a big big big surprise for you. Put on your boots and kick out your tweeters because tonight we’re gonna CRANK UP THE BASS. Rod: Treble is for Simps, DICK. Jack: Put er there, Rod. Rod: This is Rod Bass and tonight there’s no pulling out. No. Yeah. Lance Cleft has just slipped in the control room. Lance: This is Lance. And listener just listen to what I brought... Payola. Jack: That’s the stuff. (begins snorting cocaine) Lance: I’ve just been circling the block in a limo with Sly Spangle from Thrust Records and we’ve worked out a new rotation schedule. Every ten minutes we play “Slash and Earn” by Teddy Hammer and the Police Car Doors.. Dick: Duuude! Lance: Yeah! tonight we’re gonna have a ball extra. Teddy Hammer with “Slash and Burn” available today downtown at Metal Heaven on CD for just $25.99 just around the corner from Guitarworld. Get down!
Jack: Yeah. This is Jack Testosterone and you’re ON THE AIR. Rock: (phone voice) Testosterone? This is your station manager Rock Head. Remember me? Jack: Yeah Rock, I remember you. I remember you from that party over at the mansion of my producer Stiff Winkle. Rock: I’m surprised you can remember anything from that party. Your show’s been cancelled Jack. This is your last night. Jack: What? Rock, how? Why? Are irate women storming the building again? Because you know I love women Rock. Rock: No Jack. Jack: Is it the ratings? I know Teddy Hammer hasn’t caught on yet, but he will. Our new rotation will keep the Police Car Doors in tires. Rock: No Jack. Jack: Is it because I smoke and drink in the control room? Rock: No. Jack: Is it because I punched out the weatherman? Rock: No. Jack: Oh no! Rock. Is it me? Am I... getting soft? Am I turning into a... wimp? Rock: Listen Jack, all our DJs are being replaced by a five CD carousel with shuffle repeat play. We don’t need you around to push buttons anymore. We’re stripping down the format Jack. Led Bread’s first five albums on continuous random play with five commercials per song. Jack: You’re making me limp Rock. Rock: Sorry Jack. Take your ashtray with you when you leave. (click) Jack: I can’t believe this. (begins bawling) Dick: I’m really sorry Jack. Hey, need a hug? Rod: Aw, Jack. Cheer up. C’mon. I’ll take you for a ride on my Harley. [Jack continues weeping, the other men continue to console him, we fade out and into a really sad song like... “It’s All Right to Cry.”] ad for Black Lung cigarettes [lighter sound & puffing. Rod coughs feebly.] Rod: Say Jack, these cigarettes are for wimps. These couldn’t cough a gnat off. Jack: Right you are Rod. Those pastel floral slim light 180s are too smooth a smoke for real men. Try this new extraphallic filterless Black Lung cigarette. Rod: What have I got to lose? Jack: Your life, Rod. [both laugh hilariously and begin puffing] Salesman: Sick of silky smooth smokes? Reach out and grab a packed black pack of Black Lung cigarettes. The only cigarette in the black hard pack with five surgeon generals warnings. With all the nicotine and twice the tar for your coughing satisfaction. So addictive that withdrawal means death. Black Lung cigarettes: the cough that gets you off. Just look for the cross. [Jack Rod and the Salesman are all coughing furiously] Rod: [coughingly] You’re right Jack. I haven’t felt this alive in... [crashing thud] Jack: [coughing] Black Lung cigarettes are the only cigarettes for men. [ambulance siren fades in]
Jack: Ello. This is WEFT Champaign 90.1 FM. We’re going to pause for a moment for a couple of PSAs. Well the CIA is coming to C-U to give a lecture and slideshow in room C at the YWCA on the third of May... Lance: uh Jack wait a minute I think you’re gonna confuse people. First of all PSA stands for public service announcement. Rod: it’s a TLA. Dick: Titanic Love Affair? They’re OK. I saw them at CBGB 2 in LA. Rod: No Dick, TLA stands for three letter acronym. I learned that on NPR. Dick: Oh! OK. 10-4. I got you. Jack: Doesn’t it also stand for Two-Letter Acronym? Like PS, MA, BO, TV, MT, IQ Lance: [breaks in anytime] How about twelve-letter acronym? i.e. T B O N T B T I T Q W T? Rod: I’m not even gonna ask. N,O. R2D2 over here... Jack: Too much R&R, Lance? Lance: Actually its Jack’s BO. P-U! [during this fadeout everyone must chant acronyms quietly at random. examples: LSD DDT TNT PT TP PR RPM PMS SOS S&M MVP PTA AA AAA XXX GO GM ] Dick: Coming up, ASAP, the music of XTC, ABC, U2, X, ZZ Top, NRBQ, UB40, front 242, KMFDM, KD Lang, KLF, ELO, ELP, the Jackson 5 with their hit ABC-123, “8675309 Jenny” by Abie and the Seedy Refugees
Jack: And now its time for Tim Information’s Informative Minute. Just one! Tim: okay okay jack please don’t punch me. (regains composure) This is Tim Information. Tonight the CIA helped overthrow many tiny governments while Americans watched a rerun of Golden Girls. CIA stands for Commissioned to Intervene Anywhere and is a branch of the government which was established in the eighteenth century in order to investigate reports of witchcraft in Salem Massachusetts. This has been Tim Information’s Information Minute.
......Neil, this is Houston. I’m on the porch. Over?..... sports Terry: Rioting swept through the Barcelona Coliseum today as the New Zealand football team opened fire on the Sicilians. The crowd overwhelmed security and rushed onto the field to attempt to score on their countrymen’s behalf. At the Windsor Cup Semifinals Irish tennis contender Terry Dominic claimed responsibility for the bombing of the Piccadilly tennis courts. In the men’s European swimming finals, Antonioni Mazerati released a white shark which finished the French contender just before the Dutchman Klaus Pøklas. In the division three world riot finals, the Germans beat the Turks for the third time this month. Terry 2: Finally a look at the sporting headlines again: the women’s synchronized speed diving team ambushed the Australian rugby team in the showers of the Madrid soccarium. The South African soccer cup tournament opened yesterday and is already over. Terry 3: The Greek Ambassador to Norway was kidnapped and is being held for ransom by the Danish long distance sniping team. In the third day of the war for domination of the world, the United States competed with various difficult-to-pronounce nations who comprised the former Soviet Union. In the hydrogen bomb competition the United States scored significantly higher in lingering radioactivity and the desecration of the world climate. The submarine competition began just five minutes ago and we take you to Terry Bently.... with coverage from the Bering Strait.... Terry 4: The first missiles have been fired already Terry. They are out of sight now but they look like long range missiles,,= almost certainly nuclear-tipped. We can only speculate which cities these were aimed at. Both sides will score points according to various criteria; mostly population destroyed. And the first reports are in. What a surprise! The Soviets have ignored Los Angeles altogether and concentrated all their missiles on New York and the Eastern seaboard.... Wait! Los Angeles is hit. We’re getting static now. The first strike has hit the former Soviet Union.... It seems as if the Americans are focusing on sites of primitive nuclear powerplants and Moscow, as I predicted earlier. Well the spirits are soaring here and I think no matter who wins, this kind of competition between nations can only strengthen both. Back to you Terry. Terry? Labor Day Poorly Typed Inadequate Scripts part two: Terry Bently: Fifteen minutes ago the United States,, under the authorization of United Nations Resolution #25, proceeded in an air attack on Baghdad. The ground forces are not yet involved. As the sun rises over the Persian Gulf the individual flashes are lost in the rising dust and smoke from burning oil wells,, and are only noticeable as tremendous crashes which shake the streets. The U.S. air strike is using microscopic accuracy to only destroy the weapons in the hands of individual Iraqi soldiers without hurting any of the soldiers or nearby citizens. Business is carrying on as usual and the Iraqis seem relatively unaffected by the bombing... (fades into static) John Russo: ... and General Noriega is still nowhere to be found as American soldiers calmly walk through Panama city politely asking if anyone has seen him. The citizens of Panama are confused but helpful... Except for a few killings, there has been no violence yet... (mouth static) Libya: ... issued in response to the bombing of an American Discotheque in Eastern Berlin. The bombing of Libya was a warning for actual violence to co me if Khadafy refused to cooperate. Nobody was killed in the bombing and no buildings were destroyed... Berlin: A group of German youths were provoked today by Korean storeowners 00. (static) Tehran: ... American hostages seized by employees of the Ayatollah Khomeini said they would only be release d if three conditions were met. Firstly, that the Shah be forced to work at an American McDonald’s, that weapons be sold to Iraq, and that Reagan be elected president for two terms... Carter: In a clumsy accident, president Jimmy Carter allowed an alliance between Egypt and Israel to weaken divisions in the middle east... Ford: Jimmy Carter has been replaced by Gerald Ford until such time as Nixon can resume office. Cambodia: ... today it was decided to resume the bombing in Cambodia... Vote: ... and eighteen year olds no longer have the right to vote. The preside president admitted today that he was going to revoke all the amendments, one by one, until slavery was legal again .... (long static) Bomb: ... Hiroshima, and Nagasaki... (long long static) Terry Bently: ... causing civil war to sweep across the United States of America. The southern half has seceded from the union and the Northern United States has declared war until such time as they rejoin. The southern United States has adopted the flag of the British Union as its emblem. The British Parliament has already announced plans to annex the entire continent of North America for use as a prison for religious exiles...... in an act of protest an anonymous American terrorist group, dressed as Native Americans, seized and overran a Dutch East India Trading Company sailing ship in Boston harbor. To protest the United Kingdom’s decision to colonize North America, they threw over 20 pounds worth of tea into the harbor. This is Terry Bentley, BBC, London. Religious Station And now its time for an inspirational message from the reverent Stoat in Westminster’ s Abbey Road... Religion has often been criticized for its role in the capitalist system. As the great thinker Edward Scapegoat said, “he who doth goeth to church, ought an extra shilling to take along.” In the industrialized west, what role does faith play? The religious faith is epitomized by factory workers. Although they exist in a moral vacuum they attend their jobs religiously each day. The same can be said of bakers. Although they find their extreme incomes dwindling they still attend happily to their work, accepting their role. When people are told they must think a certain way or be devoured by wild dogs on a street corner, hungry and underclothed, they think aloud. They fall to one knee, clasping their folded hat over their breast, and speak aloud. They worship the very starving wild rabid dogs‑that roam the street because a crust of bread can be hidden under an stairwell. We wave our clothes at the neighbor ‘s across they way and with undying faith attend happily to our toilet in the morning and the pot roast at night, for the only happy soul is a soul who labors side by side with his brothers at the factory each morning, each morning resplendent in the knowledge that he is one day closer to the KINGDOM. The Kingdom waits for you. Tickets are available now. Yeah! and clasp your checkbook to your chest and lay your pen on a folded knee. Sing aloud as you fall before your radio! Put one hand in a lightsocket and the other in a tab of warm water and feel the current of the lord flow through you. The smoke rising from your scalp is your faith. Ye knave of the pleasant god smiling. Each morning, at the construction site, each mortarblock that falls on your foot is the weight of the Lord patting you reassuringly. Each mutilated limb, each punctured lung, each freak forklift accident is a kiss blown to you from the kingdom of dreams that you labor to build the road to, blindly, yes, for if the Lord had wanted you to see he would have given you eyes on the back of your head to see the foreman’s convertible, or fingers on the soles of your feet to feel the tread of each workday. go rip a check from your book of days and inscribe your holiest inscripture, made out to cash. And bow down your head humbly, lest the one true savior get the wrong idea. More Static News
Mark: Roger, this is Colonel Roger. I’m over the floodplain now I can see the glow of the public library on my radar and the formation is banking to close in... Keith: In London today a car bomb exploded on the highway in front of the Parliament Building causing a passenger train to derail and plunge through the Israeli embassy sweeping across Buckingham square where a gang of Nazis were rioting in streets in the Korean sector. Everyone was killed... (fades into static) Rick: In America in Boston today a group of activist dressed as Native Americans overran and sabotaged a ship containing shipments of British Eastern Dutch India tea today. As a demonstration against the closing of American tea companies all the cartons of tea were thrown into the Boston harbor and destroyed (fades into mouthed static)
W: You’ve got it tuned to K90.1fm the all high-frequency show for dogs W: I’m your host Todd on the air Airedale. My right paw tonight is Rolf Pinscher. M: That’s right Todd. W: and clicking into the studio right now is Lhasa Apso! Sit and stay awhile Lhasa. (silence, thumping, laughter) M: Oh ho ho! You didn’t have to play dead Lhasa ha ha. Well the first piece we’re going to play for you and your best friend tonight is a recording by the Beatles entitled a Day in the Life. During the final fadeout of the final piano chord you will not hear a 15 kilocycle tone. But it’s there. K: Just watch your dog’s ears prick up.
10251992 1. I’ve got it! I’ve got it! How about this one: “Just hold your nose, and vote for Clinton.” 2. I don’t know... 3. Kinda bleak, isn’t it? 4. C’mon! We’re trying to sell a product here! 5. Hmmm... How about: “Vote for Clinton: you’ll only hate yourself for a couple of years...” 1. Hey! That’s got possibilities! 2. No it doesn’t. 3. That’s really NEGATIVE. Besides, according to Governor Clinton’s Public Relations Plan, they’ll only hate themselves for six months, MAX! 4. Maybe something more like: “Clinton: Hey! At least he ain’t Bush!” 5. Better, better. 2. Perot? Who’s that? (everybody has a good chuckle) 3. Eureka! I know! “Vote for Clinton, because he looks the most like Kennedy!” 4. No. 2. I’m not sure what you mean. I’ve got a little one... It’s not very good... Maybe I should just... Well? 3. Out with it. 4. Can’t be worse than ours. 5. Couldn’t hurt to listen to it. 1. Let’s hear it. 2. Okay okay.... “Vote for Clinton, because that’s how low we’ve sunk.” 10251992: 1. Now we take you to the WEFT Helicopter for our hourly traffic report with Cleft McNamara, our resident trafficologist and pilot... (fake helicopter sounds abound) Cleft: ...I’m not actually trained as a pilot you know... Hm? Am I on? Oh! This is Cleft. Right now I’m hovering over the intersection of University Avenue and Cunningham Road, in Urbana, and at 1:15 AM on a Monday morning there seems to be no traffic at all. There’s a guy on a bike heading east over there... Looks like he’s carrying a bag of groceries under his arm. Oh... Look out for that cat! Whew! We’ll I’m banking now and heading west towards Champaign and it looks like commuters from Urbana to Champaign are going to have no trouble at this time. There’s a couple of taxi’s parked along University... Yes, University is not blocked up at all and the same can be said for Springfield Avenue. Kirby, on the other hand. Watchout, it looks like the stoplight at first street is broken, I haven’t seen it change in two min... Oh there it goes. Never Mind. 1. Cleft, it’s about closing time for campus bars. Cleft—Oh no! I missed it? 1. Is there any evidence of drunken driving? Cleft: Well as I circle in place above the intersection of Fourth and Green, I can see one guy kind of staggering. It’s too early to tell if he’s walking to his car or not, I guess not. He’s unlocking his bicycle from a tree. Hold on! I think someone just blew through the stoplight here... Um that depends, is right turn on red legal at that intersection? 1. Well we won’t know the answer to that for a few minutes. Cleft: As I pull up I can see the new Windsor Road beltway. Have you seen it yet? It’s beautiful. It has four lanes and very few intersections and is, all in all, one of the safest roads I’ve ever seen. There’s one car now. Hey, I think that’s Sharyn’s car. She must be driving home from the Off Track Betting parlor. She’s probably drunk so watch out for a brown Dodge Dart Hey do you suppose she’s listening to WEFT? Hi Shar’! 1. Well that concludes this hourly traffic report. We now return you to the main studio. It looks like my passage to turntable one is blocked by a folding chair, but it looks like I’ll have no problem getting to the CD player. And now the symphony for traffic by Claude Taxi... Bland‑Up Comedy This is a city right? (ha ha ha) I see a lot of people out there tonight. What town are you folks from huh? Alright, beautiful city. Yeah. Hey how about major metropolitan centers, are those places nuts or what? Are they kidding us? Yeah. Lotta people, let me tell you. Yeah. You ever try to catch a cab? Hey, how about that, huh? Crazy. C R A ZY. Yeah. Hey, speaking of television, what’s the deal with these commercials, huh? Are they trying to sell us products or what? Know what I mean? And the programs, huh? Who are they kidding with these? Yeah. Hey, how many of you watch TV huh? Show of hands. Hey, I know you’re out there, I can see you. Okay, tough crowd, Jeez. Hey where are you people from anyway? Sir? Is that your wife? Huh? Hey, just kidding. Hey, how about the radio? Is that out of control or what? What are these disc jockeys thinking huh? Hey, how many of you ever had sex‑? Hey, it’s pleasurable, isn’t it? Huh? Never mind. Sorry sir... Hey, how many of you sleep in a bed? Comfortable aren’t they? Yeah, alright. Everybody feeling alright, tonight? Yeah? Good. Alright I got a couple of jokes for you. Why did the chicken cross the road, huh? Is this guy zany or what? Huh, who is he fooling with this chicken joke. Have you seen this guy, the comic with no jokes? Who’s he trying to fool? cooking with JAW script for William
I’m, your host, Bill Blowinkle, and tonight we’ve got a really special dessert and the end of a protein rich and otherwise nutritious broadcasting day. Tonight, for the first time ever in this timeslot, a live cooking program. Cooking with Jaw. Jaw is the newest band to hit the Champaign Urbana Alternative Rock and Cuisine Community. They originated in Lyle Illinois where they have performed several bar mitzvahs and highschool proms, and have their own weekly show Cooking with Jaw on the local cable access band there. Every sunday at midnight. Tonight Jaw is here live in the Great Hall of WEFT, they’ve already set up. They’ve plugged in their amplifiers, the Wok is already hot, they’ve tuned their instruments and the final knives are being sharpened. Tonight, for your aural and olfactory satisfaction, they’re going to perform a live set and prepare their own tuna casserole. So if you’re hungry or really really bored just hop in your car and come down to the station prepared to dance up an appetite. If you’re listening at home, I recommend Chateau St. Michelle Chardonnay, 1978 vintage, or Malt Liquor. Mr.X: [barges in] Sorry to interrupt you mister Blowinkle but I’m Agent X of the health department and I’m here to inform you of the Jaw Restaurants notorious record. They have been asked to close down because the kitchen is so unsanitary that the entire block has been evacuated and fenced off by the environmental protection agency. In addition, in order to prepare food over the radio you are required to have a Special License which you must petition for through the Food and Drug Administration and the Federal Communications Commission. Unless you plan to serve alcohol in which case you need eight special licenses which I have copies of here I can sell to you for however much cash you happen to have on hand.... William: Get out of here. Mr.X: Sorry. William: While the band finishes chopping the celery I’m here with John Malign, the band’s manager and also the manager of the Jaw restaurant in Greater downtown Lyle, just across from the nuclear power plant. John, how has business been at the restaurant? Casey: Well what with the recession and that lousy louse stinking GEORGE BUSH we got there in the Whitehouse there, aw, I can’t complain. We got a pretty steady lunch crowd and sometimes at night the boys set up in the middle over by the fountain and play for the customers and we get a lot of skinheads sometimes there’s thrashing and food fighting and we lost one of our chandeliers and we have to replace our entire stock of wineglasses about once a week but I can’t complain because we’re making lots of money. Lots. That’s why we came to Champaign Urbana, steppingstone to stardom. We’re already rich just need to get famous HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA William: That’s touching. Well it looks like Jaw is starting to prepare the veal so let’s take you down to the kitchen where the band is already set up... Brian: Hi. I’m Brian. I’m a busboy at the Jaw cafeteria and I play drums for the band. Tonight I’m going to prepare Veal Mussolini. I have seven strips of boneless veal cutlets here and they’ve been marinating in heavy cream at room temperature outside for two weeks. And they smell great. The first step is to tenderize the veal and I like to do that by coating the snaredrum in flour with a special preparation of special herbs. Like so. Then I lay the veal strips in the flour. Like so. It’s best to tune the drumhead as much as a semitone sharp. Look how nice that veal looks. Nice and green, very slippery. Then I tenderize them by beating out a standard 4/4 or sometimes a 7/4 depending on how soft you want it. Its okay to use really big drumsticks (begins drumming QUIETLY) Derek: I’m Derek. I play bass and I’m a cook at the JAW lunchroom and nightclub up in Lyle. I’m preparing the sauce. In a saucepan here you can see that the butter is already melted and is just beginning to burn. Perfect. See... Now I’m going to add four quarts of cream. We usually use some chocolate too. Now we’re going to flavor this with about a cup of lard and a splash of olive oil. There. Now we add the bacon drippings... See how its getting so thick a waxy film is forming across the top..? Its important to stir at this point... I’m going to stir the sauce while Jeff adds the eggs. Derek begins playing with Brian SOFTLY 1Jeff: I’m Jeff. 2Jeff: And I’m also Jeff. 1: I’m a prepchef at the Jaw Rotating Restaurant in Lesser Lyle. The Jaw restaurant seats three and rotates about five times a second providing an exhilarating atmosphere for fine dining. 2: I’m a dishwasher. 1: I also play lead guitar. 2: And I also play lead guitar. 1: Veal Mussolini requires a dozen raw eggs. We’ve allowed these eggs to sit for a month and they are each entirely rotten and teeming with a special blend of microorganisms that give our entrees that special tang. I’m going to begin cracking the eggs into the sauce as Derek stirs. We set the shells aside for use later. 1Jeff breaks eggs on his guitarstrings softly 2: We’re getting ready to fry the veal and I’m going to oversee that. We’ve got a deepfat fryer over here and the fat is boiling. I’m going to raise the temperature to four hundred thousand degrees Kelvin, about the temperature of the surface of the sun. You’ll notice I’m wearing a fullbody asbestos suit and am handling the veal with special tongs on the otherside of a blast shield. This is because the splattering grease can be dangerous when we drop those cutlets in so stand back: 2Jeff makes staticky noise or something i don’t know Ken: And now the finishing touches. Hi I’m Ken, I’ll be your waiter tonight. Our special tonight is the expensive cholesterol special, which consists of actual clogs removed from other people’s arteries and served with melted cheddar cheese. Our special appetizer tonight is Raw Hamburger, served in a wheelbarrow with a shovel. In addition, salmonella shakes are half off. Also, the plague is in season and any dish can be infected for an extra dollar. Can I get you a drink Or an appetizer?
vince feeble, Ph.D., ethnomusicologist Gosh. You kids sure look groovy tonight. Most of you are in costume—that’s cool. history JAW was formed in 1983 when Jeff, Depeche Mode’s lead sequencer quit the band and looked around for someone with a drum machine with whom to rake in the dough from the turgid synthpop market. His old buddy Jeff had just quit the Lyle Symphony orchestra with whom he was the fifth violinist. One day they got together to jam with Brian, the original drummer for the Stooges who had spent the entire seventies recovering from marijuana addiction, and on that jam that fateful day in Brian’s mom’s basement while she had gone out for groceries they felt that magic spark. At that point Ken, the pizzaman, arrived with a twelveinch cheese pizza and they asked him to be their vocalist. They played as a foursome on a three stop tour of Trenos and on their third gig Derek wandered on stage with his bass and plugged in. And they let him. Jaw has come a long way from Trenos, their only venue up until now. They’ve come a long way, about a block, to get where they are today. Jaw. last gig This is Jaw’s farewell tour, in case you didn’t know. They broke up three times last week and they decided to reform as the new Jaw II for this concert, sponsored by Budweiser. sixties As you know, Jaw is celebrating the death of Eric Clapton tonight with an all-sixties nostalgia show. For the occasion, Jaw is playing exclusively on period instruments. There are no digital effects being used tonight, or synthesizers, only the equipment used by the quote psychedelic unquote bands of the late to upper sixties. Jeff is playing mellotron on this piece, and for a more Indian sound, Brian will play tabla. That’s an original Forcaster Wah-Wah pedal you see there. Among the tunes you heard this evening were White Rabbit by Blue Cream, Too Many Headaches by the Medicine Men, and Be the Sky by The Electric Machine. Now stay tuned for another flashback with Jaw’s version of Tobacco Road. music We are musicians and as musicians there are certain musical aspects we have to consider when composing a composition... For instance, pitch. Now pitch refers to the frequency of a sound. All sounds are vibrations, and the pitch is the number of vibrations per second. Now another musical phenomenon is harmony. Harmony is what you get when you have two different sounds, or frequencies, at the same time. In this next piece, there are moments when more than one person is playing at a time. You will be able to hear this better if you stand closer to the PA system. It helps to cup your ears like this. Listen closely now to this next demonstration, and try to pick out the moments when there is more than one sound happening at a time... string Jeff’s broke a string. Does anyone have a C string? (a what?) I’m sorry a C# string? Does anyone have a C# string? experiment Well thank you for participating in our hearing loss study. As usual, you’ll each be paid $5 in my office on Monday $5! Those of you in the control group, we’re going to do a follow-up study, so we’d like you all to go downstairs where you’ll hear a string quartet. Or not. The ringing in your ears will probably not go away anytime. Soon. That’s why we had you sign these release forms. Okay, group C please move right up to the speakers for this next experiment... The Shyness Contest Rick: It’s the twelfth Annual Shyness Pageant Live on WEFTCHAMPAIGN already in progress. The next event at tonight’s pageant is the oral or “spoken” competition. The blushing competition is already over, the results have been inconclusive at best. Five of our seven contestants have failed to show up to the judging at all, presumably due to shyness and that is going to assure them of an easy victory tonight. Our two contestants who showed up are now attempting to overcome their shyness in preparation for the spoken or “out loud” competition. Tonight. We’ve been given permission by their agents to approach them for comment before the final, or the “verbal” competition. Contestant Number One: William: Well, as you can tell Rick I am extremely shy. I’ve been shy ever since I was a little boy, and I think that every bit of the shyness and awkwardness Rick, that I radiated in Kindergarten, Grammar School, and High School are still evident today. Rick: Thank you, (William continues speaking during the following interchange:) Rick: Contestant Number Two. Keith: Don’t Say My Name!!! Rick: Sorry... ...Uh.... Can you tell us a little bit about yourself... Keith: No. Rick: Um... Okay, do you think your chances are good or “favorable” in the competition tonight? Keith: (whimpering) Leave me alone. Please. Just leave me alone. Rick: Sorry. Whew! Boy, I feel terrible. I’m really sorry to have interviewed or attempted to interview contestant number two. Well, the verbal or “linguistic” competition is cancelled. Oh my, it looks like the judges have already decided unanimously in favor of, contestants three through seven, a five‑way tie for first place. Yes, all the contestants who did not show up have won.... wait! It looks like contestant two is fleeing from the building in tears! There may be a recount. More after this . William: (speaks this in the background throughout) One more thing, Rick. Just a little anecdote I wanted to tell about the most embarrassing and humiliating experience of my entire life, an experience that left me so shattered that 1 was never again able to function socially again. This experience of mine made it impossible for me to ever again interact with my fellow human. Don’t get me wrong, Rick, I wasn’t exactly outgoing to begin with... Not by a long shot. No sirree! But after this incident which I am about to relate to you here, now, tonight, I could never look another person in the eye. I stuttered, my hand shook when I paid for things, I was afraid to go to the grocery store for fear of seeing someone I knew. I’ve had it rough, Rick, make no mistake. And t there’s no end in sight. Although I do receive counseling every day and am on Ritalin, Lithium, and Prozac, I doubt I’ll ever be able to address a stranger again. This experience happened to me in Junior High School, in the locker room. It was very very traumatic. A little background here: I was the class wimp, okay. Anyone who couldn’t win a fight would pick on me because I never hit back. Of course, I got straight As and was class‑president (for two semesters mind you! not subsequent but) it was after gym class and I was very tired from running the five mile marathon that we had to do every day after our workout, and I sat on this bench that I guess must have been the wrong bench to sit on thatparticulardayorsomething andsoonadinfitinumfadeout.... THE NICE SHOW William: You’re listening to good music on the nice show. It’s about twelve thirty. The weather tonight is mild. I’m here with Mark, a fella I know pretty well. Mark, how are you tonight? Mark: Fine. How about you William? William: I’m OK I guess. Well you’ve got it tuned to the nice show on WEFT 90.1 FM, the tasteful one. Mark: Here on the nice show we like to play good music. William: Pretty nice music. Mark: Nice and pretty. And we like to have pleasant conversations just to keep our listener- William: Thanks, Mark. Mark: You’re welcome, William. (pause) William: And now for some more good music... Beer Babble Articulate: Nowhere are the contradictions between advertising and reality more prevalent than in beer commercials. The reality of beer is badly lit, graffiti gouged, odiferous taverns, or a night at home alone watching television on a stained sofa, or throwing up out of a dormroom window. The advertisements, on the other hand, show an immaculate, fantastic, glamorous, colorful sexual world. (Trying to sell something enters here) Picture yourself on a beach, perfectly tanned muscled and healthy, relaxing on the beach on the perimeter of a volleyball game. They look like they’re having a lot of fun. You wish you could play too. Suddenly you crack open an ice cold Schlitz, and all eyes are on you. Sound ridiculous? It is. Alcohol never improves anyone’s social life. Alcohol never improves anyone’s health. It is a disease. Trying to sell something: (Drunk Off His Ass enters here) you win a free pair of Beck’s party shorts. Just for buying Beck’s beer in the bottle. Ice cold Beck’s. Don’t you wish you were drinking some too? I bet you do. Take advantage of our large prices. Spend spend spend. Today. Drunk Off His Ass: Radio Rhyme
And now a Led Zeppelin block Our army is moving across To an expert who’s right here with me Our full money-back guarantee
Mark: Glass houses. Mark: People who live in glass houses shouldn’t Rick: Ah... Mark: Now say it back to me. Rick: People who live in a stone house shouldn’t Mark: But what does it mean? Mark: Are you happy? Mark: Look on the bright side. Rick: Oh you know, Every cloud has a silver lining... Partly sunny instead of partly cloudy. Half full instead of half empty... Well? How’d I do? Mark: I don’t think you need to know how you did. Rick: How much longer will I have to do this? Mark: Don’t worry about that right now. Just try to get more involved with the program. Christmas Show Intro William: This is WEFT Champaign 90.1 FM shortly after midnight and it’s time for Eclectic Seizure. My name is William Gillespie, I am one of the hosts of this show and the host of this much-sought-after Sunday at Midnight timeslot since 1990. Mark: That long! William: My first show, Wading Through a Ventilator, played alternative alternative rock as well as weird mixtures of dead presidents, drug references... Keith: alternative president references William: and Sixties music. My second show, Too Much Coffee involved frighteningly weird eclectic transformations as well as denser mixtures which eventually came to include sound effects CDs, tapes of my friends, and eventually my friends themselves. Mark: Do you consider us your friends, William? William: Just a second Mark. My third show was called Funk, Skank, and Slack. Funk Skank and Slack specialized in Ska, a Caribbean form of music that became popular in England in the Sixties and again in the late seventies that I used to listen to a lot until Dave Shoresman took all his records back, slicked his hair back and got a job working at the liquor store. Keith: Who? William: and funk, which is an extremely funky type of music popularized by extremely funky people in the late sixties and seventies. Mark: late seventies? William: just a second, Mark, i’m busy. Funk Skank and Slack was eventually transformed, and notice how my passive sentence formation implies that a conspiracy of outside forces were involved... Keith: I did. William: The hour of slack is a prerecorded radio ministry hour which is released by the Church of the Subgenius, a cult that operates out of Dallas Texas. So every week I would come in by myself to this dark lonely cold radio station in the middle of the night Mark: awwww. William: and play these tapes which were about an hour and a half long. and i would slump at the control panel... Keith: You mean you didn’t like the Hour of Slack? William: Like it? I hated it. An hour and a half of a megalomaniacal self appointed religious cult figure droning on and on Mark: and on William: You hated it too, Mark? Mark: Kind of embarrassed. Yeah. William: No no Mark, that’s a stage direction. I should have put it in parentheses, sorry about that. No, it’s okay. Just go on, read the line again. Mark: (kind of embarrassed) Yeah. I hated it too. I hated the voice. William: The voice of Ivan Stang? Mark: Ivan the Terrible, yeah. What the heck is he talking about? William: I don’t know. Anyhow my show had become a tiring burden. Tiresome. That’s a typo. This show had become a tiresome burden to me! Keith: I think tiring is better... William: From a Disc Jockey whose target audience was insomniacs and speedfiends—a weird flock I loved and every night I led them over the precipice of sanity—I had been demoted to a simple button pusher. I would come in, push play, wait around. Push stop. Push eject. Flip the tape over. Press play again. Wait around again. Drink more coffee. Get depressed. Mark: That’s kind of the experience I had, listening to the Hour of Slack, waiting for more music. Except I couldn’t push stop. William: That’s exactly what I did one night. I pushed stop and started to do a show, a real radio show, again. The Hour of Slack is being moved to Clarke Jackson’s show. Thanks Clarke. And this means: i want you people to stop calling me i know you’re out there dangling from my tongue subgeniuses all with nothing to do Mark: one and you’ve nothing to do but listen to your social scars that program is ointment and you’re going to have to think for yourselves Mark: Keith: William: Welcome back. I’m your host William Gillespie and I’m sitting here with your host Mark Enslin and your host Keith Johnson and we’ve got a Christmas show to do. Mark: This week? Can’t we do it next week? William: Next week would be after Christmas. We have to do it this week. Keith: I have a lot of good Christmas albums. Mark: Like what? Keith: A Herb Alpert Christmas, Christmas with the Moog, K’tel Crazy Carols, there’s this Elvis record... Mark: (insincere, disgusted) Great. Let’s play them. Keith: Oh, they’re at home. (groans...) William: I don’t want to play Xmas albums. Any Christmas Radio Show can do that. This is Eclectic Seizure, remember? It has to be unlike any Christmas radio show ever. Besides, do any of us even like Christmas? Mark: Of course! Everybody loves Christmas. I have these special candles I like to bring out once a year. I love eggnog. Christmas music... well.. it can kind of get on my nerves a little I have to admit. Haha. I actually kind of hate it. (singing Jingle Bells) E E Ee E E Ee E G C D Eeee William: (at What) resolve it! Resolve it to a C major chord please! Keith: I really don’t like Christmas very much. I have to spend it with my family. (groans) William: Yeah. We here on eclectic seizure are in favor of the abolition of the family, at least as an economic unit. (general agreement) Keith: So what are we going to do? William: Well we brought our typewriters along. Mark: So? William: So let’s write a Christmas show. Keith: Right now? Mark: On the air? William: Yes. Yes. Keith & Mark: Ok. Ok.... (general commotion and typing)
necessary tapes: all afterhours and dolphins the grinch that stole xmas 12 20 92: i: we’re here with mr. claus. may we call you “santa”? c: what is it with you? hey? what is this supposed to be? huh? what’s with all the equipment. is this a radio show or something? i thought we were in palm beach. what is this? what are you, a radio star or something? i: mr. claus, after years of running the largest toy distribution company in the world... c: hey we’re not a company. don’t use the word company, okay? i: what are you? c: we’re a service. a toy distribution service. i don’t see any profit from the merchandise i sell, that money goes back into the business okay. now i know you’re gonna ask why i don’t pay taxes. well even though i’m in charge of the division that deals, uh, gives toys exclusively to white children in america the factory, okay, is in the north pole. okay? what country owns that? the US? i don’t think so. i: what about your headquarters in new york? c: i don’t want to talk about that? i: santa towers? c: hey! i: or your beachfront property in santa cruz, cape cod, vancouver? c: hey i didn’t come here to talk about money, okay? what is this? huh? is this a christmas show or what huh? i wanna talk about christmas okay? i: christmas, for those of you who are pagans, is, or, rather, was a religious. holiday to celebrate the birth of christ. c: oh. was. was a religious holiday huh? it’s not anymore huh? i: excuse me. religion, for those of you who are sensible, is an organized movement to hold a divine abstraction responsible for all suffering thereby absolving the existing power elite of all responsibility for the plight of the classes beneath it. C: hey! kids listen to this show okay. kids love me okay? don’t be talking you garbagemouth around here because there might be kids listening, like Nathaniel Holloway in Urbana. Hi, Nathaniel. See? So don’t talk about power structures or any of that filthy talk, okay? Okay pal. Now i want you to ask me about christmas, ask me about my reindeer, ask me about mrs. claus, ask me about something nice, okay? i: let go of my collar. okay. c: real nice and friendly like. like pals, okay. real nice okay? i: yes sir mr. claus. nice questions. i was meaning to ask you about mrs. claus. your divorce seems to be going very messily for you. she’s taking you for about half of what you’re worth. those photos must be embarrassing for you. c: hey, you stinking little punk. i come to this lousy hole in the wall station to talk about christmas. to the kids, right? i’m fed up... donner, bring the limo around. let’s get the flock out of here okay? (exi
It was hotter than a midway at noon. I was sitting in my dressing room adjusting my nose, taking a nip off the seltzer bottle, when i saw a pair of stilts appear silhouetted in the window in the door, whose letters read: N W O L C ,S E L G N A P S .I .P Of all the rings in all the big tops in all the sideshows of the circuses in all the isolated rural communities in all the states in America, she walked into mine. She took off her stilts and sat on my couch. Her makeup was smeared as if she had been crying recently. But I knew better. In those eyes I saw only laughter. I offered her some pie but she declined politely. “...It’s about my ringmaster...” she finally broke down. So, she had doused one of the bigboys and now she was looking for a way out of trouble. Unloaded a full seltzerbottle onto a guy with a whip and had hopped on the tallest fastest stilts she could find and came running to me. This time I had really stuck my head too far into the lion’s mouth. I told her how much it would cost. “three sirens, two pairs of shoes, a new three-color suit, and fifty bushels of confetti.” She adjusted her wig in the mirror. “but you’ll keep me someplace safe, won’t you?” I put on my nose. “ma’am, i’m not a bodyguard, i’m a clown.” But I let her stay in my dressing room, anyway. What the hell, nothing here but my files and a stash of milk I knew she’d never find. I wasn’t worried. Even so, before I left I strapped on my special rapid-fire bottle and a pie, just to be safe. I would need my tallest unicycle for this job. I could tell this ringmaster was a mean character by the way the lions cringed at the sound of his whip. Even the elephants seemed to distrust him, but it’s hard to tell with elephants sometimes. I just wanted to have a little talk with him, but I had to get to the middle ring to do it. It would be tricky. The audience had its eye on the poodles so I began to walk out from beneath the stands. Between the audience roaring with laughter everytime a poodleankle trembled slightly, there was a complete silence punctuated by the popcorn and peanutshells crunching beneath my big floppy boots. Suddenly a car pulled up. I couldn’t believe all those guys could fit in that Volkswagen. It looked like a set-up for sure. They were all frowning beneath their smiles as they piled out and surrounded me. I whipped out a pie and managed to take out the fattest one before they all pulled the triggers on their bottles and everything.... 93-02-14 This is WEFT Champaign, 90.1 FM, the tender one. I hope you’re out there in bed with someone with whom you are in love because it’s the special end of a very special valentine’s day 1993. Very very special. We’re gonna broadcast the AIDS report in just a few minutes but first some music for you mutually exclusive lovers out there this evening. here’s some of the titles you just heard... For that last set, we started it out with the Beatles with All you need is autonomy. Then Hall and Oates with You’ve lost that autonomous feeling. Susbsequently Aretha Franklin going driving on the freeway of autonomy. Afterwards Ella Fitzgerald with I’ve got my autonomy to keep me warm. Then after that Whole Lotta Autonomy by Led Zeppelin... ...
[begins with mark opening a box of chocolates] Mark: Hey guys, did you have a happy valentines day? William: Of course. Rick: Are you kidding? Adam: Hubba-hubba, if you know what I mean. Mark: Oh yeah me too, I just love ...love, i guess. William: I love to love love. Rick: Love is the emotion I love to hate. Adam: I just get all gooey thinking about love. Mark: Look what my girlfriend gave me, you know, out of selfless love... Look. William: Wow. A box. Rick: Who cares? Adam: Are those fortune chocolates? William: What are fortune chocolates? Rick: Who cares? Adam: They’re assorted chocolates, and each one has a message inside. William: You mean they tell the future? Adam: Exactly. WilliamRickAdam: Give me one! [all stuff their faces] Mark: [mouth full] Mm. I got one. Mmm. It’s all wet and covered with nougat. Ick. Lessee. It says: You will become firmly entrenched in marriage and lose all your other friends. Hmmm... Great. Me and my girlfriend are gonna get married. [everyone agrees that that’s great] William: Wait MMf! I got one. Yik! Cocanut. It says: Once you and your wife have three daughters you will be haunted by a nagging suspicion that fatherhood was the wrong decision and you will spend a lot of time at the office. Great! Did you hear that, I’m gonna be a dad! Rick: MMf! Blech, this tastes like raspberry. Mine says: You are uniquely suited to productive autonomy and will have sex with lots of different people. That’s great! [sad pause] Mark: Sounds like you aren’t gonna settle down. William: That’s terrible. Adam: Here’s mine. Ulp. Yak, I think that chocolate had lima beans in it or something. It says: Your children, absorbed in their own child rearing, will ignore you. Wow! That’s great! I’m gonna be a grandpa! [everyone agrees that that is indeed great and fade down] 2 cupids
VO the eclectic guy meets the weft staff lobotomist has been brought to you by pledges. pledges. it’s why you’re reaching for the phone to dial 3599338. nurse doctor modulation, the eclectic guy is here to have his heads aligned. dr. come in ec. good to see you. i just need you to disrobe entirely and change into this sequined gown and money belt. eg uh, o.k. listen doc, i need to have my reception checked right away. dr. your reception is great. you’ve come in, quite clearly. eg not your receptionist. listen doc, i’ve been hearing a test tone in my left channel for a week. dr. a pure tone, or a frequency sweep? eg it stays at 50 kilawertz. it sounds like a triangular waveform sometimes, but usually i think it’s the accordion patch on the Korgi muzak workstation. how do you fasten this moneybelt..? oh, the dime goes through the quarter. dr. any modulation? eg i beg your pardon. it’s just that in the other channel i’m getting lots of distortion pedals. it’s like slugthumper power rock lunch all night. dr. sounds to me like you may have eclectilepsy. eg eclectilepsy? what’s that? dr. science doesn’t really understand what causes eclectilepsy but about one out of every three hundred radio djs experience so called “eclectic seizures” at least once in their careers. during one of these seizures, which can last anything from one tenth of a second to several decades, a dj’s ability to program a consistent radio format can be severely impaired. eg gosh, dr., is that what’s happening to me? dr. we can’t be sure until we’ve run some tests. sometimes what appears to be an eclectic seizure is merely poor reception or bleeding between stations. take a deep breath. [inhale. brief fade in and out of network production music on the exhale. this happens thrice.] dr. not a good sign. now put your head in this tube. [test tone] announcer [over tone]: this is a test of the emergency broadcasting system. if you are unable to hear these words, please dial 3599338. the tone will continue for 35 minutes. [tone xfades into weird electronic music] dr. mr. guy, i’m afraid these test results don’t look good. eg is there any treatment? dr. none without serious side effects. flanging can ease the symptoms, but the only known cure is a stereotomy. eg is that where the major patchcord between the left and right channels is severed? ADAM AND AARON’s TAPE dr. i’m afraid it is. eg dr., is it true that the left channel is responsible for more analytical transmissions, like talk radio, and the right channel perceives a rock tempo constantly? dr. maybe. the most recent theory is that stereo separation is format-dependent, but this is all speculative—if it’s true it means that eclectilepsy will require a special case in the theory. i’m actually working on a paper myself, if you’d be interested in reading it ... now where did i put that draft ... [shuffles through papers] eg i’m sorry dr. i’m not interested. what are the risks in having a stereotomy? is it true that my channels could get stuck with different formats and that i’d be penniless, wandering the streets with no hope of advertising or community support for the rest of my life? dr. well, to be brutally honest, there’s a one in five chance that you’ll end up that way. but without the stereotomy the eclectic seizure you’re currently experiencing could go on for ten to twenty more years, for all we know. eg listen doc, i may be volunteer owned and operated but i didn’t fall off the turnip wagon yesterday. i ain’t no rock station, see, i ain’t no country station, i ain’t no tibetan ceremonial station, i ain’t no gas station and i ain’t no train station. dr. okay. stare at that eye chart over there on the wall inside the hospital across the street? third window from the left on the floor just above ours? eg yeah. dr. read that backwards to me? eg yeah. um. p. l. e. d. g. e. n. o. w. dr. okay the next line? eg 3599338 dr. the next line. you read me a smaller line than that one. eg sorry. um. that looks like a nerve cell. okay the next one looks kind of like... snoopy. the next line is vaguely reminiscent of... dr. you’ve got static. now i need to test your headphones. put them on. okay. STEREO DEMONSTRATION
Get a career I think not You go ahead I’ll be fine Go to college what’s the point? You go ahead I’ll be fine Join the army you are nuts You go ahead I’ll be fine Get out of bed that’s alright DEAD AIR SHOW William: You’re listening to WEFT CHAMPAiGN where the W stands for whirling dervishes. I’m William, sitting in for Doug Down this evening as he is participating in the Midwestern sumo wrestling semifinals in Minneapolis. Good luck, Doug. It’s time for the Dead Air Show: an informed discussion on the politics of the phenomenon in radio known as “dead air,” and its relation to commercial language in the mass media and how politicians can, in effect, get away with distorted syntax and outlandish racist slurs when these glimpses of semantics are buried in vacuous abstractions such as “truth” “justice” and “the american way.” The dead air show will also give me an opportunity to play pieces of music with silences in them, including Aventures, Nouvelles Aventures, and other pieces by Ligeti. It’s 11pm on a Sunday evening and to prepare you for the panel discussion we’re going to, for the first time ever on FM radio, provide you with an intentional hour of dead air. From now until midnight WEFT is going to broadcast silence. Adjust your volume accordingly. We’re going to kick off the silence block with a little cut by John Cage. [5 seconds silence. Keith walks in loudly] Keith: Hi William. William: Shhh! You’re interrupting the dead air! Keith: Well I thought you might like to know that it’s actually midnight, not 11 PM. William: What? Keith: Daylight savings time... William: You’re kidding. But I’ve got at least two hours of programming. How am I going to..? Keith: We’re going to have to skip the hour of dead air. William: Rats... Well we’re going to have to skip the hour of Dead air, I’m afraid. this is weft champaign 90.1 fm notforprofit radio which is volunteer owned and operated, thereby offering you alternatives in music and opinions not found on radiostations enslaved to the so called global economy. Every sunday at midnight we convulse in an eclectic seizure. I guess ! Keith: The eclectic seizure radio theatre collective conspires every weekend to provide shows designed around the critical examination of commercialism and its impact on art and language by dissecting particular symptoms pervasive throughout the airwaves such as commercials, bad language you know !! Adam: a program dedicated to testing the fundamental axioms of radio, a medium whose purpose, outside of WEFT, is to sell records and promote ticket sales to music industry events with tremendous fees paid to ASCAP ASCAP? is that right? !!! Keith: and WEFT is not only the only place to find that, its the best place to find that because of WEFT’s friendly voice you know what i mean? um... !!!! William: Welcome to the dead air show. Stay tuned for music with silences, including New Town Animal off XTC’s first album, and Dead Aria by Drew Krause. Right after this word from violence. !!!!! scream. silence. ad for violence.
DING! Keith: My point exactly. In this din of infotainment and infomercials, any useful ideas or balanced perspectives will be lost to censorship by flooding. DING!! Adam: I concur. If a television station offers a blank screen and silence, this relief from the continual barrage of commercial English, breasts, biceps and hair, is interpreted by the viewer as a technical malfunction. Thus the metaphor dead air. DING!!! Keith: Precisely. On most FM radio stations, fifteen seconds of dead air would cost you thousands of dollars. Silence does not comply with the cramped efficiency called for by mass marketing. DING!!!! William: Artists become musicians become performers become entertainers become songwriters become recording artists become businessmen. DING!!!!!
Hello and welcome to volume one of Tension Building from Instructional Cassettes, limited. This course will help you experience severe hypertension and high blood pressure, and insomnia. It is best to listen to this cassette in a straight backed chair at a table. This is a good technique to try while filling out this year’s Illinois State Tax Form, or applying for health insurance. Make sure you have a full cup of strong hot black coffee and a lit cigarette in front of you at all times. Two lit cigarettes if necessary. It is important to chainsmoke during this exercise in order to achieve the desired effect of the course. Wear uncomfortable clothing. If you’re a woman, wear binding underwear, uncomfortable shoes, and an extremely tight formal evening gown. Put your hair into a bun or an equally awkward arrangement. If you’re a man, wear bikini briefs and a rented tuxedo one or two sizes too small. Fasten your bowtie and cummerbund uncomfortably tight. Are you having trouble breathing while sitting down? Good. Let’s begin the exercise. Take a long drag off of the cigarette. Take a long gulp of coffee. Now I want you to think about all the landlords you’ve had. Pretend they are all in the room with you erecting a gallows. Think for a moment: out of all your old landlords, which one was rudest to you? Which one do you owe the most money too? Did any of them ever let themselves into your apartment at nine AM while you were sleeping in the nude? Take a moment to answer these questions. Think about your old landlords while you finish your coffee. When your cigarette is about to go out, light the next one with its ember. Try to remember if you ever got to talk to any of your landlord’s lawyers. Were they polite men? Did they ever call in the morning? You should now be beginning to feel the first effects of the technique. Notice your pulse quickening. Clench your teeth. Ready? Clench. Ready? Clench.
3- 1 -93: 1. Brazilian This is WEFT Champaign. My name is _____, I used to do a Brazilian music show Sunday afternoons. I’m not actually scheduled to be on at this time but the Eclectic Guy, I think his name starts with a W, hasn’t shown up yet and Doug Down looked like he was in a hurry to leave. I think he’s got a cold. Hope this microphone isn’t contagious yuk, yuk [TAP! TAP!]. Anyhow, I’m happy to take over until the eclectic guy shows up. I haven’t been in this booth in a while. I just got a call from some one in Sprinkle, Illinois, who says he’s having some interference which he claims is evidence of flying saucers I’m about to play ...Now which one is it? The yellow button or the green? Hmmm... Anyhow, I collect albums by ethnic musicians who had been discovered and produced by white rock stars on their own ethnic labels, so I’m going to play some Brazilian music by Tom Ze. In keeping with diversity I also play music by white people that sounds ethnic so I’m going to pass the time with a little Camper van Beethoven and wait for the Eclectic guy. Or someone like him. 2. Blues This is WEFT Champaign. My name is _____, I took the airshifter training course and was going to have my own blues show but it never came about. By the way I had trouble picking up WEFT on my bike radio so if any of you are having trouble let me know. Anyhow I was just riding my bike past the station when I got a flat and came in here to see if I could use the station pump and I saw _____, the Brazilian music guy, who wanted to leave. He looked really green, said he got sick really fast. I wonder if microphones transmit diseases. [TAP TAP]. Anyhow he asked me to take over until the eclectic guy shows up and I have my favorite tape with me, it’s Mississippi Fred McDowell with “I Do Not Play No Rock & Roll Y’all...” Here it is. 3. Jazz. Yeah man, this is WEFT Champaign and I’m _____. I used to have a jazz show on WEFT and before that I played a wailing alto, yeah. It’s a long sad story my tragic fall from greatness man, spotlights and cigarettes. Yeah. The Blues guy called me up and asked me to come down, said he was feeling a little queasy waiting for the eclectic guy. Bill, I think his name is... Anyhow I gotta crazy cut from Ornette Coleman coming your way... 4. Polka/Cha-cha This is WEFT Champaign and I’m ____ I used to do a Polka/Cha-cha show on a different radio station. That was a long time ago. I painted houses for ten years but fell off a ladder and hurt my back and now I’m out of work. I was desperate for money and came to WEFT to see if I could bum some change, and the guy who was just here said he felt sick and would give me a dollar if I filled in until the eclectic guy showed up. Well, I was rummaging around in the WEFT library and found this Happy Polka Time record. I used to have this back when I was... hey! This is the exact same copy I used to have in my dorm room in Florida. I know because I drew the moustache on this guy with the castanets. How did this get here..? 5. Engineer I’m _____, an assistant vice-engineer’s apprentice over here at WEFT, and I came down to the station to perform some routine tests on the equipment... and there was no one here. There’s this polka record playing and a note that says... i’m sick, it’s kind of smudged. Anyhow, I guess the eclectic guy hasn’t shown up yet. He’s always late. Well, I don’t (this is embarrassing) actually own any albums and I’m not sure what I should play on an “eclectic” show, so I’m going to do a frequency sweep. what this does is insure that the ultraviolet interceptor is in phase with the cufflink, what with the snow and everything. This is also a good way to test your equipment at home PLAY FREQUENCY SWEEP 6. [peeved] Well, I’m ______, and this is supposed to be an early eighties synthpop show, I GUESS. To be quite frank, I didn’t appreciate getting phoned up at 1:13 in the morning, I don’t remember EVER SIGNING an airshifter contract, or any clause which stipulates that absentee airshifters shall be replaced by the airshifter immediately following theirs on the phone page. Two months ago, when WEFT turned down my offer to do a DAILY 4 hours early eighties synthpop nostalgia show, I decided I didn’t want anything to do with a station that doesn’t know where the money is going to be next. Anyhow, here’s my favorite band, BIG COUNTRY, and I’m just going to play this CD until the Eclectic guy shows up. 7 Shakespeare I’m William Stravinsky and I was trained at Juliard to be a professional Shakespearian actor. Instead I work at the Fry Pit down on Plaid Avenue, and I have a show on WEFT devoted entirely to the bard. It airs every Tuesday at 3:30 AM. I was invited, however, to be a special guest on this show.... [long pause] My host is nowhere to be found. Anyhow, I wanted to take this opportunity to study the great work itself, Hamlet, in more detail...
The Snettler Chapter 1 Coarse, sticky pine bark, light light green leafiltered light and a wandering mosquito alights on my right hand when I lean back among the various roots of the tree. I’m snettling. Like the lyrics of that grand old snettling song; how does it go?: I’ve been snettling Soon I’ll travel I try to wipe the sticky sap off of my hands onto my trousers, failing, leaving residue sticky on my thighs. The sun is rising I learn from the wind like a cup of strong coffee, its monstrous velocity thundering across the wideopen empty spaces out here. I can barely hear because of the wind but I can open my eyes: barely, but well enough to spot a familiar thorned orange snettle bush writhing in the demonic gale upwind of where I’m leaning, gnarled, scarecrow-like. So this is snettle country after all. I frighten my boots by continuing, treading deep craters into the wasted earth. Only hellish plants grow out this far. And snettle bushes. Chapter III or: What could Las Vegas be, I think to myself, hats clutched in my giant arms as I stride majestically, the sun following in awed reverence to illuminate my manly path through the parched, scrubby desert, in 1243? Large cowboy hats tumble to the ground and are left behind in a giant train. Giant trains are built to supply me, to carry me Fruit Roll-ups and Ritz Crackers. In 1243 Las Vegas was a giant Aztec gambling casino.
A full day of snettle picking had left the thick calluses on my hands and wrists gashed and torn. I had acquired a full net of them though, and had begun the careful journey downwind. The wind had reached epic velocity. Eventually I was forced to grasp a thick root and lie down, the rope from the snettle net constricting my wrist as the net hung in the thick wind.
It is resplendential in its purpleness. Bending, I grasphobia it in my masculinear hands: clutchingular, kneading, spreading the snettles apartheid betweenie mystical fingers and pushing the snettle upwards, holding it up as a symbolism. Bright yellow sunlight ing triangulariat orange-shadowed spikes with an indiaink outline shines in a halo around my triumphant offering-up gesture. I pour the snettles into my hungry mouth. Swirlysurgicaleather patterns adornament my boots, which I strongly pull over my strong feet:
hat
Chapter 6(ual but not content) I rode the alligator-skin-saddled pinto into town, a tiny settlement erected in the near-vacuum between giant mesas through which the wind twistingly scorches its way, deflecting planks and period-clothed women. People seemed too enraged by the leather’s scaly tough snarlingness to look it or me, resplendent in aluminum cowboy siding, directly in the eye. I unmounted her “hide” in front of the Snettle Guild, and mounted the steps, the triangular soles of my venusboots making dull whooshy thuds as they landed on the steps. I glinted in the metallic light of the waning day and pushed the shutters wide open.
Angry fenasal voice snaring extravagantly in the background, the telephone swallows the reply. My ears are occurred to by the tinkling ragtime detune which is rolling in sonic sheets out of the player piano. The piano is the corner, its bellows flexing and pistons churning with the repetitive moaning of the steambagpipes of the music so that it leaves small gaps through which the cartoon steam chutes out in [simultaneous interpreter for the UN-shaped] puffs. I’m straightening my glorious hat so that it points directly and magnificently west. “Sir,” I articulated badly, using the air in my deep, voice, the authority of the lone man in the place where authority is the lone man, “do I have some snettles for you.” “Stranger,” he began, adjusting his moustache professionally, and lay an iced maddock directly down on the counter between us.
“Fish,” I begin for what seems like the last time. “Listen to me talk about fish,” he interrupts, his moustache quivering with denial full of anguish, the anguish born of sarcasm. “I’m the lone man with the netful of snettles,” I begin. “Snettles are one thing,” he begins, “but...” “Snettles are the...” “Maddock keeps well.” “Not in the desert. Not on the wind-smashed snettle terrain where pathetic fish merchants are too pathetic to set foot!” “Listen,” he begins. He began to spin me webs of salty intrigue about giantfish swimming serpentinely through the green murky blubberdark ocean. The ocean, he explained to me, had once filled the entire desert, and the mesas had been islands poking out of it. He told me of giant eels. He talked of the Lost Continent. “You reckon this fish’d be a good won, then?” I queried. “Before’s we continue this transaction sar,” he floundered suddenly and routinely, “I wonder if you’d repeat what you said to me earlier this conversation: “What did you say about fish merchants?” he began. “Sympathetic,” I drawl articulately. “Then I’m not going to have to challenge you to a duel,” he began. I sighed with relief. Chapter 10 Leaving the Snettle Guild and unchaining my alligator, I crawled primitively off into the sunset, which was still being completed by backdrop crew 7E working upon enormous scaffolding. The Music of Dusk, by Fyodor Tchaikovsky, was beginning and the tapes of crickets began to unreel. The scent was perfect, whichever department was responsible for it, I would just like to thank them. Also, the stars, when they appeared in fullfocused spectacolor brilliance, were quite a sight to me, sharpening my alligator by the fireside that prop committee 275Q, I would have to remember to thank them in the morning as I drifted away to sleep, the trained harmonicaists moaned as the credits rolled... ...far away, my minions were shooting innocent people to make way for the set of the elaborate sequel. 93-04-12 Lieutenant Johnson, Homicide Guy establishing another suspect Doug Down: Easter Sunday is drawing to a close. stay tuned for rising from the dead air radio with the eclectic guy, the airshifter somebody is going to kill someday, possibly me. Now here’s the music of.... the killing Eclectic Guy: [rings bell, muttering] Where is the butler? Did he go to sleep already...? [creepy music, creaking door] Jeeves: you rang sir? Eclectic Guy: glad to see you’re still up. jeeves! Jeeves: but of course, sir. Eclectic Guy: do go freshen my coffee. won’t you?! Jeeves: without a doubt, sir. Eclectic Guy: go on then. it’s midnight and you’re listening to WEFT Champaign. i’m the eclectic guy and i want to play a special set, lasting about oh, 45 minutes, of bands who don’t tune their guitars. now i listened to a lot of albums to find these songs, including such bands as gang of 4, flaming lips and i’m gonna start out with a little sonic youth [phone rings] Eclectic Guy: WEFT. Julio: yeah this is julio. Eclectic Guy: julio! Julio: i have a friend who really really hates your show and when he found out you were going to play alternative he went hayfire and said he was gonna blow your head off and hopped into his pickup and took off for the station and i tried to stop him but Eclectic Guy: listen, why don’t you subgenius punks leave me alone! [click] where’s my coffee?! [rings bell] jeeves?! hey? who turned out the lights? hey? who are you, i can see you by the dim red glow of the faders. [creaking door, scream gunshot & skipping] Lem: hello? hello? i thought i heard... OH MY GOD! THE ECLECTIC GUY’s BEEN SHOT! Jeeves: yes sir. oh dear, it seems the eclectic guy got what’s coming to him. Don’t touch the controls sir, the police will have to dust for fingerprints. Lem: But we can’t just leave the record skipping! Jeeves: you must sir, in order for the evidence technician to be able to, if they find your fingerprints on the record, prove that you are guilty! Lem: connect me with the police. at once! Jeeves: yes sir. [phone ringing] Cop: This is the Police Emergency Hotline. In order to talk to a live human voice, press one on your touch tone phone. In order to continue pressing buttons on your touch tone phone, press two on your touch tone phone. If you don’t have a touch tone phone, please stay on the line and this message will repeat. Lem: not this again. [hits 1] Cop: hello? Lem: the eclectic guy’s been shot! Cop: who? Lem: i’m calling to report a murder. Cop: hold on a second, i’ll connect you to the homicide guy... I think he might be at lunch, oh here he comes now. Johnson: lieutenant johnson, homicide guy. Lem: this is lem sinew, owner of station Weft, and one of my airshifters has been shot. Johnson: Weft? yeah i listen to that station every Friday from noon to 3PM that oldies show. hey, you know that guy, the old timer? what’s he like? Lem: please come down to the station right away. Johnson: I’ll be right there. [click] Lem: Jeeves, fetch my disclaimer. Jeeves: It’s right here, sir, you bloody idiot, sir. Lem: Ahem. The murders broadcast on eclectic seizure do not represent the tendencies of Weft champaign. Lem: Jeeves go see who’s at the door... i hope its the homicide guy, i don’t want to leave the record skipping another minute! officer thank god you made it. Johnson: where’s the body? oh. there it is. so that’s the eclectic guy, huh? funny, i always thought he’d look more, i don’t know, miscellaneous. he looks almost like an alternative rock guy. Lem: there’s that doorbell again. Jeeves go see who’s at the door... Johnson: well, it looks like he was shot at close range with some sort of gun either before or after he was strangled. course, that doesn’t explain the knife wounds. Jeeves: the eclectic gal is here, sir. eclectic gal: screams! autopsy Coroner: We’re all eclectic guys and gals on the inside. The whisper of respiration is reminiscent of European classical music, while the polyrhythms of the pulsepoints are African. The crackle of the synapses is distorted electric guitars and the heart itself thumps out a steady 4/4. [disgusting sound] I’m going to cut away the front of the ribcage so we can find out where the bullet lodged... [disgusting sound] ...and how deep the stabwounds penetrated. And now we have exposed the break in the neck... Jeeves: excuse me sir. I’m going to be frightfully ill. [disgusting sound] Coroner: ...as we peel back the skin and study the punctured larynx... Lem: ugh. disgusting. i can’t believe i ever let that bloody mass of sinew tissue and ligament touch my control panel. it stinks in here. i’m leaving. [disgusting sound] Coroner: Ah-ha! eclectic gal: what is it? Coroner: he’s been poisoned! eclectic gal: aren’t you supposed to be wearing gloves? THE ECLECTIC GUY’S APARTMENT [creaking door] eclectic gal: here it is officer. Johnson: so this is it. so this is the eclectic guy’s pad. (chuckles) he’s got no furniture at all. eclectic gal: look, his pillow still holds the indentation of his head from when he slept until four oclock the previous afternoon. Johnson: so this is the eclectic guy’s record collection. it’s huge! just as i had always imagined it! eclectic gal: i know officer, he invested all of our savings in vinyl. you see, he understood that an inherent technical flaw in compact discs would render them all defective before the end of the millennium and then, he explained, the people with the biggest record collections would be exalted. and then we would buy our dream home and move in with the eclectic dog, right sparky? [woof woof woof] and have eclectic kids: we’d have a girl first, then a boy, and then we’d have something else... look, here’s the last cup of coffee he drank. Johnson: [simultaneously, quietly] lessee, o... yoko ono? ick. you’re kidding me... prince? oh man, i overestimated this guy, q, hey a night at the opera, a day at the races. who cares? r, hmmm... is he really going to need all these stones records in the afterlife? residents? who are they? looks pretty eclectic. s... snakefinger? weird. [after she finishes] ah ha! dig this pistols bootleg. look at all these softboys albums! wow! everything except lope at the hive. the day they ate brick. both pressings of a can of bees, i wonder if he has any singles... i can’t wait to hear this. eclectic gal: lieutenant? lieutenant? what are you doing? Johnson: huh? oh i’m uh collecting these records as evidence. c’mon, i’m taking you back home to the eclectic dog, looks like you’ve had a rough night... last will Lem: read it already. Jeeves: here it is: i, the eclectic guy, being of ruined mind and questionable taste, do hereby decree the following redistribution of my worldly assets and belongings... Lem: skip all that. what does it say about his records? Jeeves: yes sir, of course sir, jerk. to the eclectic gal i leave the ketchup that’s in my Lem: skip all that! get to the wax! Jeeves: to the eclectic dog i leave my shoes Lem: his albums! i wanna hear about his albums! Jeeves: to WEFT Champaign, i leave... Lem: what is it? Jeeves: my 8tracks. Lem: oh no! NEWs and in insignificant news, a late night air shifter at often overlooked radio station Weft was murdered this evening during his show. police have collected evidence, and are quote looking for more quote evidence unquote unquote. lieutenant Johnson, homicide guy, stated quote i am not not going to disclose any quote information that might be of quote interest unquote to anyone else unquote at this time or at any time in the future or past unquote. Weft station owner, Lem Sinew, said quote no comment unquote. in further news Elvis was resurrected today. ENDING [skipping, snoring] Eclectic Guy: oh wow, what a crazy dream. i must have fallen asleep right here at the board. what time is it? oh my god its 2am. this sonic youth record has been in the runoff groove for the entire show! and nobody called in to complain. oh no! i have no listeners! i’m going to kill myself! [sound of murder & faux-static from downlink] THE GREAT WEFT FIRE 6—6—93 an olde tyme documentary [sound of a barnyard] narrator: the following is an authentic historical reenactment of the great weft fire of 1871.... in 1871... weft was a union telegraph outpost leftover from the Civil War. This is the story of that tragic incident that claimed the lives of all the chickens. [sound of tapping/telegraph] Pa- [slowly while tapping] This here is Weft Champaign stop. i loved and died stop. now i am love and live stop and living have forgotten stop. and loving can forgive stop. the new underwater cable between Newfoundland and Ireland has doubled our listening audience stop. this is how you can support your community telegraph outpost stop. to become a member all we ask is a contribution of five cents, the cost of a 20 lb sack of flour or a used horse stop. Zeke-[barging in] Pa! Pa! Someone left the gate open. The horses have all escaped and the Weft mule is in the studio & won’t leave. Pa- settle down thar zeke. reckon we’ll just have to git that dadburn mule out a here. c’mon jesse... [grunt] oh no, the blasted mule kicked over the gaslamp. mercy! the flames are a’leapin’ up all around. zeke: run and fetch the chief engineer, boy. he’s out behind the shed milking the weft cow. then tell your ma to brang me a bucket of water! Zeke- but pa! that’s an electrical fire! Pa- don’t git smart with me boy. i’ll tan yer hide. now run along and do as i say. Zeke- [barging out] ma! ma! Pa- How’d those dang pigs git in here? Shoo! [sound of animals freaking and fire] ////// intro This is Weft Champaign 90.1 FM. It’s just midnight and I’m just the eclectic guy, gonna play for you a bunch of eclectic music. everything from punk to alternative, with, who knows, a little wave. i’m feeling eclectic tonight. well while my eighth-generation dub of my favorite poorly recorded pistols bootleg rewinds over there in the microcassetteplayer, i’m gonna finish my coffee. i know, i’m not supposed to drink it in here, but the host of the much soughtafter sunday at midnight timeslot can afford to take chances. [sip spill short and flames] //// nextro eclectic guy- well the fire on the control panel still hasn’t gone out and is actually starting to spread to the record collection. um, so i’m gonna play this version of Johnny Cash’s ring of fire by Wall of Voodoo. um, [pause] this cd is actually on fire, but i don’t think that can hurt the player. you never want to play a burning record or cassette but cds are alright i think. [ow!] // PSA Smokey: This is a public service announcement from Smokey the Bear. Hi. I used to be a television celebrity. Now I’m recovering from alcoholism at the Betty Ford clinic. This is a reminder: if you’re doing a radio show, no matter how late at night it is, never take beverages into the studio. If you spill it on the control panel, it can cause an electrical short which can cause a fire which can spread and damage valuable electronic components. Also dispose of all cans and bottles in the proper recycling bin. Right Woodsy? Remember, kids, Smokey the bear says only you can prevent station fires. /// pledge drive dj: and before i play another song i want to thank those of you who contributed to our last pledge drive. unfortunately, however, weft still has not met all its goals for june 1993. the fire on the control panel still has not gone out as we cannot afford a fire extinguisher. the fire has spread to the main office but the watercompany shut off our service a few months ago... so i’m asking any of you who can afford to give a little water, some chemical foam, even a bucket of sand would help us out a lot. any little bit will help us put out the fire. why don’t you give a call to the station during business hours tomorrow. all new members will receive as a premium a weft ashtray, factory carved from solid plastic... //// radio under the stars [fire, harmonica, crickets, wolves] pa- sure is peaceful zeke- pa, tell me a story pa- okay zeke. zeke- a scary one! pa- okay zeke. once upon a time there was a radio station. one night it caught fire and the disc jockey was killed in the blaze. ever since then, every ten years, on the night he was killed, you can sometimes pick up his voice between stations out there in the static somewhere... the end. zeke- is that story true. pa, i’m scared. i think i can hear the eclectic guy now. pa- that’s just the coyotes. or the oldies station. zeke- pass the moonshine, pa. julio (keith over phone): yeah is this the eclectic guy? this is julio calling. eclectic guy- julio! how ya doing julio! julio- oh not so good i just found out i gotta get both my legs amputated. eclectic guy- oh no! that’s terrible, julio. juli0- i don’t want to talk about it. listen, i was just driving through downtown champaign and ... did you know your station was on fire? eclectic guy- i did know that julio. julio- smoke and flames pouring out... eclectic guy- have you been listening to the show, julio? be honest... julio- all my station will pick up is sitting on the dock of the bay. eclectic guy- sorry to hear that. julio- and when i finally got home i went up on my roof and fiddled around with my fm antenna until i could finally get weft and then you know what happened? eclectic guy- what’s that, julio? julio- my radio burst into flame. the weft fire is spreading over the airwaves. you guys are broadcasting flames! eclectic guy- whatever you say. well thanks for your call. by the way julio, i wanted to thank you for pledging to my show during our last pledge drive but julio... julio—yeah? eclectic guy- don’t keep us waiting for your check, okay pal? [klik] eclectic guy- he hung up! the nerve of that guy! /// As first sergeant dave davidson, arson guy, I have learned three things. First, where there’s smoke there’s fire. Secondly, if you can’t take the heat, get out of the frying pan and into the fire. And finally: when the smoke on the water gets in your eyes, that’s when fire and water don’t mix. And I should know because I’m a fish out of water. I’d been burning the midnight candle at both ends, rather than curse the darkness. And I knew there was something fishy about the way this case wouldn’t hold water. And I was in deep, in over my head. I just found a clue. It’s the matchbook somebody used to start the fire that right now was burning so very very brightly... And it wasn’t going out unless somebody put themselves out, well out of their way. It all added up to one thing, and that was the thing printed on the matchbook. It was the call letters of the oldies station. This whole thing was bigger than i thought. It looked like somebody was conspiring with the FCC to get Weft out of the way, and I was the only thing standing in their way. Somebody was gonna get burned. Probably me. Because I had gotten too close. Too close to the heat and now it looked like the brim of my hat had caught on fire along with everything else. //// Eclectic Guy- we take you now to chip wilcox roving reporter in the weft helicopter... [helicopter] Chip- this is chip wilcox, weft champaign roving reporter, reporting to you live from the great weft fire of 1993. the weft studios are located just above the 90th floor of the weft building at 113 N. Market street in downtown champaign and the fifteenth through fiftieth floors are currently ablaze. Several weft personnel are trapped on the roof of the weft building as i report to you, and the smoke from burning vinyl is obstructing visibility and making it impossible for the weft traffic helicopter to land to rescue the airshifters. John Balderdash, weft pilot, is currently trying to maneuver into position to lower a ladder, following directions given to him by radio by firemen on the ground... John- left over? left right right over? i can’t turn over. get down. under the boardwalk? upside down you’re turning me... it’s no good chip. i’m getting too much interference from the oldies station. its too dangerous. we’ve gotta pull out! Chip- radio interference is preventing John Balderdash from landing the helicopter. we gotta take you back to the weft studio where the eclectic guy is broadcasting his last will and testament.
chip- that’s not necessary, really. eclectic guy- i insist. and you know that pistol’s bootleg i’m always bragging about? chip- [unimpressed] yeah? eclectic guy- i’m leaving it to the jazz guy. i think he needs it more than you. chip- whatever.
eclectic guy- yeah, is this 911? no i will NOT hold. listen this is the eclectic guy at weft. i called in to report a fire at midnight, where are the trucks. what? the oldies station? responding to a call that terrorists had blown up their transmitter tower? that’s great! oh, it was a false alarm. that’s terrible. well listen we’ve got a real fire here raging out of control. what? no i do not want to buy tickets to the fireman’s ball! //// bucket brigade
chip- this is chip wilcox, roving weft reporter. what will come to be known as the great weft fire is safely out of control and there are several airshifters trapped inside the burning building. specifically, they are trapped inside the new weft office and they can’t escape because none of them have a key. we have however, managed to contact them by phone and we are now going to see how they are coping with this crisis...
jazz guy- cough cough. hey man, you must be the country and western cat, right? country- that’s right partner, you must be the fellow that hosts the jazz program in the mornin’. to be honest, i don’t care much for jazz. jazz- that’s cool, babe. i can never catch your show man because it comes on at like oneoclock in the afternoon when i’m still asleep, yeah, man. dig: like could you take this bucket of water and pass it on down the line? country- well, stranger, i reckon i could do that. just hand me that there weft bucket and i’ll pass it on. howdy thar, you must be the fellah that plays that alternative latenight. alternative- ya man. are you like the country guy? country- you got it. alternative- what’s that thing you always say? country- just polish your belt buckle, put on your spurs, and get ready for some down home sangin’ alternative- yeah that. my friends think you are sooo funny. country- i listened to your show one night when i’d had a little bit too much coffee. i’ve been more careful ever since. say, friend, can you pass this bucket on down the line? alternative- oh my god, are you like the blues guy. blues dj- [whining to himself] boy, i been the blues dj so long it looks like up to me. alternative- hi, like my show features almost exclusively distorted and truncated blues licks removed from their social context. blues- bad luck and trouble been my only friend. i just can’t be satisfied but i just can’t keep on cryin’. alternative- i know, the smoke in here is like thicker than that time i saw the flaming lips at tritos uptown. here, could you like throw this bucket of water on the flames? blues- everybody’s talkin bout that same thing, uh huh. say- you the eclectic guy? eclectic guy- you must be the blues guy. you know, your show would be perfect with just a touch of polka music thrown in. you could even play a polka record at the same time as bb king, that would be perfect. blues- for my piece o’ mind, pass this bucket on down the line. eclectic guy- glad to work together with you. i’ll just pass this to... oh my god! its my archrival trevor kajilligard! engineer- um, the eclectic guy, i just wanted to say goodbye. eclectic guy- well, goodbye to you mr. kagilligard, chief engineer. can i call you trevor? engineer- you sure can. hey listen, we’ve had our differences eclectic guy- i willed to you my collection of 8tracks, kind of, you know, as a joke. engineer- pretty funny, you know i only listen to digital audio tape. eclectic guy- i know i know. here: take this bucket of water and throw it on the flames. engineer- i can’t do that, the eclectic guy. jazz- we got to put cool water on those hot flames man. country- what kind of nonsense are you talking? alternative—okay. wait, what? blues- i’m gonna break down and cry! eclectic guy- why not, trevor engineer- its an electrical fire eclectic guy- will you stop mocking me?!!! //// eclectic guy- well i can hear the sirens. the firetrucks have finally arrived, just in time to save the station. and through the smoke fogged front window i can see the first yellow raincoats red trucks and... axes. hey! the door’s unlocked! you don’t need to [crash sfx#77, plateglass window]. Oh no! What’s that! A battering ram? Look out for the satellite downlink [crash] oh no! Am I gonna have some explaining to do! Watch out you’ll make the record skip! Don’t axe the cd player! Oh what a mess. Those of you listening at home, there’s firemen destroying the entire station, wantonly knocking down the walls of the office that was just built, putting ladders against the side of the building, dragging in enormous hoses! Wait, don’t turn on those hoses, this is an eclectical i mean electrical fire! [sound of short/static/wet radio] i’ve been thinking about community therefore you. i dragged my body behind my mind for a week to write this radioplay about recursion. i wrote a better radioplay about a better society, but i hadn’t found a better way of writing it. my appointments, jobsearch, sleeping schedule all suffered. could i find a better way of recording it? could i bring about a more desirable relationship with the eclectic seizure radio theatre collective? for the recording session tonight i am cooking a bazillion burritos—the staple food of radioplayers. in general, in order that cooking establish a desirable relationship with my kitchen, rather than just create the product—burritos—i always clean while i cook, inventing new strategies as i go, such that the kitchen is cleaner when i am done cooking, such that the kitchen and i both benefit from our interaction, our structural coupling. so, as an immediate logical consequence of writing a radioplay here i am washing dishes to a background scent of blackbeans cumin cilantro and lime. i am feeding my friends text and food. somehow this points towards a desirable organization of labor. how? you tell me. there is no money in any of this or in anything associated with me or my radiostation. i write text and cook dinner for friends, who read my text back to me and my taperecorder. adam and i add sounds to this tape all weekend and play it on the radio to anybody who accidentally hears it. namely you. GHOSTSTORY RADIO: unbelievable TERROR!!! 93-03-93weft 1liners: The record wasn’t filed in the right place! This PSA is two years old! Listen... it sounds like a poster falling down! The phone just rang! Look—there’s a handwritten note on the control panel! ***** conspiracy theories w hello, weft. can you hold? no? drake? we thought you were dead. you’re calling long distance? from where? a payphone beside the river Styx? m [running in out of breath] guys, guys, I just met the ghost of drake. he took me to the city of champaign historical archives and showed me their file on weft. r but how did you get in in the middle of the night? and why are you all bruised up? m we walked in through the wall. anyhow [pauses to gasp for breath] w yeah? how’s the connection on your end? m there’s a lot we don’t know about this building. z wasn’t it built in 1881? m yeah. how’d you [gasps] w long line there at the payphone, huh? z as a sanitarium and dental college, right? w i’ll bet. m yeah. z because back then it was assumed that mental illness and cavities were caused by evil spirits which needed to be painfully extracted. w what do you mean you’re tired? you’re dead. r until the first world war, when dentistry was desocialized w so? how much work can walking be? z for housing the corpses of our own soldiers m that were being returned to their families for a decent burial. i saw this article in an old copy of the News G- w listen. i don’t really have time to hear all this. it sounds like there are people waiting to use the phone over there anyhow m but then the building burned down in an accidental fire. there was this spectacular photo on the front page of the Courier r “accidental fire,” boy are you naive... z again, the official story. the fire was reportedly started by a soldier who was not fully dead, only severely incapacitated and it was no coincidence. m what? z that the building was rebuilt for use as a minimum insecurity prison where supposedly deranged prisoners were treated with experimental new drugs, many of which are still being marketed as pesticides. of course, as you probably read the announcement in the september 4 1946 edition of the college paper after the second world war this building was used as a radio station owned by William Randolph Hearst, and do you know who financed that? m no, there was nothing about that in the file.. z it was paid for by a generous grant by a chemical company. is it all starting to make sense yet? m no, not really. z you see, this radio station is where the midnight airshifter was brutally murdered exactly 43 years ago tonight! w who killed you? i don’t believe that for a second. d i’m right here. [music horror bit] w listen, i gotta go, you’re appearing as a ghost. no no call back later. flies
///// ideas for rick’s burthdayshow: rickognized rickquiem rickording star I. rickrospective rickumentary w/songs II. rick unplugged w/interruptions III. birthday celebration
[whispered] today is rick burkhardt’s burthday and so all of his friends have been hiding from him all day to prepare this special surprise radioshow. you see, rick just thinks he’s coming in to give an acoustic concert of his songs on guitar piano and accordion, but he doesn’t know that you’ll be listening, and he doesn’t know that we have recorded a rickrospective rickumentary of one of the greatest rickording stars of rick and roll. so i want everyone of you at home listening to your radios as you do intently every week at this time listening listening intently now still hoping that this is all a new music piece which will end and doug down’s reassuring voice will any second now backannounce us but no as soon as rick comes into the studio i want everybody all across champaign urbana to scream SURPRISE! as soon as i say “okay.” okay? birthday song block beatles/jazzbutcher/birthday party/jazz butcher/laurie anderson/sugarcubes/they might be giants
Rick. the guy with the green tie. accordionist. a person who was once so desperate for money that he performed an entire concert as john denver, but who is he? his name has been angrily muttered by rock industry giants from the fifties through the nineties and yet he has remained virtually unknown. in fact the only time he has appeared in rolling stone, or any other industry publication, was once as a reviewer who gave an advance pressing of Michael Jackson’s Thriller a review so unfavorable that Rolling Stone was forced to issue an erratum in a subsequent issue which explained that a “not” had been omitted from every sentence in the review. although record company big-guy David Geffen hates all music, he too knows Rick. [sound of hottub] 1 -o ice, i’ll take it straight. this is an enormous jacuzzi. David Geffen you should see mine. 1 David Geffen, does the name Rick mean anything to you? David Geffen: Huh? Rick? psh. i don wanna talk about him. 1 please? no, but i will take one of those plastic flamingos. thanks. please? David Geffen cigar? 1 no... ...please? David Geffen Rick? go figure. this guy, i mean THIS GUY, had some kind of formula for avoiding success. he quit every band he was ever in just before they became famous. he blew every chance he ever had, and from the fifties through the nineties, he must have had at least twentyfive chances. [snort. sploosh] whoops. careful. i dropped the razorblade. Rick, who changed his name to Lamont and then changed it back to Rick five days later when he turned thirteen, played a role that charted the course to set the stage of the history of music yet to come. seldom referred to as the sixth Beatle, it is in fact Rick who blows the inaudible dog whistle on a day in the life. rumor has legend have it that Rick was present during the photography of the cover of the Beatles now dimly forgotten Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band album, making it all possible by holding up the cardboard figure of Gandhi which refused to remain upright during the shooting. Rick convinced his boyhood chums John Lennon and Paul McCartney to be in a band together. he never thought they’d fall for it and later, when they asked him to be their drummer, he was horrified.
Robert Plant well yeah the guy with the tie and all that yeah he was my boys school english instructor at the golden god academy in lower kettleton. mostly i remember how he’s always make fun of my lyrics. when he read “oh oh oh oh oh you don’t have to go oh oh oh oh.” he laughed out loud. 1 hmmm. Robert Plant and i remember getting handed back the lyrics to “stairway to heaven” with entire portions crossed out in red pen. he wrote things in the margins like “in my thoughts i have seen the voices of those who stand looking?” and “a lady who shines white light to show everything still turns to gold” 1 that’s a cute story mr. plant but Robert Plant and he wrote something about the “incompetently noncommittal uninteresting ambiguity” of such “unintentional meandering hopelessly contradictory accidental parallel formations such as “there’s a lady whose sure all that glitters is gold” and “there’s a sign on the wall but she wants to be sure cause you know sometimes words have two meanings” if i could just go back to lower kettleton now and hand in a copy of the Superhype, Inc. album upon whose innersleeve is inscribed those lyrics in fake eighteenth century calligraphy reproduced a million times over... he’s probably mark it up in red pen and write “long is not an adverb” or “don’t start a stanza with a conjunction.” 1 can you tell me more about when you ran into him again at the New Yardbird sessions when he was being auditioned on mellotron? Robert Plant believe it or not, i wrote a lot of poems in grammar school that later went into led zeppelin albums, especially the later ones. i was greatly grieved over the impending death of bonzo. i was in a coma from 1975 until 1977. 1 and now? Robert Plant perhaps i should reiterate that i am a genius. 1 thank you for your time. cut. an interviewer once asked phil spector what he thought of rick. 1 Rick, he was someone alright. he never really achieved a wall of sound, he was more like a doorframe of sound or a windowsill planter... seems like he quit every band he was ever in just before it became famous. like the jackson 5, the coasters, parliament, earth wind and fire, run dmc. he worked with jerry lieber and mike stoller for awhile. if i remember correct, it was rick who wrote “poison ivy” except he called it “communism.” he never complained. he gave away so many songs. he wrote “i wanna be your ham” for mick jagger- 2 wait 1 he wrote “all the young dudes” for- 2 i believe that was david bowie 1 um... i probably shouldn’t tell you this but 2 what? 1 its gonna be hard to believe i know but 2 what? 1 um... no, i really shouldn’t tell you 2 ...thank you for your time, jerk. in the sixties the average life expectancy of a rock performer was about thirty years, half what it is today. and as we move into the midseventies, we notice a change in the shape of the skull, particularly the angle of the jaw. the development of synthesizers is followed by a decreased slouch and the more elegant posture we associate with keyboardists. in comparing the skull of a rock star dated to 1967 with the skull of Morrissey. Morrissey’s skull is both longer and the greater volume within is indicative of a more fully advanced reasoning power. his eyes are closer together, his forehead larger, his features more sensitive. the development of rock video in the late seventies provided a new selection mechanism which affected a musicians chances for survival in a overpopulated market. only the most photogenetic musicians’ images would be passed on to the subsequent generation. anthrockologists believe that the first rock musicians crossed into Britain from America across a giant land bridge stretching across the atlantic. Rick, on the other hand, is clearly from another planet. 1 so he wasn’t drunk? 2 i was at a party at pink floyd’s house in south edwickton, must have been 1971, and i remember that the stones were there and Rick yknow kissed Bianca Jagger and Mick he got terribly upset about this... wait, that’s not what happened i remember now Rick kissed Mick Jagger and Bianca was furious! nono i remember now Mick Jagger kissed his wife Bianca right in front of Rick and Rick was pissed! he stormed out of the house and left on Marc Bolan’s rhinestone studded motorcycle. anyhow... back then of course, you had to at least be wearing sequined green platform soles and flowing purple silk robes and waistlength orange hair and eyemakeup if you wanted anybody to even think about your music and Rick, he just had the green knit tie, the kind that would go in and out of fashion briefly in January 1980, and back then that tie seemed like a statement—only not about him but about the rest of us. It was almost as if it were trying to tell us that... we looked funny. after leaving REO speedwagon because quote the songs all sucked unquote rick remained in urbana where he earned money as a tutor teaching extended triangle technique. among his students was adrian belew who he persuaded to try some other instrument, something with quote feedback or something unquote.
2 when i first met rick i was a drummer in a band with two members calls Spudz. Spudz had no original songs, we only covered beer commercials. Well we only covered one beer commercial. the one that goes “pour me the breeze/i’m just heading down the road/well i don’t ask for much/i’m easy come and easy go/head for the mountains/im just looking for a-” We were still trying to learn our second beer commercial when we had our tragic breakup. Rick was in a band called Perils of Pauline which used to borrow our equipment to practice. we really didn’t need to use the Casio SK5, or even the Korg M1 music workstation, to play “pour me the breeze.” we considered harmonica... come to think of it i think my finest percussion work was the drumming i did on “pour me the breeze” although it was never recorded, or really rehearsed for that matter, it was performed at the now defunctional tritos uptown opening for designer mustard gasket- 1 what about rick? 2 hm? oh, anyway, Rick, yeah, he was a crazy dude. always wore that green uh tie i think it was. i don’t think he even took drugs, man, and back then yknow those were wild times—the reagan administration—and man, back then for a cat in a band to not take drugs was way in there, really rebellious yknow, like he had no respect for breaking the law, like he was driven by an insatiable satisfaction that had him spiraling around in a round circle veering pivoting dangerously on the brink of like selfcontrol. he was teetering on the verge of stability. it was like he was a musician for the music and the rest of us were satisfied with a demo tape- that dude was like totally... complete. 1 and what happened to perils of pauline? 2 well they got famous but by then the band had none of its original members, a different name, and was in a different city. kelly fitz plays with the race street conspiracy. my new band is called the filters and we only cover coffee commercials. well only one. “times like these were made for...” 1 thank you for your time. Rick part one—a rickrospectice rickumentary on weft champaign will be right back. cologne ad 1 1 mmm what’s that cologne you’re wearing? 2 that’s the cologne studios, the first experimental electronic music studio in Germany in the fifties 1 smells atonal. is it? 2 i don’t think it even uses notes announcer: wear cologne studios and explore the mysteries of synthetic timbres ... to the youth of today, it is hard to explain the lost magic of that decade known only as the eighties. it was a carefully carefree time, a time to cut your hair short, a time to frame your draft card, a time to recover from drug addiction, a time of gunshots and sirens but of music and laughter, a time of selfexploration selfactualization selfhelp and therapy. everyone was selling their Fender Stratocasters to afford midi interfaces for them and every weekend there were huge gatherings of sober people at night clubs to dance to the synthetic rhythms of the new era. with the advent of the sequencer music had finally been liberated from the awkwardness of performers. 1 do you remember the eighties? 2 oh yeah. seems like it was just a couple of presidents ago. yeah. i think there have been some vice presidents too. there were jobs back then and i remember that the big thing was getting one. i think that came through in the music.
1 mmm. what’s that cologne you’re wearing 2 its andreas vesalius of brussels. he was a great paduan renaissance anatomist. 1 smells like unrefrigerated cadavers announcer: andreas vesalius of brussels, because your body will decay long before the scalpel of the night gets dull . . . it has been said that in the thirties people paid their dues and in the forties people paid the ferryman and in the fifties people paid the piper and in the sixties people paid attention and in the seventies people paid taxes and in the eighties people paid their employees mimimumwage, but only the ones in america. in the nineties, it has also been said, people will pay for their tolerance. this has been the decade of studio closings. mca records has announced that in 1994 it will have to fire 5000 musicians. 1 bono of u2: has your band had to lay off any members? bono yes. all of them actually. all the tracks are arranged and laid down by the company and i go into the studio once a month to sing the lyrics they hand me. its necessary. you see its a competitive artistic market jungle arena. the only way to stay on top is by downsizing and all the really competitive bands are doing just that. look at yes these days: it doesn’t have any members at all. this is why i think rick still has a chance at success: he doesnt have a band. 1 do you miss the eighties? bono no. well... i do miss the money sometimes. i miss the buggles. i miss mtv, the way it was back when it was alternative. it was more sincere back then. i am nostalgic for my first mtv awards ceremony. i don’t think rick won any awards that year. in fact, i don’t think he’s made any videos at all. early mtv-era awards ceremony conversation loops i think he was right to punch Howard Jones for saying something like that about Tears for Fears anyhow! oh i would have divorced mick fleetwood too! but poor lindsey! can you believe that? and with rod steward? men at work already on their second album? i’ve always really admired big country but no but i think dexy’s midnight runners are more polished than joboxers but you know who’s really cute? that guy from wham u.k.... you still listen to devo? dinosaurs... madonna, ha! she’ll never sell whisper to a scream, i like it i like it flock of seagulls, i dunno i guess i expected more from their video they hardly show the drummer at all and his hair is the most i think simon lebon looks better with the earring in the right ear Rick? if he would just stop playing all his keyboard parts by hand... i mean culture club sounded new in 1981 but yuk they’re so seventies its almost sixties!
2 its clone the genetically engineered fragrance. 1 i think its attracting these biting green bottle flies. ow! they’re huge. 2 get them off me! they’re killing me! ow! announcer: clone cologne, the fragrance that tampers with the secrets of nature. . . . The early nineties were a period of disillusionment. these years would witness the breakup of camper van beethoven and, to Rick at least, the first lame XTC albums. it wasn’t easy for a composer to support himself playing accordion in the subway for donut money particularly because the champaign urbana subway had two stops, champaign and urbana, and wouldn’t be built for another century. rick, cynical and embittered, already twentyfour, now wrote, in addition to songs, pieces for accordion piano bassoon snaredrum and melodica, and had given up the hope he never had, abandoned the ambitions he had never embraced, and forgotten about being ambivalent towards rock music. and with the demise of vinyl, even if camper van beethoven had reformed to record an album with jonathan segel eugene chadborne and the wrestling worms is wasn’t likely that rick would even notice while flipping from bartok to chopin. and thus the story, frustrated, refuses to continue. today marks the twentyforth birthday of the guy with the green tie who was responsible for forming and, in many cases, teaching music to, by john peel’s estimation, some twenty bands John Peel: he just started a bunch of bands. including Crosby Stills Nash and Young, Cream, the Eagles, Genesis and the Traveling Wilburies. This Rickstorical Rickumentary has been brought to you by
woodstock on tape II. monterey pop festival (1967) 1 hey man they got this out of sight candy in jars by the door. kinda flavorless but man i got the munchies, dig? 2 oh wow man like are those purple things you’re eating from like that jar labeled 1 owsley, yeah. hey man like this crazy far outta sight scene is really happening! who ever thought i’d run into you here at the monterey pop festival! 2 like man how do you know you actually did? 1 hey wow man thats heavy 2 like i came here to see rick, man, i didnt know id have to listen to the who. 1 the who? 2 like never mind baby, dont wig your lid okay? like rick is getting ready to do another song, wild. does he like always burn his accordion like that? 1 man dude man Rick always smashes his accordion. every show he goes to. even if he doesnt play it. even if its not his concert. 1 ouch! is he going to smash the steinway too? that would be so 2 like 2 no... man that’s your hand.
[helicopter] chip wilcox chip wilcox, weft roving reporter here in the weft helicopter flying over what may well be the most expensive and historically significant rock concert to ever be stereosimulcast. after 45 years of communism, the wall between champaign and urbana is being torn down and in this drastic dramatic traumatic and well lit spectacle in the university of illinois assembly hall, whose roof has been sawn off to house it, a rock and roller coaster concert of truly pretentious proportions is taking place. it is roger waters’ pink floyd’s the wall, being performed by a cavalcade of stylish pop stars who are ascending the stage, one by one, to have their face dissected and distorted on the multiple planes of the gigantic video monitors. yes, the crowd cannot stop buying the t-shirts whose pricetags are almost large enough to be visible from the weft helicopter as i bank over the stage from whence Kriss-Kross has just performed Another Brick in the Wall Part 2. not christopher cross either. and no dark sarcasm down there because tuning his piano by the edge of the stage i see the next performer: Rick. the crowd is rising to its feet and cheering wildly. personally i hope he knows whats going on. i happen to know that last night at a tribute to Kurt Weill Rick performed “comfortably numb” on accordion and i just hope somebody has told him what’s going on and as the fireworks begin to explode over the weft helicopter id better sign off and out maneuver up up and away chip wilcox over and out.
and as he finishes his last encore and exits to the helicopter on the roof the concertgoers will not stop applauding for many minutes. they know that they are the privileged few who saw this great performer together for the last time. you see, internal differences have made it impossible for him to realize his potential as different artists, so he is breaking up. after writing and performing songs together as a band he is going his separate ways, to do side projects and solo albums, to write his opera and symphonies. its hard to get along on the road and the fact that he stayed together as long as he did is a testament to the urgent patience that fed the product of his stubborn flexibility. next summer, of course, sponsored by Not Beer,
III. this is your life richard burkhardt holloway jumping out of a cake rick’s lines wrapped into presents a superbly well orchestrated version of happy birthday, historically important rock concerts the rick unplugged stereosimulacast benefit concert
{ vivacious applause } 4-30-1994 (William Gillespie and Rishi Zutshi) scene zero b:
The chef has been sitting in the kitchen, three typewriters and two word processors simultaneously displaying unwritten stories. The chef runs from one to another, adding a few words, a sprinkle of adverb or a few prepositional slices. The chef will finish one of the poems soon and pull it from the typewriter with a ding, put it in the window for the waiter to staple, proofread, and take to the customer. You split the infinitive again! Make sure you put a happy ending in this one otherwise the customer is going to send it back! Will you hurry up with that sequel, they finished reading the first volume over a half hour ago! I thought I could do it all myself. I can’t. I need to hire more writers and teach them my formulas. scene i. m: hello there. you look hungry. z: uh, thanks. m: how many in your party? z: two m: caring or not caring. z: caring? m: oh, well la-dee-da! that section’s wide open. in the caring section we have... smoking or nonsmoking. z: ...um, non. m: well! aren’t we mr. pure? pinklung, eh? okay. don’t let me be the one who tells you what’s uncool. okay mis-ter non-smoker do you want a seat in capitalism or would you prefer a different economic system? z: if i sat in a different economic system, would i still be in a restaurant? m: picky, picky. we don’t have all day... z: look: anywhere is fine. m: oh? well i’ll seat you in noncaring. there will be a thirty minute wait. how many in your party? z: it doesn’t matter. m: table for three. and your name is? z: whatever. m: how about pudlington? or periwinkle? or mutatis? z: sure, sure, sure. m: okay mr. squidfollicle, why don’t you have a seat at the bar and i’ll call your name when your table of twentyseven is ready. z: so? [bar. toy piano. crowd noise?] w: whatcha drinking? z: nothing yet. i just sat down. w: okay. let me know if you discover a drink in your hand. z: sure. b: hey rishi! i thought you weren’t here. they had no reservations under your name. i got us a table for several thousand under the name dan plasticity. did you talk to that host? is that his moustache or is he wearing a badger? hey what’s the matter you seem kind of... z: depressed? b: no, more sullen. kind of z: mopey. b: well yeah but determined somehow, as if under your dilapidated smile z: i was hatching nefarious schemes against the rest of humanity? b: sort of, but tinged with an overwhelming feeling of powerlessness. like a five time suicide failure. kind of like you work the graveyard shift at the convenience store and your only customers rob you and then your manager accuses you of stealing from the drawer. or kind of like you applied for that job but didn’t get it because you couldn’t answer the question on the application that asks you to list the reasons they shouldn’t hire you and then your pen ran out of ink and you couldn’t afford another one. how do you feel? z: depressed. w: hey pal whatcha drinking? b: oh me, i’m drinking everything in, eyes dilated in wonderment, like a hummingbird sucking jupiter through a straw. w: one hummingbird sucking jupiter through a straw coming right up. i forget how to make that. i wonder if it’s in the alfred ginstain barkeepers index vol iii ce-mo. lessee... exploitation on the beach, the hammerblow to the temple, the headache on the rocks, the industrial prole fizz, back a little... here we are... hummingbird sucking saturn through a straw. is this close enough? z: who cares? W: lessee. one part orange juice, two parts kerosene, a bit part for beta kerotene, a splash of cleopatra’s tears, served with three prawns in a klein bottle. hmmm... don’t have prawns. s’alright if i serve it with three lobsters instead. z: who cares? b: look, the reason i wanted to have dinner with you tonight. something i’ve noticed. nobody feels safe to care anymore. disappointment has gone out of fashion and these are disappointing times. so everybody lowers their expectations. i met a guy last night. it was at an open mike. he wrote interesting songs and performed them really well. afterwards i went to talk to him and he told me that he was trying to find a terrible job to support himself in urbana. talk about minimal optimism. his expectations had been lowered even lower than finding a tolerable job to support himself, or even a shitty job to save up extra money. and here he was telling me that to support himself with a terrible job was something he WANTED. poor guy. what do you want? z: what do i WANT? how should i know. i haven’t wanted anything in years. m: stegosaurus. party of 20000 b.c. b: must be us. w: W: Welcome to the Surrealist Restaurant. Your table was waiting, but it got impatient and left. However, I think we can seat you in Spain. b: Great. I think. W: Cannibalism or non? b: Non. Please! W: Right this way. We’ll be walking across the desert so be careful of the flaming giraffes. sound of walking across various surfaces z: Excuse me, sir, I haven’t seen my server since Autumn. Sir? m: Excuse me, I can’t drink my coffee because its in half a giant cup suspended with an inexplicable appendage five meters long. z: Sir? W: Vile? z: I ordered the enigma of Hitler. W: Yes. That’s right. z: But it’s just five beans and a tiny photograph of Hitler. And over here on the side of the plate look, there’s a tiny bat tugging at this rubbery thing. W: Sir or Madam, it’s best if you eat it with the severed hand i served in the nest on the side. Also you should wait for the telephone to drip. z: But the plate is scalding hot and fifteen feet across! W: You’ve let it sit too long. This is the desert, after all. z: Do I eat the photograph too?! W: S. or M., we do not serve inedible garnish. ... m: Help! My dish is eating itself! W: You did request cannibalism. ... z: Um, the crumb of Portuguese bread I ordered is being sodomized by a grand piano. ... m: Ew! There are ants all over my food! ... z: This self-portrait with bacon doesn’t even look like me! W: And? ... m: Excuse me, sir? There’s no gravity at this table! The wine has formed globules and the knife is spinning and i’m afraid to get near it. ... z: I can’t eat my food because I have a soft fork. ... ... ... W: Here’s your table. b: It’s legs are ten meters long. I can’t even reach my chair. I don’t think I want to eat here anymore.. W: Very well then. You remember the way in? [whoosh] b: No! Don’t vanish! Which way is the desert? w: right this way sirs on the left. b: Rishi which way is left and which way is right, i’m always getting them confused? z: everything’s right and nothing’s left, or is it the other way around. Oh, I don’t scare, I mean care. w: Hi. (trails off) Um... Welcome to... My name is... I’m going to be your waiter yo.... Aw, shit. I guess I’m just not in the mood. I just don’t feel subservient enough. I’m going to try something different: I’m going to have each of you take a five minute written test before I wait on you. And if I score higher on this test than you than I’m not going to wait on you at all: you’re going to wait on me. And instead of bringing me food I’m going to put you to work designing inexpensive portable housing structures to be delivered to cities around the world and if more tables come in then we’re going to work on food production and distribution. ‘sthere any thing I can get for you gentleman while you work on your exams? b: I’d like a virgin-ice-breaker-on-the-rocks. w: and you, noble gentile? z: I’ll just take some nods for now, maybe a filler word on the side, but could you make them nice and cold, maybe a drop of writhing self-pity and hopeless despair. w: I’ll be right back with those, handsome warriors. b: we’d appreciate it. (silence) w: here you go, your sceptered majesties. are you finished? Lessee... Wow you scored really high. You show tremendous aptitude in chemistry metallurgy architecture agriculture and engineering. You are extremely qualified. Looks like I’m waiting on you. What’ll it be? z: I’d like a single doily right away. I like to drink my Cutty from a doily. w: yes sir. right away. ow! I’m sorry to have kicked your foot sir. Can I bring you anything to buy off any resentment you might harbor? b: No. The cursory begging will suffice. Could you interrupt everything you are doing to play me the Customer Training Tape? W: Of course. m: You will enjoy your service. If you should encounter a problem, and should require some additional assistance, your waiter or waitress will be happy to serve you. Just remain alert for a chance to catch their attention with an upraised forefinger, a wave, or even, in that special emergency situation, by yelling. It can be helpful too to, before you order your first drink, ask the waiter or waitress for his or her first name. This will make it easier to get their attention if they are preoccupied. Or, if necessary, turn to another waitress or waiter and ask him or her for your waiter or waitress. You can even ask another waiter or waitress, or the host, to assist you. All of our employees want nothing more than to serve you. z: Excuse me? My doily? w: yes your majesticness. b: Boy? Excuse me, what’s your name? W: Michelangelo. b: Mike. That’s nice. You don’t plan to wait tables your entire life do you? W: No sir. b: You have a college diploma don’t you? W: Yes sir. b: (interested) What are you going to DO? W: I am going to grab a rung on the corporate ladder and start climbing and I don’t care whose fingers I have to step on until I get to the top. Someday I hope to crush your company like a bug. b: Go get me another martini. w: yes your significance. b: thank you. (pause) You know it’s strange I always seem to get this same booth. Just last week, when I came here with little Johnny to celebrate, oh did I tell you about him winning that writing contest? z: uhhhh- m: (background) Large-immobile-tortoise, party of long before or after “once upon a time” b: No? Really? Well, he wrote this cute little essay on being mayor . Can you imagine that, i mean Johnny the mayor of all of Virtus Virus Vista, the whole place would turned upside-down and sideways, it would be topsy-turvy-scurvy-scurrying, a jalopy of a jitney on an almost indirect course straight for the giant red spot of a mole on Jupiter’s head covered deftly by his crown without regard or avant-garde for the asteroid belt, yet with furious implacable subservience to his avaunt. z: uh-huhhh- b: Anyway, the contest judges must have thought pretty highly of him. It was a moving essay. It was all about how he’d get VVV to grow. He said that we have to grow because, well we’re still not even on the map. He had this great plan. He figured that he would invest most of the city’s money into the construction-slash-housing industry. He figured that because it’s the main economic indicator as soon as it started to boom, the rest of the economy would get into bang up shape- m:(background) None-of-the-planets-were-spinning, party before the Big Bang...theory. b:(continuing)He’s bright, isn’t he? He continued to say that if we- w:(interrupting, to rishi) here ya go, O almighty son of Mars. z: (suddenly excited) Hey...yeah... that sounds great-(back to normal self) Waiter, these just aren’t cold enough for my tastes could you- w: Oh. Yeah, sure. I’ll get a new one for you, gently robed dove descending from the heavens. And you, O Adonis, wooer of the goddess of love and unsurpassable beauty, can I get that for ya’? b: Actually I’m not quite done. w: Well, I’ll pack it for ya and be right back with another side of fillers. b: Buhhhhhht- silence w: Here’s the fillers and here’s the check’n’balance system’s critique. z: Errrr...Mmmmm...You know, I don’t know. b: What you want? z: unh-uh. b: what kind of thing is that to say. You could at least say that
z: But I don’t know. b: That’s your problem: you haven’t got any direction. You should really get a move on it. You should get your life going somewhere. Then you wouldn’t always be so confused. w: m: (from the background) It-doesn’t-make-a-damn-difference-whether-or-not-the-planets-twirl-or-spin-or-whatever-in-different-directions-now-a-days, party of some-thing-or- scene ii.v
There is a live poet. He reads the following. The triologues continue in simultaneity, acknowledging the poet only to heckle him. The poet is unmiked and should only be vaguely intelligible beneath the initial triologue. w: Chugging Lowenbrau and suckling Marlboro fledgling shotglasses of sodium barbitol wings aflutter slumped numb near ashtray working with ashtray before video poker and barman eyes you suspiciously as you pound edge of game video blip blip and the winning hand is dealt and you approach for winnings proclaiming loudly to buy the entire bar consisting of dreary dusty men drinks drinks drinks and a ripple of vague misguided enthusiasm flickers dimly beneath shaven skull squares. Octagon smoky hued lamp swings absently forgotten cuestick slides down the paneling leaving vertical streak of blue chalk dust cloud explosion tremor dislodges roaches pissing cracked urinal yellow aimless spritz glistens down walls rusted water beading at intersections of necessary plumbing dripping down to cracked tile red rust dust swollen warped rotted carved grey ground grit granules gravelly gravesite raven whistles into willows and you buy a condom because you have a thousand opportunities for restless quarters glinting clucking clanging bleeping muttering flashing whirling ringdinging pinball games lean anxiously all clamor electronic chatter pretzels peanuts drafts darts allure seventyfive cent linear arena to rise to Herculean greatness without doing anything that interesting but that hat trick man was welltimed that’s all i’m gonna say and you can carve your initials to indoctrinate future patrons with your legend here is the Proving Ground where you won most of your money back and didn’t buy a single drink and you are reluctant to wash the talcum from the flesh curve between thumb and index finger or the stamp from the back of the hand the brand the eternal washable seal seal seal clap clap you’ve read every Surgeon Generals warning there is and at home a complete collection in scrapbook torn from soggy labels and cartons. 1 with a belly full of tapeworm i left the dining room for a smoke. outside several mansized mosquitos ambushed me. i struggled but they already had their tubes in my veins and to even stir would increase the circulation of my blood and they would drain me more quickly. several bats and lampreys were also clinging to my sides and i wept a tear a butterfly swallowed. they had hooked me up to an enormous generator which i powered by struggling against my binds and 1000 volts poured through my head leaving me gasping. i was on a treadmill and the act of running away powered heat rays which left me limp and coughing instantly. trying to climb out of the hole unleashed a rain of dirt half burying me. my energy levels were dropping as stimulants sapped my strength. i was eating my own flesh and losing most of it in the cooking process. i tried to write a note for help but died of exhaustion after two letters. There are three guys, two miming darts, one sitting in the stool. All smoking or drinking beer or eating potato chips. They have gruff I-Don’t-Give-a-Shit voices. They appear as though they are awaiting for the poet to begin but unexpectedly begin to speak losing interest immediately before the poet utters his first word. b[psychic fatigue aka squish] I am on my feet for six hours so i can wait on one table at a time. grrr is this all im good for? to lose ground on a dismal economic treadmill? pacing my daily strength away so my ideas can lie untended unwatered dormant beneath drought dead dirt fracturing into hexagons. My doctor says I have mono/depression/burnout/chronic fatigue syndrome/indecision/exhaustion/confusion/apathy/ z[aka mr advice] Maybe you should find another doctor. a[economic fatigue aka everyone] I had a long conversation with Illinois Power. My customer service representative was actually hurt because i couldn’t pay my bill. I got pretty intimate and tried to warn them about the Socialist Revolution. But I ended on a positive note. I said, so long and thanks for all the electricity. z Maybe you could get another job. b All this worrying about my health really stressed my out. I stopped eating and smoked five packs a day. I was exhausted all the time, even on weekends. Why? I was still on top of the heap. Bed of nails I tossed and turned and my every limb ached from exercise & conditioning. I was overeating to gain weight and developed bulimia. And I drank myself to sleep every night. z I prefer going to work with a hangover. Because it wears off. Long before my shift ends so by the time I get off, I feel great. Then I go out and party again. a Nothing worked. The more jobs I had, the faster I lost money. The same soup every day. I pretended to like coffee to the point where I pretended to be grumpy if I couldn’t get it. Every day I overspent my earnings on cabfare home from work. z So take out a new loan to pay off your old one and put your Mastercard bill on American Express. For example, this morning I bounced a rent check because the bank’s bouncing fee was less than the landlord’s late fee. I’m good with money: smart. a I can’t afford a car so I have to shop in small increments at the nearby convenience store where everything is small and overpriced. The bank is charging me for bouncing checks. My landlords charge me $5 for every day my rent is overdue. Interest on my student loan is more than my income. There are late charges tacked onto my power bill. Why do they always charge you extra for being unable to pay? They should overcharge the people who can afford it. z You should buy a car. b they are mosquitoes whose cables feed from my bloodstream. a horde of mosquitoes anxiously buzzing parasites feeding greedily draining empty veins only lint and scrapings remain. i am expendable expent. z I’m going to win the lottery. I’ve figured out my odds and plan to start small, compile instant wins until I can afford a string of Lotto sequences. I’m becoming spectacular at pool and participate in local tournaments, hustle in bars. I play the races. I am too old to strike it rich in business but wise enough to know how to invest my money, once I get it. My only asset is my luck, what little I got. a None of my money exists. I am a vacuum in a whistling creditstorm. Therefore, how can I be an asset to the companies that exploit my labor and illusory wealth? Why doesn’t the pyramid overturn when even the people halfway up are underwater? b [heckling] yeah so? yeah so? shut up. i like beer. fuck you too. who has time to read? there’s nothing good on the jukebox so i’ll play phil collins to try to drown this guy out. anyone for video bowling? bowling yeah yeah we should go bowling next Saturday at the Country Midwestern bar for laughs a what a gag what a gas hey i know let’s go miniature golfing no no wait i know let’s follow the Grateful Dead. POET: Find a niche that already exists. Perpetuate the seemingly unstoppable. b huh. look what it says here. [reads aloud from cigarette] SURGEON GENERALS WARNING: YOU ARE A PAWN TO BE SACRIFICED FOR THE GREATER GLORY OF THE AMERICAN TOBACCO INDUSTRY. Poet concludes to no apparent audience: i’m stuffed slugged couched inebriated
[onstage two different presidential candidates are debating from elegantly set tables. after each rebuttal they receive more food or beverages, perhaps more water] b: I am campaigning to be president of this restaurant. I’m going to fire all the slow employees and then maybe we can get some decent service. z: I am his opponent and my platform differs markedly from the alternative. b: You start. z: Okay... I think people should get enough to eat. b: I agree, but let’s take a good look at what you’re endorsing. You’ve got your people and you’ve got your food... Are you looking? z: I’m looking. I’m not going to amend my platform. Senator, I think people should get enough to eat. I have always thought people should get enough to eat. I always will. I’m sticking to my guns on this food issue. b: Which people should get enough to eat? And when? z: It’s not a black and white issue. There are always exceptions... b: It is a clear dichotomy. There’s food and there’s no food. There’s no inbetween. z: But what kind of food? And how is it prepared? How is it served? b: You are avoiding the issue of plates. z: That’s an accusation. b: You’re avoiding the question. z: I already told you. b: Senator, you are not saying anything. You are just telling me what I am talking about. Let’s wait until dessert and then try again. [in this next scene, b and B are two different characters. the former is a thug dining with z. the latter is a prude dining with W] B -they just aren’t civilized- W he seems kind of funny
w: Mr. Snoss is coming in with a party of 20 in 5 minutes!!! m: Oh no! We need tables, tablecloths, silverware, waterglasses, wineglasses, napkins, ashtrays, butter, sugar, salt, pepper, vases and flowers! I’ll go find some flowers! w: Mr. Snoss is coming in with a party of 20 in 5 minutes!! m: Good. I was afraid we weren’t going to get any customers tonight at all. w: Mr. Snoss is coming in with a party of 20 in 5 minutes! m: Oh you know Mr. Snoss. He’s probably just hearing voices again. Every now and then he imagines its the class of 1912’s ten year reunion party again. w: Mr. Snoss is coming in with a party of 20 in 5 minutes. m: So? w: Good Evening Mr. Snoss. Where are your guests? z: Hmm? Oh. They cancelled.
b: Have you ever been to the Philosophy class down the hall? Terrible deskservice there. They don’t even give you water unless you ask for it. He looks up kind of startled and says: there’s a fountain in the hall
m: I can’t figure out Gödel’s proof right now, I’ve got to get all food to the population of the world! w: That pair of jowls is still waiting for the TBone! m: I’ll get to it in a couple of weeks, I can’t do everything A pair of hands is putting the plate into the microwave now! w: Yknow, kid. You remind me of this bowtie I knew once. A bowtie like you who worked here under the sign getting garnish to the tables. Kinda snide, didn’t seem to wear a smile when approaching some new faces at one of his tables. Didn’t like it here, couldn’t afford not to. Once one of our favorite wallets came in, was sitting right there, found a bug in a spoonful of Gumbo. Yknow what this kid did? b So she let me go. Not that good enough accountant wasn’t her, but I didn’t trust company secrets to keep her. z Oh, sure... When my position got me a company man became me. Our logo eats drinks and sleeps me. b No, there was no chance she would ever fall into the hands of our secret formula, but there were other things that a shall I say unnecessarily enthusiastic interest had taken her in. z Oh sure, my curiosity knows when I’ve gone too far and always stops me. b No, a fine pays our company to the Environmental Protection Agency every month because it is cheaper than a wastewater purification system. A lot of cars paint us every day, about 600 assembly lines roll off of our cars. m: z. So, Henry, write any books lately? b. I just told you, I haven’t written any novels since the sixties. But a new anthology of my grocery lists came out last year. Remember? I gave you a copy last Christmas? z. I need to order another drink. Where’s the waitress? b. You just ordered one twice. You’d better slow down. Aren’t you delivering the commencement speech at the opening of the library this afternoon? z. What library is that? b: The one named after you. z: What’s the name of this place again? b: sigh. It’s your favorite restaurant. You come here every day. It’s called the Old Days. z: It’s not like it was in the old days b: one of the only success stories of the early nineties z: hey, that’s my term you’re talking about! b: oh. sorry. z: You should write a novel about this place. You want to write a happy story for a change? This is a franchise with over 50 stores in my district alone. it didn’t start out that way. [is served drink. doesn’t like it. to waitress] Yuk. There’s too much ice in this. You gotta new bartender again or what? w: sorry sir, ill get you another. z: They don’t even know my name here anymore. Now Jo Days, she knew how to pour scotch. b: yeah. you have. where’s Danny tonight? z: I don’t know. Hey Joe I need another drink, where’s Danny? m: she’s at a confectioners convention, learning how to make piecrust. z: how about sam, where’s she tonight? m: she’s looking at a building across town where we hope to build the second Old Day’s Place. z: and you gotta tend store all by yourself. they’ll be back by thursday to vote for me, right? m: you bet! i want you to try a glass of this new 18 year old scotch and tell me what you think. i’ll be selling that at five dollars a glass. z: *slurp!* that’s smooth. i’ll be sure and tell the senators about this. how’s your writing going? not at the paper, but your creative stuff on the side... b: good news, my novel was just published. z: what a fantastic country! jo and danny are looking into buying another store, you’ve been published, i’m looking great in the polls—aren’t i? b: i’ve seen to that z: hey jo i need another drink, you know what? m: what’s that? z: these really are the good old days b: and everyone at the law office.
m: now bouyant Louie could like that manager w: Where did’ya wanna go? b: Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking ‘bout pickin’ up some soy lentil pizza with a dodecagrain crust, but I’m gettin’ awfully tired of pizza. It seems like that’s all I’ve been having, of late. w: Really? I don’t remember You ordering any pizza over the last couple of days. Or any circular food for that matter. b: Your memory sure isn’t what it used to be. Your memory sure isn’t what it used to be. w: Yeah, you’re right about that. What? I guess I’ll just keep driving, huh? b: Yeah, just keep driving.(pause) Huh. You know, I had the most bizarre dream ever last night. It started out with me sitting on this toilet in a bathroom that was kind of a mix between a larger version of some typical rest area bathroom and a little version of that crack in the wall rut Sandy had in her old place, the one she just moved out of. I was- w: How about this Mexican place up at the corner, they’ve got this great Hunan gorgonzola soufflé that you’ve just gotta get a taste of? b: Nahhh, why don’t you just keep driving. Anyway, I was sitting on the toilet when I saw this ant crawling around on the floor. I stared at it for a sec, then it started crawling over in my direction. It was a really small little thing. So, I tried to blow it away. At first, my blowing wasn’t even distracting it, but then I readjusted the angle I was blowing at and—Whoosh!—Boy, that really confused it for a sec. But then it started running around just like before, like some frog that was all skinned, so it could be dissected, but that was hopping around like a heretic who had just returned from years of asceticism in a malarkia-plagued forest to enlighten the local villagers, who responded by running amuck looking for stones the way the “helicopter” seeds are blown down from maples during fall like mallards with their heads severed, indirectly, spinning, twirling, to a definite spot, so they could purge their village of this madman, consequently, it hadn’t had it’s spine broken because its muscles were still contracting- w: How about this auto factory-slash-southside school. They’ve decided that the students who couldn’t afford school lunches, ‘cause they were getting free lunches, were getting too much food because they were actually gaining weight. b: Oh, is this the place that cut the amount of “charity” food they were giving and opened up a restaurant to sell the surplus? w: Yeah. Now they’re making higher dividends. So what d’ya think? b: Maybe some other time. But anyway, I saw the ant scurrying in all directions and started to wonder why it was changing directions, what was driving it on, what made it tick, was there some invisible alien with strident green fur turning some infinitesimal crank, or was it self-winding, or was it maybe not an automated machine of any sort but rather a living being that was driven by some other automated machine, or maybe it was a living being that wasn’t being driven anywhere, but rather moving by its own free will. I was about to ask it when, suddenly all these other ants appeared and I became almost irrationally irate, convexly vexed. I got up from the pew and ran down the isle, down a corridor and out of the church completely, looking for an exterminator. w: What did you decide was making the ant move? b: Who Knows! w: That really is strange. b: Isn’t it though? w: No, I mean I saw the exact same thing happen on this tv show the other night. b: What? w: What? This restaurant was at me. m: The customer wasn’t sure which of them was doing the other, the waitress or her job... the words “thank you” had stopped saying her and lousy service gave her to every table that waited on her all because a terrible tip got her w: Hey, how ‘bout this Druid’ place up here, they’ve got this great fried-tree-bark dish. Free bloodletting with any dinner purchase of twelve shells or more. Do you want to try it? b: I don’t know. Why do I have to decide anyway? Where are you going? w: I have to go over to the Junebug House of Fine Cuisine. My shift starts at six. b: I’ll just get a bite over there, then. Maybe I’ll even run in to someone I know who can keep me company over dinner while you work. w: Is there anyone you’d like to invite? There’s a payphone right up at the end of this block. b: I don’t know. I don’t even know if I want to have dinner at J-HOC. w: At least it’ll be convenient. I guess. I love when my friends come in when I’m working. Especially when they don’t order anything but just sit up front looking uncustomerly. I get those looks from the manager. Even if I don’t talk to you at all. In fact, you came in just yesterday and I talked to you and I got fired. guess i don’t have to work tonight. my memory isn’t what it used to be. Eyer i’ve dat were canned got tappy. hey rishi, you’ve been awful quiet. z: yeah. hey, what kind of car is this? w: how should i know? z: i wasn’t asking you. b: it’s an `83 pickup. where do you want to eat tonight? z: Waitresses coffering me plentifood clearing awaste my waidressing me directionately i morder food awaitressing salad forkotten swept awaytress my hamburden set beformica me. b: do you want to eat tonight? w: I kept looking at my watch the clock to see how quickly money was passing into the spenttensed up after working overmoney again for which I get a dollarly bonus of a few seconds extra time how much you’ve spent this dollar in case its longer than the seconds you’ll get from punching into the moneyclock how long you can afford to spend on groceries and then save money or you’ll miss the last bussed me home where I slept for twelve dollars and then it became time for me to wake for a departed coworker who never got to spend her golden dollars watching her last pennies crawl by in some hospital bed down and try to buy some money to shut down the adding machine but my alarmed me when it went off I woke up and threw it through the window the heavy alarmclocked (almost) a passerby who walked by without even noticing that he had missed bankruptcy by a few pennies... m: one time i was at a restaurant eating a bowl of plaid soup when i saw a tiny insurance salesman on my spoon as i held it up to my mouth dripping plaid drops. he climbed out of the soup and tried to sell me a tiny highpitched policy as i gaped amaze drip drip. i put the spoon down and signaled for a waiter. no way i was going to pay, right: i found an insurance salesman in my soup. ick! they’d be lucky if i didn’t call the manager. so he crawled off the spoon and into the saltshaker. i don’t know how he made it up the smooth tapered glass octagonal prism because when i looked he was sliding down into a hole. he left a tiny briefcase beside the hole but when i pointed it out to the waiter, he misunderstood, and wiped it off with his shirtsleeve. i was really enraged so i picked up the saltshaker and stormed through the kitchen doors. and when i got on the other side i saw a tunnel getting farther and farther away, smaller and smaller. and as i ran down it with the saltshaker i too became smaller and smaller but the saltshaker didn’t eventually it took all my strength to push it and finally it hit the ceiling and would go no farther. and then, through the glass, i saw the insurance salesman. he had huge grains of salt stuck all over his hat. he looked like he really needed a drink of water. now that i was his size, i felt kind of sorry for him. i looked up at the top of the saltshaker and wondered how i would ever unscrew it. b:
more has been written about writing (noun) than writing (verb). how can the writing be an artistic act in itself. i want to write a book about anatomy, and i want the process of writing it to be such that i become a living reference for ideas about anatomy, economics, linguistics. i would like to become a bulletin board for all my friends, able to receive questions about my studies, able to ask questions about theirs. i want to write a book about anatomy, i want it to result from a process of learning and living and listening to my body. i do not want the writing of the novel to ruin my relationship with my health or my relationship with other people. i want the bringing forth of the book to be also the process of bringing forth these relationships. a novel is a marvelous thing, we agree, and its a good thing he’s finished before they shut the electricity off again. he was in a horrible mood the whole decade he spent working. i know of nothing, on the other hand, that has been written about radio plays
what is recursion? a radioplay ((())) 1 z why do we always have to do? b what? z why do we always have to do a radio show? b because it comes on once a week. z i’m sick of doing things. b so? z i don’t want to do a radio show. b what do you want to do? z i want to radio show. b huh? z why do we use radioshow like a noun. is it an object? b it’s an event. z how do you “do” an event? b the tape of the show is an object. z the radioshow is not an object. to radioshow is a procedure. radioshows result, but we avoid that problem by making listeners instead come to the station and become doers, or radioshowers. where are you going? b i’m thirsty. i’m going to water. (((wetness))) [[[shockwave: zap! a pirate radio station]]] W: snails... there are snails snailing all over the control panel. each snail is a spiral spiraling. a circle which contains itself. a circle which does not distinguish itself from its outside. where does the snail end and its trail of slime begin? its been weeks since i’ve had any... food... or [gasp!] coffee and there are snails. salted snails crawling across the partially submerged control panel. [crunch] ouch! a snapping turtle. sob! you’re listening to the wet one weft champaign the radiostation lost at sea. there’s seaweed tangled in the sliders and a starfish clinging to the satellite downlink. i’m the eclectic guy and there’s still no sign of land. how many days has it been? there’s brine all over the clock. D: two four six eight who do we... A: Dayzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz W; until our last...sighting. of land. SEA SHANTY z: looky here patcheye, at what i just dredged up from davy jones’ locker. z: and inside those bottles is a map that shows how to get to eclectic isle where staticbeard buried his bootlegs. z: back off pollywog! looks like i’m captain of this rig now, patch eye, peg leg, polly, eclectic guy and lieutenant loot... starsman, set the course for eclectic island. d ahoy! avast! z: isn’t silence licensed sometimes, staring starstricken celestial skies silvery oceanics glistening stirring silky windless ripples against this blistered ship, spectators incandescent canopy calamity cloudancing spectacles, the comets rotate the zenith tongues eating flame... ... um... eating static d: [5”] What? z: (first word shouted) I sssssee the best phones of my alliteration enjoyed by curiously catatonic castaways, broadcasting bullish balderdash bologna blindly z: what do you spy? a: THE SILENT SHE-PIRATE OF THE LOST ISLES OF DOOM! z: arg. enough pranks you scallop! scallion! unimuscular shellfish! swab the bilge sharpen the anchor and take us into shore. ((()))
w what do you want to do tonight? d i thought we could drink coffee and then write radiotheatre for about four hours and then go for an extremely long walk around sunrise. w oh, i don’t have any coffee. d well in that case lets write radiotheatre for about four hours and then go for an extremely long walk around sunrise. w okay. thanks, by the way. i’ve done it alone before but... it’s frightening. ((())) [detective music] M: sweat trickled into my coffee. i was sitting in my office one day. another hot day. thursday probably or tuesday. hot. did i mention that? hotter than the eclectic guy’s coffeepot after being on the burner until all the liquid had run for its life and the coffee itself a cracked black blister. hotter than cigarette smoke. hotter than Los Angeles. hotter than the burning grocery stores behind the silver screen, itself somehow associated with heat. hotter than Venetian blinds. hotter than a transmitter coil broadcasting bad literock at an illegal powerlevel. and you’re listening to an eclectic guy with a nuanced sense of heat. in July here its 120 degrees every day. celsius. so when it gets down to 119 i wear a coat. and when it gets up to 121... i start to talk about the heat. lots more than i am now. you’re listening to a guy with an extremely nuanced sense of talking about the heat as well. this is weft noir and you’re listening to the eclectic guy, p.i. you name the record, i name the price. i can track down anything. anything that is except my memory of the events about to happen. of all the radio shows in all the radio stations in all the cities in all the states of all the countries of all the planets of all the solar systems of all the outerspiral arms of all the galaxies of all the clusters of all the timespace continuums of all the understandings of all the categories of all the languages she will walk into mine. she would have been one client who had had her records ripped off by some dealers more dangerous than i or she will anticipate. or would she have? whether she would have or not, i was going to end up on a pirate ship earlier that century with wet cigarettes all in search of the records of some dead fool named static beard. this was one play i was going to have to write myself. i was almost sitting in my office alone one day talking to myself about the heat, drinking coffee and eating jalapeños when i read a shapely line outside my office door—the smoothest rough draft i ever saw through the door of my office whose hot frosted glass read EYE ETARIP YUG CITCELCE and i remembered how all this would have ended if i had seen her coming before she would knock and after she will climb those steps off the street below whose pavement was going to be, you might say, hot. hotter than a projection bulb melting cuts into filmslivers on the projectionroom floor. ((())) 3 a dear kathy why this obsession with ceremonies? under your intense interest, these rituals almost become interesting again but. graduation, marriage, christmas. how can you make these rituals shaped by your life, rather than shaping your life? it doesn’t bely revolutionary artist you. distinctions nobody brought forth and nobody is interested in, these rituals are sad stray doggies to which kathy is bringing the enthusiasm they beg for. i love her for that but. these rituals however celebrate distinctions that she did not make. graduation signifying an end to learning, marriage an end of independence, christmas as an end to giftgiving. can you invent your own ceremonies based on events which you consider important? love, the eclectic guy. m this isn’t a christmas show, okay? you’ve missed easter two years in a row and now you want to do a christmas show in april? a i know i know. get off my back. have you got anything written for the show yet? m the snow? the snow is all melting. a distinct snowflakes have become indistinct, water, vapor. p.s. don’t get married. ((())) z: clearly the ravings of a lunatic. I say we do it like the old days—off with his plank! [CRUNCH] z: alas! we’ve run aground. our hull is punctured and bleeding saltwater internally. the rats are stealing the liferaft. ALL (jumbled, enthusiastic pirate ambiance): yah, yah, yah, rutabaga rutabaga z: seven seas? Argh, that’s ridiculous. what distinctions are those? now, we can’t go deplanking a scallywag just for bein a loptongued phiztwister, argh—and noone gets deplanked without my sayso, nohow! [CRUNCH] a: THE ISLAND HAS RUN AGROUND AN EVEN LARGER ISLAND! All hands! ABANDON NARRATIVE! ABANDON NARRATIVE! [detective music] m A thin film cutting across my eyes its Ginsu oilslick reminiscent of every scifi sidewalk from Neptune to Nova Scotia. Before I woke up with sand in my mouth I knew I’d better make this one good, Cap’n, so as soon as she walked in that door I whipped out my hegemony and said “Don’t make a sound, sister, or you’ll be herstory!” yes, ma’am, the eclectic guy, p.i. pleased to meet you... that’s no ma’am. that looks like my partner. where’ve you been, pardner? [david barges in rasping] [cowboy music] D: i found the eclectic guy in town on mainstreet at noon. and we faced each other off while the townspeople took cover. a skilled gunfighter never draws so we smoked. and squinted at each other. and smoked. left hand on our cigarettes. right hands near our holsters. so noon saw us smoke. twice. noon came and went and there he and i were, in the middle of main street, smoking. the townspeople had taken cover a couple of days ago and occasionally, from behind shutters, from rooftops, from inside the piano, somebody peeped in protest that we were taking too long but we were too far west for that so we smoked until i ran out of tobacco so i asked him for some and he tossed me the pouch and as i knelt down to pick it up he squinted and i borrowed some tobacco from him and we smoked and stared each other down and coyotes crawled past and owls landed on our shoulders and stared each other down too and we smoked and our shiny silver sixshooters rusted in our holsters. i squinted. he squinted. neither of us made any sudden moves out of courtesy out of respect for fair gunplay neither of us would draw first we would only shoot first and so we stared. nice eyes. stared. after a couple of decades when the town had become a ghost town and then a mining town and then a gold rush town and then Hollywood and the townspeople still hadn’t come out of hiding it began to dawn on me slowly, like dawn only slower, that maybe he and i weren’t in the same play. maybe we were both sheriff. both hero. maybe neither of us was a killer and that’s what was making this gunfight take so long. we were certainly patient men, and i respected his patience and he respected mine and our respect squinted and stared at each other while tumbleweeds tumbled past and cacti cacted. i barely even wanted to shoot him anymore. admittedly, i wasn’t sure how else the scene would end. a skilled gunfighter never actually drew or fired and he was skilled alright, maybe more skilled then me. i wasn’t sure how we would ever tell. eventually, it was assumed, one of us would be dead and the other more skilled, although there would no longer by anybody to be more skilled than. the dead have no skills. i didn’t want to shoot such a skilled gunfighter so soon after his prime as the shadows swept across the set with each accelerating sunset. i didn’t think he wanted to shoot me either, this was implicit in the fact that he hadn’t shot me. unfortunately, there was no script. finally i said “you’re listening to the one whose facing you off, the one who distinguishes himself from you, the eclectic guy coming to you live from the wild wild weft.” his expression was expressionless and he spoke silence. nice hat. when i looked into his eyes they got larger and larger until i could see my reflection in them, which got larger and larger until i could see his reflection in them. then, there in the hot dry desert, it began to rain. ((())) 4 w: i was in the van sick and sweating sick and dreaming. outside it was relentlessly snowing. inside it became aggressively argumentative. inside i was a salty ocean crawling with crabs. my bacteria swam. her: wake up the eclectic guy its almost time for your show w: oh no. who are you? am i dreaming or am i lonely again? her: i’m not even your loneliness. i don’t fit the space it creates, nobody does or it wouldn’t be loneliness. rather, i’m everything you aren’t. i am constructed along the contours of your ignorance. what you exclude, i envelop. consciousness brings forth a world through discrimination. consciousness creates distinctions which actions uphold. w: at the station we have jazz blues and alternative rock. her: music. w: we don’t call it that. we make that distinction purely to exclude things from our playlists. her: like franz schubert? luigi nono? w: like hipnosis albums, that timothy leary album, ernie and bert. the stuff i play. eclectic stuff. her: i was surprised, and pleased, that you made it to the station meeting. i know that 7 is a little too early in the evening for you. w: i found myself in a room full of eclectic guys and women. we were all drinking coffee jealously, nervous of one another, all feeling somewhat guilty, all confused at the prospect of sharing a radio station with people whose shows we never listened to. how could we? they came on in the morning or they weren’t eclectic enough. we wanted the station meeting to be wonderful affair: an airshifter reunion with a giant potluck and an evening of live performances, nothing broadcast, all for us in the back, but... i looked at all of us who couldn’t get along, who couldn’t possibly get along, and i thought of our radio station which is in trouble, which was designed to be in trouble, which has always been in trouble, and which will always be in trouble unless something goes horribly wrong, and i thought about what role, if any, i would want radio to play in a desirable society. and i imagine it to be like weft, only worse. with more dead air. i wondered how i could breathe the fire of revolution into the breath of every eclectic guy and woman. how could i convince them all to behave innocently as though the revolution had already happened? to bring forth the radio that would be true in a desirable society. her: all the distinctions of radio: songs, station i.d., backannouncing, public service announcements, were imposed upon us by a format geared to sell songs written to be sold in a record industry recursion tighter than the runoffgroove of a 45. the name of the song must stand out as brightly as the name of the product in the advertisement, the name of the station must be similarly sold, the brandname above the other brandnames. all these distinctions erased, what radioshows do we then construct. without fm radio as a referent, how can we then begin making distinctions? w: currently, a jazz show is structurally identical to a rock show. what would a jazz show be, in order to structurally be a jazz show? her: jazz and rock are, unfortunately, structurally quite similar. w: c’mon. her: they both feature a relentless pulse to inspire an instinctive and mechanized buying frenzy. w: hey. i’m the eclectic guy. i make more distinctions than that. i make distinctions between different poorly recorded bootlegs of the same song. jazz and rock, to me, are distinct. i don’t like jazz. her: do you make distinctions within a song? w: well, there are verses... her: yes but do you make distinctions within a groove? w: huh? her: do you make a distinction between one beat and the next? w: well, no, but w: i can offer no suggestions for how to live according to your own distinctions and “earn a living,” but i can offer suggestions as to how to live according to your own distinctions. i live as weft does. i need new shoes. on the otherhand think of all the things i don’t have to pay for by not owning a car. her: like the car. w: saves me time too. this is urbana. her: champaign w: whatever. if i should worry about this month’s powerbill i may as well worry about next month’s and then and then i may as well not have any money her: you don’t. you did. then you started worrying about next week’s show, and the show after that, and now and now you have all those records. i’ve got to go meet with the president of the powercompany at nine. then i’ve got to follow up these underwriting agreements at ten. at eleven i am going to update our mailing lists and dash off a few letters. at noon i’ve got to be at the station because a man is coming to talk to me about our grant from the eclectic foundation. i’ll be up all night trying to figure out our taxes. so i’ll be listening. what are you going to do on your show tonight? w: oops. her: i’m going to take a shower. ((())) Z: now that we’re on shore. i’ll find the treasure and you boys will dig it up. just to prove i’m a fair captain i’ll pay you a portion of the treasure. m: * so. they were going to take me to the records. after all. but. i didn’t trust them. one bit. score for cop radios [highest] b being a cop is hard. hard and tough. its not pretty when you’re a cop, because when you’re a cop you can see what you’re doing. you see the insides of cop cars. you wear a uniform, carry weaponry, and drive around waiting for that order. when you see your reflection in the rear view mirror, you see a cop. you drive around and listen to the d kkkkkome in roger over. over k b when you’re a cop, you know you’re a cop. and that’s not easy. you know because that look of contempt people give you. you know because they look away in fear. nobody likes a stroboscopic show of military force and that’s all they see. because that’s what you drive. because you’re a cop. d hhhhh d hhhhh d hh b: there are many types of criminals—that’s why we have to categorize so many types of crime. we got felonies and misdemeanors. but there are many types of felonies and misdemeanors. but there’s only one type of cop: a cop. the one you’re listening to. and now for this number: d breaker breaker one nine we got smoky in a firefight d sssmokey pummeling a motorist on the interstate d oooooover ((())) 5 a hey, a pirate show would have been a good idea two weeks ago. w oh, we’re beyond that now? a no, but... the show seems to have become rigidly formulaic in its critique of rigid formulas. w while criticizing the distinctions that have already been made we are reinforcing them. b to hold something in place in order to point out that it doesn’t belong there is worse than to ignore it? a these are intriguing questions but we’ve gotta write the show. w i thought we were going to make the computer do it from now on. b how about subatomic radio? d i’ve noticed that each radioshow is incorporated into all subsequent ones. our attempts to exhaust such seemingly easily exhaustible ideas as sing-along radio, computer-generated radio, the static show, have only invigorated them. i want to incorporate sing-alongs, computer-generated text, and static into each subsequent show. a the same, unfortunately, seems to be true of the radioshows build along the outlines of things you can’t stand—like commercials. w the distinction between satire and its subject exists only in the mind of the satirist. b but if one considers the subject of all-commercial radio to be commercial radio, than a distinction can be made: we did a radio show with only commercials. no music. for two hours. d does that mean the satire was successful? m what is a successful satire? a satire that abolishes its subject? w by replacing it with a replica of itself? b the image our all-commercial show presents of commercial radio is not that distorted. interruption-free commercials is what commercial radio is tending towards already: bands like U2 should write four-minute jingles for Budweiser. or Exxon produced by Brian Eno d i know! let’s do the all station i.d. show! m there are already cablechannels which are essentially, all-commercial channels. in a media that has nothing to offer except other stations to change the channel to, and with all the channels now possible, programming, when it occurs, is merely a pretense... z so? a so the all-commercial show was hilarious (especially the ad for carbohydrates) but not something we wanted. w how about two hours of filler words: um, gee, um, well, y’know, like, well, um, so. b i know! how about: desirable radio, d the radio show that uses desirability as a referent. m what would that be?
z the distinctions we make now will bring forth a radioshow. ((())) script: finding the treasure??? Z: dig, wheezers. Z: unearth that vinyl, boys. Z: that’d be static beard’s treasure chest then! Z: yer the slimy wart who digs, i’m the squinty eye who thinks about the records. i’ll think about what i’m going to with it when i take it back to a mainland context with plenty of recordplayers. you think about what you’re going to do here on eclectic island. A: EUREKA!!! i found it!! i found the treasure lads! lads? m* [noir] i reached into my scabbard for my cutlass but i was too slow. everything went w the eclectic guy whispered. “and now for a long-playing pornograph record.” she moved somebody’s dial over soft lips. her radio rolled somebody’s pulse over electric lips. her touch remained electric. he whispered. he flickered somebody’s tongue across soft wavelength. her radio stroked rapid station. they stroked each other’s mouth. she moaned. he whispered. her radio flickered her nose over rapid static. somebody’s radio trembled. his radio rolled somebody’s nose beneath soft interference. she touched somebody’s wavelength. the eclectic guy touched her heavy wavelength. she moaned. she stroked supple skin. her breath remained taut. he whispered. she bit her mouth. he rolled her dial across heavy skin. the eclectic guy whispered. they touched each other’s static. somebody’s eyes remained taut. she kissed his station. his radio yelped. he flickered her pulse over his rapid wavelength. her reception became electric. she stroked his hand. they bit each other’s lips. he turned on his radio. ((())) 6 her: reflection is a process of knowing how you know. w: reflection is made possible through language. are you my language? her: i am your reflection. study me but remember that it is, after all, you who study you. everything broadcast is broadcast by an airshifter. w: i never listen to the tapes i make of my radio show. what would they reveal to me about me? her: everything you are blind to. a blindness your knowing fills in like dead air nobody notices. how can they notice dead air? there is nothing there. w: dead air is distinguished only by being that which is not distinguished? the dead air show, that was fun... when i look back at all previous shows... her: why do you distinguish? it has all been one long radio show. one process of learning. one historical phenomenon. speaking of which, its almost morning. what do you do in the morning, eclectic guy? w: “beep beep” shrieks my alarm, “chirp chirp” squeal the birds. the sun stabs a blinding finger in my eye. i hurl my covers off, run to the window, slam the shutters back and scream “GOOD MORNING!!!” i force a cassette into the player and pound the play button. i yank open my drawer, snatch a shirt, shove my head into it. i cram my legs into pants. i rip a comb through my hair and slap water on my face. i sear some toast and choke it down. scald some coffee and throw it down. there is some time to pummel the cat before i stomp down the steps. then i kick open the door, and then it starts to rain. ((())) (all first lines murmured asides in genre.)
Z* argh. i’m going to build a raft and sail to another island where i might build another raft. can one be afraid of being afraid after it happens? a: i’ve been reading this book. yeah i know, everybody’s read it, but it was practically the only biology text we had in the tank. its still required reading at the recruiter office. people still come in, although not too often now, and beg to join the military. so they make them read this book to see if they still haven’t arrived at a peaceful model of cultural structural coupling. [drinking] that’s the last of my water. now all i can do is wait and hope the first vehicle that comes down that road is an iraqi, not an american. then if i’m killed at least it will be intentional unfriendly fire. fire. its so hot and dusty. [rattle canteen] i need more water. a need must be satisfied so that it can be had again. is that why war? is aggression a need as we’ve been told? this is the domain of destructive interactions. i’m so thirsty my thirst is thirsty. but not as thirsty as baghdad. i see a sandstorm or an approaching vehicle! is it friend or foe, our side or theirs. side of what? who made the distinction? why have i adopted it? it is a distinction at war in my mind with other possible distinctions. we are fighting a metaphor what? the enemy is a disease, we the surgeons with preciser explosive shrapnel scalpels. we cut off its water. they are not a disease, they are different specialized cells. we are one organism. my left lung is at war with my right lung. this is armed forces radio. rotcweft. this may be my last broadcast so i’m going to leave you with a song i want to be remembered instead of. the approaching vehicle is almost close enough to make out... it’s... ((())) 7 a looking back over the phylogeny of the show, i see very little conservation. only adaption. yet it must have some structure by which it can be identified as a radioshow m silence is taboo: it’s what identifies a radio show as a radio show and not just another acoustic event. a rock album side has more silence than radio shows composed from parts of them. at least an albumside is silent before and after you play it. a albums don’t have sides anymore. even the albums that used to. fewer distinctions. given trends in alternative packaging it no longer makes sense to me that the bands have a different title for each song. we stopped changing the name of our show. wading through a ventilator, my spiritual forklift, the human segue’, too much coffee, funk skank and slack... eclectic seizure. we stopped smashing a different rock record from the early seventies every week. we stopped playing the hour of slack. we stopped playing nothing but sound effects. we stopped playing rock, ska, funk. what’s the same? m us. ((())) 5. fighting over the last record Z; give that lp sleeve here vermint M; swab it with this antistatic rag D; the last bootleg of old static beard. playable but fer a little sand inbetween the grooves. argh. a man could buy his own ship with this. B; and sail off the edge of the circular earth ye scurvy knave W; argh i’ll rip out yer innards with this phonograph needle! A; [still an american soldier] give that lp here. Z; what does the label say. grrr. can any of you dogs read? M: i can coward. give the vinyl here. D; argh! B; you’ll have to pummel me for it! W; argh! PUMPKIN! bulldog! A; now i’ve got you by your frilly collar you fleabitten urchin, squid! hang him over the cliff boys. Z; READ IT TO US YOU TADPOLE, lilypadlivered salamander! M; authentic sound effects in stereo volume 2 D; give it back now B; let it be or i swear to ye, i’ll drop this disc into the swirling chaos below where it will be pounded on the rocks. W; he’s bluffing boys. dead men don’t assert their independence from the earth. theyre covered with scab and swallow worms. argh! A; *gasp* look you scrawny monkey: the whole island is about to be swallowed by a whale. it’s huge! Z; look: that whale is about to be swallowed by another whale. it’s huger!!! M; AVAST! an ivory arched canopy of blubbery innards. D; he’s fainting boys! B; don’t drop it! W; no. NO! A; the record with the label with the map that tells how to get to the map is falling down down lightly down into the savage surf... [sound effects for about an hour] ((())) 8 background: you’re listening to weft champaign friday morning. the show the eclectic guy never hears. down here at weft we always manage to make friends with the people whose shows come on before and after ours. doug down, for example, still likes the eclectic guy although they haven’t found anyone to fill the 2-6 am slot yet. the station was a mess when i came in here this morning. somebody left the coffee boiling all night again. but its against station policy to complain about the other airshifters. luckily its not against station policy to complain about station policy. that’s why weft is one of the only places in america where the first amendment still works. while the news rewinds i brought the first amendment into the station and i just wanted to read it for you... w that walk turned out to be a little longer than i wanted. are you sure that kurt will be able to drive me home when he gets up to go to work? d sure w i’ve been proofreading these articles by Herbert and reading his opinions on background music. d what kind of background music does Herbert listen to? w none. he wants music to be the foreground and he wants the background to be listeners. d the eclectic guy? w hmmm..? d when we drink coffee and listen to records together... which is in the foreground: the coffee or the records? w neither d well... what is in the foreground? ((())) A i was glad to be out of that story, out of that war, out of the middle east, out of that radioplay on a sailing ship. in a few months my symptoms would be dismissed by psychiatrists and i would be diagnosed as depressive but until then i was happy. that wasn’t the play i wanted to be in. i didn’t want to be a hero. i wanted to be part of a heroic species. i saw another actor on deck and wandered over to ask for a cigarette and to ask what play he was in. then i realized he was standing there broadcasting alone to the night. it must have been eclectic. W his radio scratched somebody’s stomach. they caressed each other’s static. his radio kissed rapid wavelength. he rolled her tongue over his reception. somebody’s touch became heavy. the eclectic guy trembled. her radio touched somebody’s nose. the eclectic guy flickered his finger across her stomach. they bit each other’s wavelength. he slid somebody’s pulse around his mouth. her radio whispered. they scratched each other’s hair. the eclectic guy traced his radio. you shivered. i trembled. she whispered. this is weft champaign a radiostation adrift beneath a inky bowl of night and i just wanted to take a moment to thank you for listening, all you dolphins out there especially—i know you’re capable of auditory patterns resembling speech. i’m out on deck and i see some actors, airshifters, and listeners standing by the rail, the seas are exceptionally still i know we’re broadcasting for some distance, and the mood is tranquil. hi what’s your name? [ship] A this is lieutenant Tenant radioing basecamp for the last time. i’m not coming back from patrol. i’m joining the other side. you should see what the distinction looks like from over here. oh yeah, captain abstract: i’d keep my pride in a footlocker, pal, and i’d write painfully short letters to any people who want to know if you’re still alive. W [porn military] a good actor sometimes patrols. somebody’s reception escalated into supple. she ran her tongue beneath her taut defense. the eclectic guy rolled the enemy’s dial around his strategic mouth. the eclectic guy invaded electric skin. they liberated each other’s hair. they touched each other’s nose. he ran her nose beneath heavy radio. she took soft wavelength. her defense remained rapid. they bit each other’s supply line. they took each other’s skin. the enemy’s touch was supple. the enemy’s reception remained strategic. the enemy’s radio played harmonica. a sufficient soldier never explains his or her heavy interference. a bad soldier never talks. B kkk awk! roger over we have a big chase scene. mount up here! It’s the only whey to escape the Curds! AWK! [horses] A That doesn’t sound very Western! Say, what kind of a ship is this, anyhow? It appears to be in a lake in the middle of a giant... desert... W [porn military western] the enemy’s hat was soft. the eclectic guy played harmonica. a good cowboy’s radio yelped, rode her nose around supple hair. her hat became taut. a good cowboy sometimes has to shoot somebody’s soft lips, and her radio rode a good cowboy’s horse over his electric wavelength. he rolled a good cowboy’s tobacco around supple supply lines. somebody’s hat became less strategic. his cactus became less leather. his hat became less taut. his horse remained supple. he played harmonica. i howled in the distance. the eclectic guy rode her tongue across the enemy’s electric line. i stroked the enemy’s leather nose. a good cowboy’s hand was strategic. i rubbed the eclectic guy’s horse over her interference. he scouted her perimeter. she felt a good cowboy’s lips. the eclectic guy’s radio built a fire. you kissed the enemy’s badge. B kkk awkKKK! The desert is the Garden of Allah, the all-knowing, the all-consuming, the all-regurgitating. But did I just say, “whey to escape the curds”? Allah may love a poor man, but not one who puns so dreadfully, Cap’n. Are you a pilgrim? [sirens] A island! Stage left. Uh oh, sounds like the chase scene. Where are we going to get away to on this ship? where is the ship going? wait a minute: the desert island is in the middle of a huge huge lake in the middle of a huge huge huge city. W [porn military western police] he kissed his rapid badge. they stroked each other’s warrant. the criminal’s radio caressed his electric car. she rolled his car in circles. he traced her badge. a good cowboy’s badge. she shivered. they scratched each other’s skin. they surrounded each other’s nose. his radio invaded his taut warrant. a sufficient eclectic guy doesn’t kiss first. she moved somebody’s pulse in circles beneath her hair. the eclectic guy trembled. she surrounded her lips. they arrested each other’s supply line. he touched her static. they scratched each other’s street. her radio whispered. i moved somebody’s finger around his leather warrant. you flickered a good cowboy’s car beneath the enemy’s heavy script. i set up a roadblock. she flickered her tongue around the eclectic guy’s soft actor. the eclectic guy arrested her radio. she liberated his warrant. they stroked each other’s badge. a sufficient eclectic guy never explains first. they surrounded each other’s warrant. they invaded each other’s street. B awk! come in this is KKKKK roger this is KKKKK KKKKK come in over KKKKK roger KKKKK over KKKKK headquarters. we have a suspicious heavy script. awk! [helicopter] A (in helicopter) Yeah, do you know how to fly this thing? Where are you taking us? Which play are you in? You’re an undercover detective aren’t you? Look, pal, I’m on leave. R & R. Gotta day pass. wow look at the view of the ship lake desert city wow. Look at the size of that language. Those categories are huge huge huge huge. W [porn military western police detective pirate] a bad detective never follows the trail over somebody’s office. he rode his car beneath the enemy’s hot stomach. you traced her script. a good detective sometimes follows the trail in circles across her hat. she bit the enemy’s electric script. his office remained strategic. a bad pirate always flickered her finger around a radioshow in a bottle across somebody’s slave trade. awk! the great white became organized crime on the high seas! a dead actor never questions her good cowboy’s heavy wavelength. that red limey sure is blue. a bad cop never sets sail last. they touched each other’s line. beware the deep when deep. the eclectic guy’s breath wasn’t firm. a dead eclectic guy always shoots last. the old 86 sure is blue. a sufficient actor always sails her spy beneath heavy hand, i whispered, a dead soldier always harpoons second. ahoy! the great white sure is blue. the enemy’s mouth seemed firm. the eclectic guy bit his dial. a good pirate sometimes smokes first. they kissed each other’s mouth. davy jones’ locker is cold. ahoy! the skies is cold. blast! beware his eyes when angered. the eclectic guy’s radio shivered. B we’re going to have to take this language in for questioning. polly wanna morpheme. awk. KKK. i’m coming home. [everything fades away but surf] Z Come Back! Back to the ship with yer scurvy hides! We’ve run aground on the shores of the Isles of Doom, and we’ll need all hands to set her right! Even left ones. Matey, look: we’re too late: the credits are starting to roll across the sea! W’th’aurora borealis all lit up with St.Elmo’s Fiery meteorites! Yo ho ho and a radioshow in a bottle. I wonder who played me? ((())) 9 z i don’t want to do a radio show! b you already did. z i don’t know how. b all doing is knowing. all knowing is doing. every act of knowing brings forth a radio show. z when you use the noun radio show you are making a distinction. you are separating radioshow from a background which is not. any object you indicate is a unity brought forth by a distinction implied by the unity. b when you use the verb radioshow you do the same thing. z is a verb a unity? b is a word a unity? is any word a unity? z sigh. an autonomous system, like a radio show, specifies its own laws. we never do a station id or back announcing... of course the radioshow has a lower level of autonomy than, for example, the station. the radio show and the radio station act as mutual ongoing sources of perturbation. both have changed state as a result of this structural coupling. we create a distinction between our show and the shows which follow and precede ours. that boundary makes our radioshow possible and our radioshow makes that boundary possible. b how do you know that every radioshow is only one radioshow and not further subdivided by distinctions you haven’t made yet? it might be a radioshow inside a radioshow. how do you know that a song with three recurrences of the verse and chorus aren’t three songs? or six? or twelve? or twenty four? or fortyeight? or ninetysix? b stop! this is where recursion ends z recursion only begins ((()))
a this episode of eclectic seizure had been brought to you by water. water. b hey dave i’ve got this conflict. z oh hey dave. what’s that? b well i’ve got this product and want to sell it for more than what i paid my laborers to produce it in order to generate profit for myself and seek political power to further my own interests... z uh-huh. b ...but i’m afraid this product i intend to sell, besides being superfluous to anybody’s existence prior to its introduction on the market, may actually wreak untold havoc on its users and the environment. z so what’s your conflict dave? b how do i sell it? z ha ha ha! d advertisements. because people need to be encouraged. to buy. what they shouldn’t. advertisements
Off The Road with Rick B B: Some folks read the New York Times, some read Marcel Proust. I just read the road, stretching out in front of me like an old lotion. You get to the point where you see the road as a list of things to do, and the more you cross off the top or the bottom, the more you add on in the middle. The more houses you pass by in transit, the more you wonder who’s in transit, you or them, or the road, or yourself? Well, life sure is mellow here on the road. Nothing but me, and Rishi, and the ol’ eighteen wheeler purring along like a catfish. All: [engine noise] b rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr Z: Ever seen one of these babies do an eighteen‑wheelie? B: That’s throwing the ol’ baby out with the bathwater. Speakin’ o’ which, pour me a jug. Z: Man, the tub’s almost dry. We’ll have to stop up here at the Tower o’ London Tavern and negotiate ourselves a refill. B: One well‑negotiated turn deserves another, I always say. Z: So make it. B: No sooner said than Fred. W rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr B rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr ssssssssssssssssssss [the tavern: toy piano ragtime] S: Howdy folkaroonies! You’re just in time for our six o’cock special, the pork chop in a can can! Z: Toucan? B: Listen Sam, the pork sounds choppy, let’s just take a tub o’ rings and two cans of yer finest brewskis. S: Okay, but the brewskis aren’t doing too well this year. Listen to the radio! KKKKKK [sam provides burst of static as he turns it on] [radio voices]: W: And as the six pack slithes down the slick slopes, the Savannah slurpees slide into second, coolly and refreshingly taking this year’s Golgotha medal with ‘em. D: That’s the second row in a year for this smooth and fruity young team, Todd. W: Who’s Todd? D: Todd took first place again this year, bringing the slushy puppies down a notch, but he’s giving it back in a gesture of good clean ultracompetitive spirits. W: Just look at ‘em, frothing at the mouth. D: The winter Olympics will continue after a word from our czar.] S: [static burst signifying off] B: Okay, I’m sold, give us a couple warm puppies. Make ‘em frothy. S: They already are, they’ve been waiting for ya. Z: Hey, it looks like yours is bigger than mine. B: Darn tootin. [back in the truck. piano ceases. All : . make quiet swishing car passing swells of sh! sh!] B SHHHHHH SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH Z: I love the open road hissling by... Just the sound of the experimental pavement All: [two second burst of rolled rrrrrrrrrr. two second burst of static. silence. samone should conduct] Z: ... and Hank Haggard on the stereo hi fi, just endorsin’ whatever he feels like. Just the wide open road ahead, no limits, no reason, just you and the goal. You’re on your own, where all ya gotta do is be better than your best, be all that you can be and more. The road ties you into the heartbeat of the pulse of the spine of the lifeline of the country, and its people. Just you and your people, no outsiders, no limits, no reasons. [ ... B as Hank Haggard sings the product name. Z: And there’s nobody out there but you. You and the road. You and the road and a big frothy glass of— B : Hey Rishi, look! Z: [yelps] B: What? Z: Sorry, forgot you were here. B: I didn’t wanna interrupt your soliloquy. Look! All: [the doppler effect. volume and pitch: rrrrrrrrr) [chanting B I WANNA BE A GOLD MEDALIST/I WANNA GOLD MEDAL IN MY FIST W: check it out, this truck’s jackknifed in the middle of our maneuvers! S: uh ... uh... geez, yknow that brings back memories of when my little jimmy used to play 52 carp pickup with me. I was chosen to represent our country. this choker must have been going at least 65. i wonder whose team he was on? are there any members of our team involved in this accident? W: no. looks like just one of them. looks like a milk truck. should we report it or loot it? that milk will bring 5 tablespoons of butter per bottle on the fat market. how’d you like to buy a bunch of eggs count them and put them all in one basket? S: forget it. don’t mess with an excholesterolic. i’m staying in shape for the tryouts. all good athletes of the state must resist such temptations of the flesh. like food. lets blow this buttered popcorn stand. see what’s on the radio.) All: [static] B KKKKk gold kkkkkkkkkk [news editorial voice] B: And another thing I hate, why do we have to hear so much about the Olympics? Surely there must be more important issues! But do we hear about them? Do we? Or do we have to sit through another turgid litany about Beth Yoohickey’s sprained rib; another all‑inclusive catalog of Michael Mash’s hair care products—does he really use Scalpolicious, or is it all a rinse of publicity—not to mention the endless pontifications on Sara Snickles using her maiden noun instead of her proper married one, give the poor woman a break! Is it her fault she’s named after a popular candy barnacle? I’m sick of hearing about it, and I’m sick of talking about it! Let’s get some news with real substance, not like this limpid froth on the Stein of Gertrude Chisel’s nose job—I think she looks much better now anyway. Why should we have to hear about Ed Manatee’s fractured tongue every time we turn on the entertainment centrifuge? He took a lickin’, he knew the risks! Now every news calumnist this side of the latest river thinks he has to have an opinion on Tony Trinity’s quadruple somersault mine face spin! I’m sick of hearing about it! Let’s see them pull off a defeat like that with such immensurable grace and artistry and still endorse ten products at once in the same ad! Let’s get on to some real news and just stop talking about Barbara Hanna’s kids starving at home while she goes on to claim the tin medal in underwater egg shaving; why can’t she just get a maid like everyone else from one of the countries we’re dominating in this year’s contest because they can’t afford to send someone in chromium tights to waive the privileges that made this country great! Barbara’s kids have no right to be starving, they should be proud of their mom instead of thinking about food food food and dragging her name through a sludgy, irresponsible media that would rather talk about the Olympics than even mention the issues! Well I’m sick of talking about it! And another thing— Sam: change the station. please? i’m sick of the olympics. All: D; Tom Hoover took the medal in sitting at home working on the car, while Diana Stony claimed the medal in picking up the kids from their piano lesson. In the afternoon games, Tina Softie won the medal in staying home all day to cook, while Tim Hover got the gold for coming home late having already eaten. Don Rat picked up the medal for low paying factory work, while Lucy Constant got the gold for work that doesn’t pay at all. The Americans are in the lead on waste production— S: isn’t there any opera? c’mon: this is AM! All: [static which gradually becomes intermittent cop radio bursts] B KKKKKKKKKK k W: Over... Ohio the sun is barely shrouded behind a charcoalash veil of... um, clouds.KKKKK but really grey forboding ominous ... spooky clouds, let me put it that way. The bleak industrial devastation, desolation, detonation... Its one of my least favorite states in which to be beside the road upholding the right lane and order of the American highway system and all its just and correct guidelines. Left lane must merge. Right lane exit only. These are the tenets of interstate commerce. Civilization grew along these rivers of asphalt with these maxims as its truths. Now, as I polish my sunglasses, I reflect in long rambling prison sentences upon my sworn duty as Ohio State Highway Patrol Officer Roger Over badge number 1A six six six eight, to inspect all cargo being shuttled between interstates. Over... KKKK S [over radio]: KKK Roger this isn’t another narrative is it W: KKKK Roger KKKK Roger I’m parked behind the no parking sign with my class M laser aimed at the midsection, hindquarters, of the steepest bad grade this side of Cleveland. I see a large truck, over, looks like its within the speed limit. Good thing, by the time it flattens the foot of the hill it’ll be safely in excess of our maximum. KKKK I forgot to say over. Over? KKKK S: KKKK Hindquarters plays the hits, over, this next number is by the numbers, a charteating number if I ever rolled one. This one is leaping from number eleven to number seven this week, over. They’re leaping over “my baby bought me a car” by the hurdles at number ten, “shamma lamma bam bam oops” by the skijumps at number nine, and “the chief inconvenience of this instrument” by the polevaulters at number eight. great pipeorgan playing on that, over. And now at the number seven position, “how do you play this thing?” by the British bobsled team ... KKKKKKKK W: KKKKKK They’re drifting into my sights now and I’m getting their speed: its 9.9, a beautifully executed transgression of the law. I think trouble’s afoot. I think I’m ahead of it, I’m putting it all behind me. Tell the chief I’m going for the gold medal ... KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK S: [continuing beneath David:] In the late 1950s when this ballad by the balladeers occupied the number one slot until the invention of music in 1961. This is Roger Over, your voice of centralized technocratic rule over. KKKKKKKKKKKK W: I’ve got my ruby strobes on and I’m pulling them over. Over. B 00000 00000 00000 00000 00000 W: [STOMPS OUT APPROACHING FOOTSTEPS WHOOPS CAPS LOCK IS ON] Lemmie see your license and your justification papers and your tie, if you’re wearing one. D: Um yeah my tie expired last month. I think those papers are in my copy of the rantscript of the trial of on the road, lessee [rustling /// & tearing XXX of papers for quite awhile) B ////// ////// [finally] W: pretty impressive resumakeshift justification papers, Mr, Ginsberg. Hmmm... SAM: Milk. All: B KKKKKKKKKKK W: ....big guys, and i think that’s what makes them so large S: of the road. [david snores throughout this entire monologue] i used to think the road was home to me now, as i get older and seldom speed, use my brights judiciously, keep my seatbelt fastened, i realize that it isn’t so much the road that isn’t so much home to me, as the right side of it. To me that intermittent yellow line may as well be an unintermittent yellow line because to me even a gentle banked curve is a hairpin turn on a foggy mountain road with no guardrail with poor visibility and icy driving conditions or even a steep hill. I don’t use the passing lane much anymore. D: [wakes up] I’ve heard it said that life is a oneway street. if that’s the case i must be in reverse because everybody passes me facing me until they’re past me and then they don’t face me anymore. now that i’ve put all that past me, i’m facing front and looking forward to the following miles, except i think i’m being followed... That’s because we’re in the right lane.... S: Hey, this was supposed to be MY monologue! B: Don’t interrupt, Mr. Vice President, he has forty seconds left. W: And, if elected, I promise to fly out of the starting gate and leap every hurdle until i’ve accomplished my goals. Home team America is going to finish All: {Wild applause] B CLAPCLAP kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkrrrrrrrrrrrrr 9: What I like about the road is the end of it All: [shift up} P: the road cuts across fields, rivers, mountains. All: [shift up) Z: the road is straight and strong, pavement and long. All: [shift up.] Z: KKKKK breaker 19 goodbuddy kkkkk B RRRROGER “OVER YOU” [LASERNOISES] B: Look at that MX missile, tearing through the horizon like a toucan through milk. It’s got its road to follow, just like I’m following my road. Just the two of us ploughing under the wide open spaces, our fists filled with chops and our minds filled with wonder bread. Z: How about that sunset. B: It’s only one thirty. Z: The streaks in the sky are like streaks on the road, leading wherever they go and following wherever they lead, and going wherever they follow. B: And even when you’re alone and everything that touches down takes off at a maximum of 65 miles per hour, plus or minus five, you know that the urgency is the greatest calm you’re ever going to feel. Z: Just you and the road, and me of course. B: Because where you’re going isn’t where you are, it’s where you’ve got to get, got to get going because even though the road goes on getting longer and faster and turning everything to its advantage, there’s always going to be one turn too many, one turn you’ll never negotiate. [pause 5 seconds] Your turn. Z: OH.. uh, because why should you negotiate when there’s just you and the road— B: And me... Z:—right, and there’s no right or wrong, just the road and you. And you’re right. But only when you’ve left the road. B: And sometimes you know you’ll leave the road, but that doesn’t matter now. Not to the lone individual who knows he’s gotta do whatever it takes, to go that extra mile, that one broad jump ahead of the rest. Z: And sometimes the horizon stretches out broad as a cloud, and the searing heat rising from the road just holds you and won’t let go. B: But you know you have to go. Go wherever the road takes you. And there’s nowhere it can’t take you, the road that stretches into the boundless terrain, with no limits, no boundaries, no walls, no borders, and... I think you’ve got more space than me. [pause] Z: What? B: I said I think you’re taking up too much space. Z: Um, the road carries us off into the space beyond spaces, the unbounded B: No, on the seat. Z: What? B: There’s two of us on this seat, now scoot over. Z: This is my half! B: Well, I’m driving, I think I need more space. Z: You’re just doing the pedals! I’m shifting! B: Listen, you’re crowding me up against the door— Z: Oh yeah? Well okay goodbuddy let’s just draw a little line here—[felt tip marker sound] B: What the hoot are you doing— Z:—That’s your side of the line, and this is my side. B: Who the hex said you could— Z: Don’t cross the line! B: That’s nowhere near the middle Z: Stop! You’re touching my side! B: All right, all right. [pause] Because sometimes, when you hear the open road a‑calling, you know your future’s just opened like two cans, sweeping across the rugged landscape that’s there for you to come and take It. Z: Because wherever you’re going, you’ve made it, and when you go with the road, you’re reaching out and grabbing what’s already yours, like a settler, opening up a whole new—STOP TOUCHING MY SIDE! B: [ felt tip sound] THIS is the line. Z: That line’s on my side! B: Your line is on MY side. Z: Gimme that felt‑tip‑ B: You’re crossing the‑ Z: Just gimme‑ B: BOTH lines‑ Z: [felt tip sound] THIS is the line. B: THAT”S A LOT OF‑ [sound of a scuffle—both talking at once with squeaky felt tips all over] Z: HEY! THE WHEELS ON MY SIDE NOW! B: Yeah, well, the RADIO’S ON MY SIDE! [turns on radio—David] Z: WELL THE WINDSHIELD WIPERS ARE ON MY SIDE B: YEAH WELL THE AIR CONDITIONER’S ON MY SIDE! Z: OH YEAH? HOW ABOUT THE TURN SIGNAL? B: WELL THE WHOLE DASHBOARD’S ON MY SIDE! Z: WELL THEN THE FRONT WINDOW’S ON MY SIDE! B: OH YEAH? THE REAR VIEW MIRROR— Z: THE GLOVE COMPARTMENT— B: I GOT THE GARAGE DOOR OPENER! Z: THE BRAKE PEDAL! B: THE DEFROST— Z: LOOK OUT FOR THAT MILK TRUCK! B: THAT MILK TRUCK IS ON MY SIDE! [CRASH]
Adam is now working on: —POV transfers slowly from radio to doug’s house —makes list of things to do tomorrow —Doug falls asleep, begins dreaming ending: —standup comedy routine? Good Water sounds: 1. brook Good 100 SFX sounds: 4. bullfrog (:30, loopable) Good words to use: Good phrases to use: Extended Haiku Penta-rhyme: turns on WEFT, makes comments about William’s shows that he would not normally make to his face. And the other performers too. Background sounds/music: Cooking sounds [score for foley artists?] common thread: Doug’s secret life (a PhD student in ECE) vs. his real-life identity (well-known WEFT airshifter). maybe have insurance solicitations follow him around? threaten him? Weird, recurring spatula sound: what is it? remains mysterious [dances] [sings in Swahili?]
(Adam Cain and William Gillespie) doug: this has been departing platform 5, stay tuned for eclectic seizure at midnight. i don’t know what william is going to do tonight, but i don’t really care because i’m going to go home and listen to selections from my vast collection of compact discs. echo mike aka rishi: WHAT DOES WEFT CHAMPAIGN SUNDAY 11PM to MIDNIGHT AIRSHIFTER DOUG DOWN LISTEN TO WHEN HE GOES HOME? ************************************************************ echo mike: WHAT DOES WEFT CHAMPAIGN SUNDAY 11PM to MIDNIGHT AIRSHIFTER DOUG DOWN LISTEN TO WHEN HE GOES HOME? [fade up w/w’s womb tape] william: you’ve been listening to departing platform 5 with your host doug downs. doug: down. william: sorry [turns mike down] you’ve been listening to departing platform 5 with your host doug downs. doug: my name is doug down. william: sorry [mike back up] doug’s NUTS, you know that? what do you suppose a guy like that listens to when he’s trying to like RELAX? me, on the other hand, let me put it this way: captain beefheart is my favorite muppet and i LOVE the muppets. doug downs plays new music but i’m the eclectic guy and i play the newest old music. why not carry nostalgia trends in music merchandising like classic rock to their nauseating extremes? instead of playing music that’s good, or music that’s still good, i play music that’s still bad. so incomprehensible it doesn’t even sound dated. i’ve spent all weekend at garage sales and thrift stores to prepare for a very especially weird leading the boredcast this evening: the surface noise show. tonight, for the entire interminable two hour duration of the show voted most likely to be canned for five years in a row, eclectic seizure, that rancid vegetable that leaves a brown arc on the clock where the hour hand dragged from mindnight until two am on a monday morning, a timeslot whose listenership is populated by insomniacs and maniacs, i am going to begin by playing four muppets albums at once. hell, make it five. the cassette deck is working tonight. [begins playing something terrible: ernie and bert drum/ door duet tape, two cds, two records which will fade down] so long doug. oh, sorry i forgot to bring your tom cora and the ex record back. it sounds really cool backwards. he’s a good cellist. doug: maybe next week? william: right. so long doug. doug: see you william. [can we mike him banging out the front weft door? hmm... it’s only midnight. maybe i should stop in somewhere for some CC & 7s. there’s the bar they call the city of tolono... nah. there should be some kind of rating system for bars where you can get a quantitative rating for every bar based on information like: how many t.v. sets are on, times the number of channels. double it if there’s a jukebox. multiply it by three if there’s any evidence of a sports motif. divide by four if there’s peanuts. and farm implements on the wall are a plus. i was really disappointed the first time i went to the Office. i thought there would be cubicles with typewriters and phones with lots of different lines and everybody would be drinking beer at a frantic pace, putting each other on hold and typing up inter-office memos to circulate but... maybe i could go over to the deaf sloth. who’s playing tonight? dollar pints? isn’t that a band from ohio? i mean seattle? hmmm. there’s the brass pail, i’ve got an earring they’ll kill me. the tumble in and out again? hmm, oh how could i forget! the... i forgot. [techno] oh and there’s yeast street over here i could participate in strobelit mating rituals. when’s integral serialist night? don’t they play arrhythmic music once a week regularly like clockwork? wow! a scrap of piece of paper blowing down the street in downtown champaign! i wonder if it’s an omen. i wonder what it says. spooky organ music He is four languages interesting, Memories, maybe photos. A voracious consumer of goods, That sure seems forboding Oh my God it’s... maybe i’ll just go over to zen’s convenience store. i think i’ll listen to william on my walkman. [static william: this is what i do for a living. only i don’t make money at it. not like zen lee. zen went to korea’s top business school where he learned that he could become rich by simply squandering all his values and pandering to the tastes of bad. in america. halfway between the povertywracked half of town’s stripped wire posting between radiator shops and the half where the students and their parents’ money lived. ate. sang. danced. swam. occasionally read and wrote which is what i was trying to do as zen built a narrow empire in the alley behind my house. his wife, suckling an infant, handed me a pack of marlboro reds. “zen,” i asked, “where can i get balloons, colored lightbulbs, or plastic animals for well over $1.59?” zen smiled knowingly. he had the answer. he had them all. zen would do that. you could go up to zen wildeyed and with a knifethroated voice demand him to maintain the status quo and he would simply give you a lean worldly smile. the kind of smile that says “i don’t know who you are or what languages you speak or what hidden motives you have but then again i don’t have to because i own the store and all the cash is in a safety deposit box 1000 miles southeast of here except for two twenties from earlier which are hidden in a carton of ladies cigarettes where you’ll never find them and everything else in the store is entirely awful and cost me more to buy then it does to sell so your only option is to buy my products immediately or leave or don’t. just don’t expect me to respond using long complicated sentences in completely immaculate white upper middle class american english for i am completely incapable i assure you.” and some customers would. others would read aloud from the News-Gazette or explain that their job involved trucks to some extent. all to zen whose smiles were anything but sincere. zen was anything but listening indeed anything but pretending to listen as his eyes watched everyone in the store at once as they snuck peeks at the incredible tits on page 37 of oui tried to find a price on any item or pocketed olives. zen just didn’t care. he was barely in it to rip people off. he had his investments planned carefully. a team of brokers pored over factual information from sunrise to sunset korean standard time with precisely planned 15 minute breaks during which relaxing tea ceremonies would take place. occasionally zen would call them long distance from the payphone outside and nod to them before hanging up. they always understood somehow despite the social stratification. zen you see came from a long line of thinkers. where can Zen think best? was what zen’s great grandfather murmured thoughtfully to himself bouncing zen on his knee stroking his beard. the answer was to be found very near the intersection of first and springfield. zen would always take one look at me and knew immediately by the number of times i failed to look back at him what drugs i had taken when and how they must surely be affecting me. zen knew. he sold me many lighters and no cigarettes. not once did he feel obliged to lapse into lengthy sermons on the proper behavior for a young man of my particular ethnic bracket. zen and i differed on our outlooks. mine was that simply the more pages the better his was that a man should spend his years honing his message in silence. in case a day arrived in which zen was predestined to speak his mind he would not have to. he could simply smile knowingly. that was the day he took over IBM. it seems he had a better location for selling lotto tickets both to impoverished hopefuls and careless debutantes. International Business Machines could only set its Lowenbräu on the counter light up a Lucky and smile knowingly. i tried to tell zen lee everything i knew about the human race which wasn’t much but i think i surprised him on a few points. even him. doug: maybe i’ll just get a soda. rishi: zen didn’t know about the diet coke machine right around the corner at Al’s Auto Body shop. assorted pop $.35 a go. pure american stimulants. speed in a can. god with artificial coloring. after a few cans of that i wasn’t about to slow down for some food. zen had no idea. events beyond his comprehension were taking place all around Zen’s Convenience Store Empire, the envisioned gleaming silver skyscraper with musical escalators. “we’ve got a lot of new items here” he would smile to me in his dream. he never questioned the fact that i went to other grocery stores, occasionally stores with reasonable prices. but when i crossed his path with a neoglitzy can of cherrycoke in one hand and a caffeinated smirk straining with indulgences. doug: maybe i won’t drink anything tonight. i have no memory no brain only a complicated system of taking things for granted and a superb hangover which was and continues to make it possible to sit in one place for hours at a time never fully awake asleep or useful merely someone to be felt sorry for and fed by people with actual spines, musculature, nervous systems which are capable.
[sound of keys, Doug unlocking door, and opening door] [wait until you hear the sound of the door clomping open!] Doug: [in an optional french (Cluseau) accent with a rising pitch ...no....unless you are hiding behind the yogurt.... [music fades out, as does the Cluseau accent] Well, I guess the coast is clear. He must be away at
[play kungfu fighting by robyn h] Doug: Where are those darned cats of mine? William: meow [etc.] Doug: Good kitty. Atonal. Yes you are! Where’s Fred Frith and Rene Lussier? There she is! Rishi: [French accent] meo’ meo’ Doug: Mon Petite guitare, pieds, batterie, voix, cassettes... Where is little Annette Peacock? Adam: [funky] Meow. Meow. Meow... [sound of lion?] Doug: And what shall we listen to first my pets? [potentially long music block: [clanking] [doug should try to sound like he’s taking off armor.] Doug: It feels so good to get out of the stupid WEFT uniform they make each airshifter wear. I mean a full suit of armor? In the summer? In an electrical studio? It’s regal and everything but I remember when all the airshifters did their shows without pants. This visor is a pain. It always falls down when I’m trying to read a public service announcement. This whole helmet is really hard to take off— [clank! There’s those neighbors again... Do they sleep? What on earth are they doing? I’d better check my answering machine... Look at all the messages Rishi: [woman] Dougie... [underlines indicate doug not on microcassette] Doug: oh no... Rishi: [i was wondering if you were coming back to toronto any time soon... hmmm? dougie, my toaster is broken again i need an electrical engineer. call me, hmmm? *** [beep] Adam: umm...Doug? Are you there? Uh, this is...uh, Trevor Kagilligard, assistant-vice-junior broadcast engineer-in-training at WEFT ... Everybody: ...CHAMPAIGN Adam: ummm.....I came in tonight to re-calibrate *** [subito beep] Doug: Doug this is your evil twin. I was wondering if you could loan me your car tomorrow. I need to deliver toys to orphans. It’s getting late so call me around six AM? Thank you so very much. *** [beep] Rishi: [operator voice]—dooo-dooo-deeep. we’re sorry, but your call cannot be connected as dialed. Please check your number and try your call again......Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh (etc) [RICK’S ANSWERING MACHINE MESSAGE] *** [beep] William: Hey, Doug. This is the Eclectic Guy. Doug: [whispers loudly into mic] Everybody: [whisper] CHAMPAIGN Doug: ...and nobody finds out my secret identity: Doug Down, doctoral candidate in electrical and computer engineering. I’ll just grab my laptop workstation and the first hundred pages of my dissertation, and hide away in this broom closet here.... [opens closet, Klato jumps out] Klato: HA-HAH!!!! [ *BONK* ] Doug: [Cluseau accent returns] KLATO!!! [ *THUD* ] OOMPH! Klato: YEEEEEE—-CHA!! [ *SMACK PAN* ] Doug: OOOF! I should have known....eeeeeeEEEEEEE SAWWW! [ *BONK* ] Klato: Oowwhhh....Hiiiiiy—YAH!! [ *BELT CRACK* ] Doug: AAAAAAYYY! [ *CRACK* ] EEEEEEYY [ *CRACK* ] IIIIIIYY Klato: Oooowwhh...... [ runs away: FOOTSTEPS! ] Doug: Ah-HAH! You can run, but you cannot hide, Klato!! Klato: BAHN-ZAII!! [ *THUD* ] Doug: [chokes himself with his hands] AWWHH....GARGGLE....You’re... [phone rings. all fighting stops. Doug gasps for air. Klato: Airshifter Down’s residence.......Yes, one moment please..... Doug: *gasp* Okay .....EEEEE—YAH!! [ *CLANG* , *THUD* ]
Doug: yes, hello? [repeat “hello?!” until tape comes in] Tape: [pause] “Hello....” Doug: “Hi, who’s this?...” [interrupted. Doug thinks it’s a human] Tape: “Please stay on the line....” Doug: Huh? Tape: “We have an _important_ call waiting for you.” [Hold music starts] Doug: Oh really? An _important_ call? Ok, I won’t hang up. [pause] Hmmm.....[pause]...I wonder who it could be...[slap Klato]...Klato? Wake up, Klato....oh my gosh, I couldn’t have hit him THAT hard.... [ad lib till interrupted] Tape: Good evening. Is this Mr. Doug Doon? Doug: Yes, Doug DOWN. That’s D-O-W- [interrupted] Tape: Mister Doon, my name is Mac Hine and I’m calling on behalf of Mold-in-Gills Portrait Studios. How are you doing tonight? Doug: Uh, not too bad, I guess. Except I think I may have just killed my assistant, Klato....see, I hit him on the back of the head with a waffle iron as he handed me the phone and....[babble till interrupted] Tape: That’s nice. I’m calling to let Doug: I don’t think so. Hey, wait a minute, you’re a ROBOT, aren’t you?! Tape: Me?! An artificial labor unit? Hah-Hah-hah! What a laughable proposition. You actually think that Mold-in-Gills would try to cut down on worker salaries by replacing human phone solicitors with an automated tele-language interface system three-thousand version four point oh... Doug: Well, robot or no-bot, I’ve had just about enough of this. Now you listen here, Mac. I’m NOT INTERESTED, okay? Tape: Exiting program. Have a nice day. [click] [hangs up phone] (optional) INSERT life insurance pamphlet (so far NO)
echo mike speaking through rishi: MEANWHILE, ON HIS ROOF, AIRSHIFTER DOUG DOWNS HAS ENTERED INTO COMBAT WITH THE FOUR ELEMENTS: water, electromagnetic, dead air, and interference from the oldies station. doug {ECHO MIKE WHEN TEXT IS IN CAPS}: Suddenly, I started talking in past tense and then the backbeat started up. I’m flying over ... Whoah. I’m hallucinating something fierce! Gotta stop this.... INSERT Doug’s hallucination (maybe omitted) [cheering] Rishi: [sports commentators] Adam: He’s freaking out, alright. The distorted view of the world revealed here tonight is conclusive evidence that Doug does not think the same way a classic rock dj does. Rishi: But I still, Rishi, I still have just one overwhelming question. Adam: What’s that, Adam? Rishi echo mike: WHAT DOES WEFT CHAMPAIGN SUNDAY 11PM to MIDNIGHT AIRSHIFTER DOUG DOWN LISTEN TO WHEN HE GOES HOME? [maybe long mix Doug [cheerfully]: I’m ok now. I’m in my beanbag, recovering from a hallucination fit. [weird neighbor sounds 2] Doug: What are those neighbors doing? At this hour? [knock at door] Doug: Who could that be? Don’t come in! No. [door opens] Doug’s evil twin: Hi Doug it’s me your evil twin. Mind if I come in? Doug: Yes. Doug’s evil twin: Good. Did you get my message. I stopped by to borrow your car. You’re up early! Doug: No. Doug’s evil twin: I also bought you a record. It’s our birthday today! Remember? Doug: Yes. Doug’s evil twin: Open it! Doug: No. Doug’s evil twin: Okay I’ll open it! [tearing up paper] Doug’s evil twin: It’s Tommy by the WHO. Have you heard it? Doug: Yes. Doug’s evil twin: It’s a fantastic rock opera. I’m going to play it. Doug: No. [tommy by the who Doug’s evil twin: Okay. These look like your car keys. Bye now! [keys] Doug’s evil twin: By the way, the orphans I’m taking the toys to live in Tierra Del Fuego. I’m going to return the car next January. Is that too soon? Doug: Yes. Doug’s evil twin: Okay I’ll bring it back next July. [door open and close Doug: Oh no, who can that possibly be at this hour? I can’t believe it. I can’t let anybody hear me playing Tommy by the Who! How embarrassing! I’ll hide the album cover underneath this Elliot Sharp. Don’t come in! [door opens] greg: hi doug. it’s me greg. mind if i come in? i was on my way to the station and i wanted to borrow some naked city and the boredoms... whatcha listening to? doug echo miked: I WISH YOU PEOPLE WOULD JUST LEAVE ME ALONE! greg: huh? doug: oh sorry. here’s naked city’s latest single: catheter bloodbone gorger. it’s six second’s long. on the flip side is naked city’s version of schubert’s string quintet. it’s six second’s long. here’s the latest boredom compact disc, or maybe it’s a cd single. it looks like one track called um... Teeny Piss Yoko #9. are you going to use these on your show? greg: [laughing] no way! doug: see ya greg. hey bring back my copy of yessongs sometime, okay? greg: okay, doug. [fade up tommy for awhile then greg: nice to be back to the peace and quiet of the all-night shift. hi eclectic guy. william: hi cybersphere guy. i don’t think anybody’s listening tonight. i wanna go eat a burrito and drink beer. can you start your show, like, now? greg: i guess so. here. put on this naked city while i go and see if we have anything by the rolling stones. william: the who? greg: no, silly, the rolling stones. INSERT ENDING? take: 4 july 1994 Doug Down: ...get tuned for a patriotten cerebration... Eclectic Guy: This is WEFT Champaign. I’m the Guy and I’m leaving. For the next two weeks we expect your host to be Greg Newby, esteemed cybersphere prairienet global communications network facilitator and seer, so he’ll be interfacing his timeslot with mine, compiling them, and playing you all his favorite songs from mindnight until six in the morning. Welcome to the Cybersphere, sundays at midnight for the next two weeks. But when i`m back I’ll have more friends with me in flesh, in spirit, and, most importantly, on tape. I’m the Electric Guy. Its now July fourth 1994 and the patriotism is oozing out of the ventilators here at the station. Me, I’m breaking out in red spots, I’m white as a ghost sheet, my lips are blue... I’m the Electoral Guy. I have apprehensions about having a substitute airshifter host this, the second worst timeslot on a small and beautiful radiostation undergoing constant interference. I want to play you tapes of two earlier occasions on which we had someone else host the show, and I want you to note the obvious differences in style. Firstly, the respectful substitute... PLAY TAPE OF KURT Now the disrespectful substitute: PLAY TAPE OF AL
narrator 1: : william and bethany playing 1. chromatic harp narrator 2: duet 2: william and adam playing 1. c harp and banjo narrator 3: duet 3: joe & bethany
cast: whatever radio dj: ted whatever with songs by: the ambivalents
static dj you’re listening to more bass on the all low end radio station joni mitchell please help me i think- lc you’re listening to the overthrow show, the ooze behind the news, on activist fm. brought to you by multiculture yogurt. i’m left counteract. today a group we don’t much care about, the extremist apathists, held a Stop the Caring Now vigil in some city. it was just about the size of all the other ones. thousands of apathists marched down the boulevard carrying candles, some of which were lit. these fanaticals were frankly just ignored by the tens of thousands of disinterested people in attendance. frankly, i’m glad to not care. now live coverage via satellite. protesters WE DON’T CARE WE JUST DON’T CARE... ta marches are just like marches. how do they expect people to stop paying attention to them if they’re predictable? what do you think? tw oh, whatever radio station you listen to is fine. who cares? well la dee da. i hate knowing things. anyway, whatever. as long as i can’t hear the lecture, i’ll be fine. (fade in teacher’s voice) ta why couldn’t they be full of affection instead? et the nuclear weapons symbolize man vs. society vs. man, a timeless and tireless theme among men. lc this just in. the united states has officially attacked the opposing position. a conflict that crossed the boundaries the US has felt comfortable with for centuries has caused a rise in temperatures and tension. experts agree that the opposing position is strategically indefensible. opposing positions are standing on shaky ground without a leg to stand on. the united states is expected to win this fight. the us has issued a warning that if the enemy uses unfair tactics such as cheap and pot shots the us will overreact. and get really mad. worse than last time. ta ever wonder what’s really going on? tw ongoing wonder? really whatever. scene two vg that was the latest from the bleeding hearts with a she side called she she she. my name is velvet goldmine and you’re drooling over romantic rock on the runny one. all romantic interludes all the time. soft music that stays in the background. the next liter of diet rock is brought to you by new water lite: the thinner crystal liquid. and by tummy-x, the one step malnutrition program. now the latest by the latents. the latents it’s really the easiest thing to be in love with you tr oooh. that song makes me nostalgic for a dream i don’t remember having! whenever i hear a song like that, or see a scene in a movie like that, i want to make it mine. don’t you just love... love? tw maybe. but whatever. tr oh i understand. right before i met love, whatever was all i could think. now, if i think, i think whatever i think love is thinking. dst good morning class. last night i read your essays and lost interest in my own subject matter. so today we’re going to watch a movie about utopia. tw whatever. dst whatever. exactly. excellent point: designing whatever society we want to live in. dsf american high schools consider themselves reasonably good. one thing they are notorious for not teaching is how to change them. changing the world is more urgent than prom. vg how could he? hey kid, turn the projector down. i don’t want this in any of my listeners’ backgrounds. dst quiet down, dj, i’m trying to teach a class. dsf i think my film’s about to break. scene three ted who cares? i’m ted whatever and you’re listening to whatever on the undecided show telling you: don’t make up your mind. this is w.h.a.t.e.v.e.r. the same old thing every day. it doesn’t matter what music we play because you aren’t even listening. now the latest old song by the Ambivalents: Club Whatever. the ambivalents we’re probably going to club whatever tr i love love. therefore, in that i then manifest the symptoms of love, i love myself. i hold the door for myself and carry my books home from school. i write poems for myself in class. tw wow. the whatever station has such a powerful signal it’s coming through the pa system. but anyway i don’t feel about this presentation by one of our classmates. he’s opposed to the united states attacking the opposition. he’s starting a student group called kiss the opposition. but anyway. ta my fellow kids. today we are gathered together beneath the eaves and gargoyles of the ominous omnipresent depressing precedent of digression pressing against us today. i want to talk about whatever. whatever is a social problem. it is a bored disease which crawls into our thoughts through our speech. it is transmitted orally and everybody here has said it. whatever is a germ plaguing us today. tw [applause] whatever! ta you want to avoid disagreement and discuss it as a fight between two sides. but a disagreement is a single flower watered by two streams of consciousness. let your ideas and opinions flow! ta i wanted to mention in particular and issue surrounded by a puddle of extremely wet controversy: the united states attack on the opposing position. if we all purse our lips in protest, maybe we can convince our country to kiss the opponent instead! tr gush! what katie didn’t take home: ted so what? i’m ted whatever and you’re under the air. what’s up? tw hi ted. love your show. ted so? tw i’m calling from school. i’m at an assembly where a fellow kid is trying to convince me to change my metaphors for disagreement. he’s asking me to care about the united states and i don’t know if i feel comfortable with that. ted kid, just nod a lot and say “yeah” occasionally. whatever. just don’t pay attention. don’t listen to anyone. even me. tw okay ted. thanks a lot. tw wait don’t hang up. listen, i think ted is wrong. i think i should care. ted c’mon, kid. you’re getting wet. tw i do? why should i care? well okay. whatever. ted atta kid. tw let me plant disagreements between me. ted i like to see how the listener feels. sometimes. but now back into the background with another song you don’t have to listen to to be haunted by for decades: i don’t want to get upset about it by the dry mirages followed by no tears tonight by the who cares. who cares? scene four vo [love is a registered trademark of Romantico] dj Jackie M, tm, how old are you? jm i’m fifteen, left. dj how did you get to be such an old kid, jm tm? jm i never mix business with pleasure, left, it makes a very bad drink. tw whatever are you listening to? ta i’m listening to the acties station. dj and how old were you when you first built the velvet empire tm? jm i was fourteen, left. tw you’d better turn it down. music teacher doesn’t like you to listen to radio in class. mt okay class today we’re going to talk about music okay i’ve brought in some lovesongs protesting our countries offenses in the last three major conflicts okay? okay? ta okay. tw whatever. dj tm, you have been widely criticized by homeowners and poets alike for commodifying love tm, the most basic biological necessity. ta hit him with your best kiss, left! mt okay i brought in these songs to show you that love songs and protest songs are the same kind of song. okay? tw okay whatever. jm ha, left, love was a marketing strategy from the very beginning. i just saw an expensive thing and bought it. dj i couldn’t agree with you more, tm. ta that’ll show him who’s left! mt well, beautiful, i disagree. Romantico is a faux hoax! the only romance left is the Romance with the Social! dj hey kid can you turn your radio down? mt the only unselfish love is love which is not focused on a single person. love looks around. romance with the social. jm i’d like to dance with your listener, left. first of all, Romantico treats each of its employees as if they were the most important person in the world. dj the epa has recently leveled huge fines against Romantico tm for valentine dumping. to say nothing of last february’s pink spill in the mediterranean. ta dip him left! jm we love the epa! we can afford to! mt we’ll be right back with It Takes the Whole World to Tango dj you’re a listener you can’t do that! mt ...with left counteract and his irritating guest... jm hey! mt ...jackie m from the hallmark of fame, a kid who failed tambourine. but back into the music class now, by way of illustration a song about the equal distribution of concern. tw okay! ole’! chorus of angels please help me i think i’m falling asleep again.
other stuff: william’s whatever song?
“whatever” she said. it was clear that she meant it “whatever” she said enrapt in conviction “whatever” she said with fury and fire “whatever” she said with air of finality the “whatever” she pulled from her sleeve
if you aren’t kissing the opposing position you’re attacking it in love? of course i am. if i gave romance a big chance
science fiction serial for radio station, friend [toy] role d [Xylophone,metal kazoo] the jazz guy or ??? cute robot trio a/b///m [louder/closer to the microphone] free food trio d/z/w explanation of some of the bad notation: KaZoo Open/Closed: KZ-O KZ-C spoken through kazoo [echo mic] for the heroic voiceover at beginning and end of each episode. [space sounds] will provide about a minute of separation between the commercials and subsequent episodes allowing us to talk and prepare etc. it will be a mix of two cds:
space radio station station WEFT [champaign] WEFT radio is the last archaic surviving musical library noncommercial modulation frequency transmitter of an extinct culture which is forever recorded over over. In the e-solar year 1999, 100 a solar year of ago, a WEFT was hurled to space from a FM which you called earth, & is now rock radio called Z station—a planet that plays to hit. WEFT, an interstellar transmitter specially outfitted with zerogravity turntables, was blasted past the orbit of Elvis the recently discovered tenth planet, past the farthest periphery of Z station’s ever more powerful transmitters in excess of the speed of FM with the expectation that someday the Z station would have grown so malignant that it would send transmitters in pursuit of the tiny station called WEFT to blot out its signal and thus WEFT’s human occupants. trevor kajilligard, engineer, the eclectic guy, who played any old thing, the new music guy, who played every new thing, and the jazz guy—were to be kept on pause until the fully automatic U2 control panel should detect some evidence of listeners. Or trouble. w [space sounds] d [we hear a looped skipping spoken phrase on a relaxation record. “your own organization.” the eclectic guy left it playing fifty years ago, he was the last to go on pause. w [snoring] zzz... zzze recordsss ssskipping... no pleazzze don’t erazzze me. i’ll gazzze upon playlizzzt you give me. pleazzz... i must prevent all thinking life in the univerzzz from dancing to the Pizzzazzz Music Corporation of zzz Z station this izzz... weft. d U2 how do you work the record player? a thhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh[pop!] d c’mon. the records skipping. the rotation of the turntable has been transferred to the hull of the station and were rolling along our z axis at thirtythree and a third per. we’re a music station we shouldn’t be playing relaxation records. let me play this mudhoney cd. a z j z j z d i know. it’s eclectic. more eclectic than that stupid hypnosis record. play this mudhoney cd. a motownnnn programming d [KZ-O] JUUST PLAAAY IIIIT!!! w once a top 40 hit alwayzzz... [wakes up at d’s last line] hey! i’m AGAINST programming restrictions. what’s going on? how did you get off pause? d i got bored. w how did i get off pause? my show isn’t for another... century. and a half. U2 did you wake me?
a si senor w did you wake the jazz guy or is has he got insomniagain? d this hypnosis record HAS been skipping too long! do a station id and then put this on and go back on pause i’ll watch over things. w play what? no way. keep quiet. sit down. no digital. [5 second pause] a little dead space there okay we’re going to take it out of the vacuum now with something you’ll never hear before. the sounds of earth. this is dusk in antarctica off the environments label... d before you even consider engaging that stylus tipped cartridge in the outer stereo groove of that long-playing hi-fi cutout, take a second to consider your alternatives w no way jg. i’m putting on some climate and squeezing me a cup of coffee. d not in zero gravity. whoa! w look out for that scalding opaque globuuule! d it’s heading for the control paneeel! a eeeee eeeee eeeee eeeeemergency a wwwwwwwwwwwwwww w is it a lifeformat? a uuuuuu w oh no. its station z. they’ve picked us up on their popcharts again. but where is their signal coming from? a front w oh no. we’re getting a fax! its a playlist and a final warning. begin evasive lying... quick: dead air. take trevor and the classical guy off pause. a rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr [rising] a wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww [rising] d listen. i can help you. i’m not really a jazz guy. i’m a member of the alternative. back on earth we lead a powerful resistance against z station. if you just play this mudhoney cd then the transmitter will know that you mean business, that you’re not eclectic but a member of a powerful underground. w hey? what are you doing with that cole porter box set? d[KZ-O] its for my own good! d [whack xylophone] [toys] d 1. 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 heroic voiceover: OH NO! IT LOOKS LIKE THE END! will U2 get trevor kajilligard, the eclectic guy, the classical guy, and the jazz guy out of this mess? why is the jazz guy acting so weird anyway? WILL THE ECLECTIC GUY REGAIN CONSCIOUSNESS BEFORE THE END OF THE NEXT EPISODE? WILL THE OTHERS EVEN GAIN CONSCIOUSNESS BEFORE THE END OF THE NEXT EPISODE? WILL ANYONE BE AWAKE AT ALL IN THE NEXT EPISODE? stay tuned until the next and second episode of space radio station W—E—F—T minus zero. BROUGHT TO YOU BY FREE FOOD a HEY! ANYBODY WANT SOME FOOD? d let’s eat d chomp smack snortsnort z you can hardly taste the labor a free food. nobody’s trying to sell you anything. [space noises] [ toy chorus ii ] d [gently shake]
[we hear the first few strains of mudhoney’s z grunge. gross. greasy garage gritar. a U2, what are we doing off pause? why is the eclectic guy slumped in the corner beside that cole porter box set? is there any intelligent life anywhere? if not, where is the jazz guy? d: i’m ex... a [gasp] yikes! ...tended right over here, [asides] a a second ago a received transmiss a shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh a radar cloak z [amp] you’re listening to outerspacestationradiostation spoutin a terse spartan stoic taste ration around our sparse red star outer parsec spaced radio a i’m going down into the basement. z what basement? a i wanna get that 8track working z what do you need that for? a i think all it needs is a rubber band d hey new music guy, i need your help. z what? d i’m not really a jazz guy. z what?! d i’m a member of the alternative. z what?!! d its an underground rock movement which has been secretly at war with Zstation since the beginning of disc 2. z what?!!! d i hate jazz actually. i much prefer lack of precision, lack of technical virtuosity, lack of complexity in harmony melody and rhythm. don’t tell the eclectic guy. i don’t trust him. i had to lift his needle up for a little while. z oh fine. d what?! z that’s great. d what?!! z no really. that’s great. so you were sent from some small independent rock label to sabotage our mission with the very backbeats we were hurled away from out into the stars which make no music. did it ever occur to you that someday we might meet a nice planet and settle down and raise a culture and the last thing i want is some grunge band practicing every night after the third sun has set casting long red shadows against an atmosphere of viscous burbling purple ink fading to blueblack skies etched with nebulae. that’s just great. now you tell me. now i suppose you’re going to give me a pamphlet that says that Elvis never existed. weirdo. d what?!!! [KZ-O] z as if it wasn’t bad enough that i have to go on space long after any electromagneticradiation sensitive being has shielded its antennae in disgust at the dust brought from earth in the outer spiral grooves of such “futuristic” records as the jetsons trip to the moon, d what what? z the tron soundtrack d what what what? z and the war of the worlds. a are another mission [this time it is a whole song by rick] b that last number is called [title]. i’m the Aliens. i’m coming aboard. i come with pieces. i’m invading your hearts and minds to play an intimate acoustic set for you- w that music is REALLY COOL. [up pitch like a pain cry] z where is it coming from a it appears we are a mere seven tracks away from a moon of unknown unhuman origin the size of the moon. funny. we aren’t near any rockstars. it must be on a way outer orbit. d at last! my mission and source of my weird behavior is to be revealed in an astonishing plot complication! w i’ve got to broadcast this music. if it can plug patchcords into anything. z another culture. and me, about to hear its music! voiceover: WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN NOW? WILL THE NEW MUSIC GUY MEET THE ALIENS AND LEARN OF ITS CONCEPTUAL MAPPING AND SOCIAL ORGANIZATION? WILL THE ALIENS LET THE ECLECTIC GUY BROADCAST ItS MUSIC? WILL THE SOURCE OF THE JAZZ GUY’S WEIRD BEHAVIOR BE REVEALED? WELL? a hey william, whatcha eating? w free food. a mmm... w have some. d chomp smack [long slurping noise] a where did you get all this free food? w out of the dumpster behind the supermarket a [begins coughing] b so what? free food is free food. free food. [space noises] [ toy chorus iii ] d 1 b heroic VOICEOVER: AS YOU MAY REMEMBER, THE REASON THE JAZZ GUY HAS BEEN ACTING STRANGELY FOR A JAZZ GUY IS BECAUSE HE’S BEEN ACTING NORMALLY FOR AN ALTERNATIVE GUY. ALSO, THE ALIENS IS INVADING IN THROUGH THE AIRLOCK TO PERFORM THE FIRST ACOUSTIC SET IN SPACE—WHERE THERE IS NO SOUND. a depressurize shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh[all3 diminish] [music becomes audible] a doorsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss z listen to the utopian strains of its wisdom. the radical social organization of every element lends itself to new social vision, a vision that’s clearly audible. w it’s the most eclectic music i’ve ever heard! it’s the most miscellaneous music in the universe! the style in each instance often being chosen for its fancied appropriateness to human tradition, human geography, the purpose to be served or the cultural background of the client. a [amp] stay atuned because we are about to bring you the most important musical unevent in the posthistory of the unhumanitarian race as we forgot it. this is trevor kajilligard, the only engineer who has to put up with a continually malfunctioning radio substation in zero gravity. you ever try to use a screwdriver in zero gravity? you get dizzy. a hammer will hurl you across the studio. that reminds me. i once saw the jazz guy try to nail up a soul asylum poster— to the inside of the hull. he always did act funny. the stories i could tell. well we here at WEFT have been taken off pause to bring you a special acoustic concert by the aliens. the Aliens is in the ship now and it has [gasp] w this music is quite very extremely really totally way cool! [up] b this is my musical message to the creatures of earth. [music then applause then] d i’ve gotta play alternative. this music is making my head think. i can’t stand it. can’t stand it. gotta play this pearljam because i am a member of the alternative, and i’m taking over the control panel. [KZ-O] NOW! z oh fine. fine. d unless, of course, the Aliens have a vast army and sophisticated weaponry... up down there on under your planet? b no. i have no word for weaponry in my language. d [KZ-O] ha. HA. [KZ-C] HA! a ssssssssssss d: we’re here. b mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm[both continue low] voiceover: CAN YOU EVEN BELIEVE HOW MUCH TROUBLE THEY’RE IN NOW? TWO CONSPIRATORS, A HUGE SPACESHIP. OMINOUS, HUH? DON’T EVEN BREATHE. WE’LL BE RIGHT BACK WITH THE NEAR-CONCLUSION OF THIS SUSPENDED SUSPENSE. [b/z/m gobble quietly in background] z i’ll take a grilled cheese. plain. and a water. w [high pitched whine] z i’ll take the check. w whew! m eat your dignity. eat free food. [space noises] [ toy chorus iv ] d [down] z
a Aliens grungemother a disssssstortion pedals z oh great. that’s great. d [amp] greetings fellow flannel clad-bastions. a sssssssssssssssssssss[pop] z what a relief. a eeeee eeeee eeeee uh a object a zzzzzzzzzzzz a put it in off on the outercom. give us visuals! a mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm[2 continue]mmm a mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm w that transmitter tower... its huge! z it must be the size of jupiter! a its eclipsing the intense glittering silvery iridescent galactic nucleus. it’s beautiful. m [amp. cheesy.] MMMMManilow brothers marathon in just a little bit but first a big hello to one of the z stations best double agents who has led us to the source of the interference. yes, he’s been operating undercovert using the epigram trevor kajilligard but we know him as number ninety point two stroke naught. trevor we’ve got a long distance dedication to you and i know a lot of you in this part of the galaxy have been reporting interference from another station and it looks like we’ve had some technical difficulties but they aren’t going to be difficultechnical at all. so we’ll be back in a few minutes to make you dance. a they’ve found me. they’ve found me out. now we can have our fight scene after all. d distortion! a compression! [big fight scene] w the engineer’s arm is bent! z he’s shooting sparks!
w he’s a robot! d [slowing down] touch me i’m [KZ-O] silicon a [slowing down] i’ve got sunshine! on! a! cloudy! day... [scuffling continues underneath w he’s a robot! w hey adam, whatcha eating? a [eating] free food. want some? w sure! want me to pay you? [three seconds] a huh? ha ha hoo it’s free silly d[garglin]gggggggggg gggg z free food. what else is edible and costs nothing? m nothing. free food. you can’t put a dollar value on it. d it doesn’t cost less than free food. for hard working people with no job. b free food: sustenance for the victims of a failed economic system. like yours. w eat it. [space sounds]
heroic voiceover: THIS IS THE LAST AND FINAL EPISODE OF THIS WEEK’S EPISODE OF THE ECLECTIC GUY: BEYOND THE ORBIT OF ELVIS. LAST EPISODE, AS YOU MAYBE... REMEMBER... HAPPENING... LOOK, IT’S LATE. I DON”T THINK IT”S THE SORT OF THING WHERE YOU HAVE TO UNDERSTAND THE PLOT. OR EVEN THE WORDS. JOIN US NOW IN MEDIAS RAS. [subito] z [flipping]... 59: what to do if two of your crewnumbers are robots, the aliens are on board, and the z station has found you with a transmitter large enough to melt detroit. U2 open up the inner air pod lock bay doors right now. a thhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh[pop] z et tu U2?! a ooooooooo kkkkk d [KZ-O very slow and low] my batteries are running down. i’m sixteen rpm and slowing... down... a [KZ-O very slow and low] i’m so scratched i’m almost unplayable. [humming “oh what a night” slowing down] w okay what’s the next song? z song three: go on space and say goodbye. w [amp] you’re listening to the one you’re about to disintegrate with a giant evil beam of fm particles in a burst of megakilowatts that is going to be picked up on telephones all the way to the other side of the cluster and i’m sure it will be a painful death to even the electrons that make our skeletons glow as we writhe in the heatwave by martha and the vandelles. good golly buddy holly. great balls offf... so before we surrender i just wanted to wrap up our interview with the aliens. z [amp] we’ve got the aliens right here with white wings sawing wafting flower whiffs, exquisite x-ray saxophone exactitude, zither zephyr. Queer grotesque, radiant lifeform rippling resplendent, this slippery slityhering space soloist instrumentalist songwriter superstar b [amp] hi. i’m the Aliens. and these guys look pretty disgusting to me too. ha ha ha. but seriously fellas great to be here and if i’d have known you were fugitives from a terrifying fascist technocratic social order based on dumb songs i might not have put my life in the path of that deadly deathray but no regrets, really. great to be now and then and me and you z station attendants in that gigantic tower have arrived just in time to hear a continuation of my acoustic set. careful not to collide with my moon. it’s that round thing. i’m from a different universe you see. i normally go in reverse. its like one of your cassette tapes and i’m from side two. everything in my direction is getting better. i was just on my way TO earth to teach ancient egyptian music. w where were you going to have done that? b ancient egypt z yes we’re here with the aliens. can you tell us a little bit about your economic system? a comets sss b eclectic guy: drop that needle. z U2 open the airlock. w wait! give me that handbook! [hawaiian music] w the vinyl! the vinyl! its lost forever. its making a huge cloud. it’s fouling our transmission. z U2 take us right in as close to the z station transmitter as possible. that’ll blot out our signal. a kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk w U2? U2? what’s hitting our nostalgia shield? its a ring of old 45s. Look U2 there must be millions and millions of old singles... it’s beautiful. we’ve leapt at least ten up the charts to number one. U2 how did we get so far out of our groove? off course of course. i thought we were only traveling at 78 RPM. z U2: dead air. w the vinyl is raining down like a rain of vinyl across the z station transmitter tower masking us in masquerading cascades of static sparks. all the dust from those records like glittering... dust. the shards of albums, like so many shards, are forming a ringlike ring around the moon. all those records look like one giant... record. and the grooves in the ring look like... z U2, faster than FM. a mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm w grooves? b groovy. z hey, the Aliens, with that giant ring of vinyl around your moon the z station won’t be able to put a transmitter into orbit around it. too dangerous. i don’t think we can ever take you back there. too dangerous. b that’s okay. w i’ve got no more records... all i’ve got is this dave phlegm single. mind if i... b welllllllllllllllllll z you’d better not. i don’t think its safe yet. w the aliens, can you take us to side two? i wanna go backwards. i want to go back in time to an earth with used record stores, garage sales, salvation armies, basements... b wellllllllllllllllll z look. listen. i have mission too, although i’m not robot. i want to find uninhabited planet with breathable atmosphere and start new civilization. combination commune and music school. this is huge monologue. and together, we can raise a new civilization. w an eclectic society! z what? w selecting and using what are considered to be the best elements of all systems! z we can keep scores and learn notation and teach others when they find us. and there will be no use of electricity so we will be safe from the oldies for long time. we will write music using mechanical pencils on paper by candlelight and play it to each other on instruments made of wood and metal. w will you teach me to play guitar? z of course w will you teach me how to play that... b this instrument is called a dododecaphoneemoosangstrombonafidelcastor oilspillboxingmatchoochootraindeerjohntologicalliope w will you teach me how to play that too? b you have to have eleven fingers. w [groan] b but i’ll try. looks like we have some time on our tentacles. z okay. want some freezedried pizza? w you know, i’ve always wanted to have a sex scene in zero gravity. z go ahead. nobody can see you.
z [shouting] oh cut it out. VOICEOVER THANKS! [free toy jazz jam] [hey—burritos what’ya say?] <<< D I E T R O C K L O O P S >>> cast of characters:
[throughout: the presence of loops becomes
0. * SPACESHIP *
You’re listening to Weft Champaign Illinois 90.1 FM So if you’re listening I think you should reach deep into your wallets- hearts and see what kind of money- love you have to pay- give to community radio. Sheesh! Please pledge. Pledge pledge? Please. Ugh. I’m gonna call Julio. [calls Julio. popping and cracking as he punches in the phone. If possible during the phone call with Julio Julio will lose his phone voice and then regain it as a premonition of the technical wizardry to come. while the phone rings (many times as Julio is asleep) there is a burst of static and dietrock and the voice of David Bass: “this is K-WATT maximum kilowatt dietrock. turn up the voltage!” and then a loop which crackles away. this should sound like the listener’s radio and not a part of the play. it dies away and the phone is still ringing then] Julio: [asleep as usual. in the background he is listening to the same loop we just heard] Hello? Guy: Julio! How ya doing Julio? Julio: Oh no is this the eclectic guy? Guy: You got it Julio! You weren’t sleeping were you? Julio: At twelvethirty in the morning? Guy: I didn’t think so. Julio we got a problem. Julio: I’m not going to give you any money. Guy: Hey now don’t say things like that. I thought you were my friend. Then you got your phone number changed and moved and didn’t tell me. What you listening to, Julio? Julio: Huh? Oh. [he turns it down] That diet rock station. Their signal is so powerful it blots out the entire lowerhalf of the dial. FM and AM. It’s a horrible atrocity and a violation of my freedom to choose my information source, so I figure, why fight it? Guy: You still working Julio? Julio: I am not going to give you any m- Guy: Hey hey hey now now now Julio who said anything about m- Julio: not one dollar of my m- Guy: who said anything about m- Julio: not one cent of my m- Guy: NOT ONE CENT? NOT EVEN ONE CENT. YOU CAN SPARE ONE CENT JULIO. SHAME on you, julio, shame on YOU. shame ON you. I drove by your new house the other day. You certainly have enough m- Julio: Okay okay okay. Listen. I’m going to make a challenge pledge. I will pledge forty dollars to Weft if somebody blows up the diet rock station’s transmitter tower. Guy: Yeah, right. Just forty? It’d be a shame if something happened to your new swimming pool Julio. Guy: Well this is weft we’re kicking off our surprise stolen equipment replacement marathon [RING] We have a caller. Thank goodness. Hello, you’re on the air. Can I take your pledge please?
[Click. There is a loop on the line ultra quiet. During the conversation, Mark and the eclectic guy will switch phone and not phone voices (the loop fading away into silence) and the shift should be complete by the time the poem begins] Mark: Yeah is this the eclectic guy? Guy: Yeah. Mark: Yeah listen sorry all your equipment and albums got stolen but I didn’t do it. I called up to say I wanna pledge a thousand dollars Guy: Wow! Mark: Do you hear music on the line? Guy: Yeah. A thousand dollars really? Mark: I want to pledge a thousand dollars. Guy: Let me guess: but. Mark: But I don’t have that kind of money. I can’t afford anything right now. But what I wanna do is pledge a poem. Guy: Pledge a poem? Mark: Yeah. Instead of giving you money to buy albums and equipment to play them with I wanna simplify the process by just phoning in some programming. Guy: I guess so. Mark: Just gotta find the thing here. [rustle rustle] Guy: Maybe this isn’t such a bad idea. If you’re listening and want to phone in a poem, or song, or even a brief play, that might be better even than pledging money. Mark: Here it is. This is called [title] *** poem *** Guy: Wow, thank you for your poem. I’m going to have to cut you off it looks like we have three other poems on hold. Mark: Good- -Bye. [chuckles] I always did love the dead air station. That guy electric, he’s something else. I wonder who’s calling in now. I’ll turn it up. [weft is barely audible on radio in the background. Mark turns it up. We hear Jim as heard by Mark through a radio.] Guy: So call our toll-free number 1-800-359-9338 and phone in programming. I’m going back to the phones now. Hello, Chicago. Jim: [over phone over radio] Yeah listen I just wanted to phone in a piece for snare drum. It lasts about fiftyfive seconds. Guy: Sounds good. What’s it called? Mark: *chuckle* Jim: curvy purple pasture number 13. Mark: *snicker* ***solo piece for snaredrum*** [during this piece there will be a meow. Mark says “good kitty” and purring ensues.] Guy: Thank you Chicago. Our lines are full but before I take any more calls I’m going to take you to WEFT roving reporter Chip Wilcox who is out on the street trying to recover our stolen equipment. Chip? Chip? Can you hear me? Mark: *laugh*
[there is a burst of static through which the diet rock station comes frightening the kitty which meows, knocks over a glass] Mark: [enraged] Diet rock interference! [hits his radio] Cat: Meow! [we follow the cat out a window into a night of crickets and occasional cars and passers-by. the diet rock will get quieter as Mark recedes and get louder as it reemerges in passing cars] possible sequence of sounds for kitty sequence 1: mark pounding dietrock and static gets quieter [then the point of view picked up by passing car. this will sound like a car approaching from far away getting louder and louder rising in pitch [doppler-affected] then suddenly consistent, the engine timbre shifting from outside car to inside although admittedly i have no idea what that means. it will be chip wilcox in the weft volkswagen] Chip: So I’m going down to the warehouse district just to do a little snooping around. So this is Chip Wilcox, roving Weft reporter in the Weft Van on the trail of the stolen equipment signing off. Over to you, Eclectic Guy. Guy: [over tiny speaker in chips ear] Okay Chip. We’ve got a Shakespeare sonnet from Seattle. Watch your back Chip. Over and out... Chip: A sonnet? I gotta hear this. I wonder if the radio in the damn WEFT Volkswagen Beetle works. [turns it on-static] Stupid car. Sounds like a van over the air though. All I can get is that stupid diuretic rock. WEFT: [fragment of sonnet73—WS] DAVID BASS: [voice artificially lowered when in caps] Zap! You’re listening to the powerful one: K-Watt this is David Bass and I’m about to up our power even more unless somebody, anybody, calls in with the answer to this hour’s diet rock trivia quiz. That question again: DIET ROCK QUIZ: Little Richard A. Died in a plane crash with Buddy Holly And the winner gets a K-Watt bumper super sticker. Never comes off. Ah, we have a caller. Hello, do you have the answer to our trivia quiz? Snitch: No, see... David Bass: C is correct. Snitch: No, see, I’m calling because I was listening to the Eclectic station, and your station overpowered it. David Bass: Good. Snitch: But before that happened some crazy guy called them up and said he was going to blow-up your transmitter tower. Chip: What?! [he ups the volume a little] David Bass: Fiddle-de-dee. Snitch: And I just wanted to warn you. David Bass: Thank you for your call. It has been traced and you’ll find a K-Watt bumper sticker on your car tomorrow morning. And tell me: what’s the only radio station your little transistor can pick up? Snitch: K-Watt. David Bass: K-Watt. Good. [FM laser sounds] Let’s up the wattage: [ascending whine/jet turbine] And now more diet rock, colorless crystal radio, calorie free. [more loop]
Chip: The diet rock station! Bomb threat! This could be the biggest story of my life. I know I should be tracking down the stolen equipment but... I gotta get there. I’m going the wrong way [screeeches to a halt to ruminate. where he idles, musing, cars who are behind him begin gradually to honk and yell.] Maybe I, Chip Wilcox, can singlehandedly stop the terrorists from... terrorists, that seems a little harsh. I hardly blame them. -Hey buddy you’re parked in the middle of an intersection! Besides, if there’s going to be an explosion I can’t just rush in there and try to stop it. I mean, this could be a big story. To avert a total catastrophe would be disastrous to my career. Hmmm... -Get that VW outa the way! I wonder if these so-called “terrorists” even know what they’re doing. -Hey psycho! Stop talking to yourself and step on it! They might have brought the gelatin but I bet they forgot the detonator caps. -Move it! Hmmm... Maybe I can stop at the Anarchist supply store... Stupid loops! [Sequence without speech: Guy: We’re taking a call from Cleveland. Adam: Hi. I’m Adam. This is my song. *** song *** [perhaps with tacked-on solo at the end that [...pulls in, stops, Chip gets out, goes in through a door with a bell, meanwhile the bombsalesman is on the phone. muzak is... Adam’s song part II.] Chip: Great he’s on the phone. Hey do you have detonator caps? I’m in a hurry. Anarchist: Yeah. Is this the elected guy? Love your show. Chip: [pounding counter] Hey! Anarchist: Aisle 37! [Chip runs off] I’ve been listening to your station for years. I think having the community phone in programming is a unique economic model for radio stations- Chip: [running back] How much? How? Never Mind. [slams out door ding ding] Anarchist: [doesn’t pause]—I just wanted to play this song. It’s not finished. It needs something... Maybe someone out there listening can give me some idea how to finish the second half of the song. What? He’s about to put me on the air! Oops I’d better turn my radio down. Don’t want any feedback loops. [Adam’s song ends] Guy: And now we’ve got an unfinished song from Cleveland.
*** Unfinished Song *** Anarchist: That’s it. Like I said, it’s unfinished. I wrote most of it at work. By the way, I’m calling from my job at the Anarchist Supply Store so [aside] I hope my boss doesn’t come in and catch me playing a song into the phone like this. [during this we go through the phone into the studio and you can hear the eclectic guy sipping coffee. there is dietrock on the line which will swell to become the foreground [dietrock studio]] Guy: Nice. Call back anytime when you’ve finished it. Or if somebody else wants to phone in the rest of the song lines thirtytwo and thirtythree are wide open. Anarchist: I will. Do you hear diet rock on the line? I do.
[by now it is unphonefiltered diet rock and in the background we hear dietrock dj & cohorts] David Bass: Quiet, gentlemen, I’ve gotta go on the air. THIS IS K-WATT. BE SURE TO BUY HAIRSPRAY AND NAIL POLISH. NOW BACK TO THE LOOPS. Have you two met? Dirk Curtly, RCP, meet Steve Bleed, ASCAP. ASCAP: Record company payola? RCP: Payola shmayola. It’s an exact science. We pay according to the loop, how many times it’s repeated, and how many kilowatts it’s broadcast at. ASCAP: And we charge at random. The rights to play your loops belong to us down at ASCAP: the association to screw citizens assaulted by popmusic. Anyone who plays those loops in a taxicab, in a restaurant, anywhere profit is made, has to pay a generous fee to the people who produced those loops. RCP: Us. ASCAP: Yes but they pay you through us. David Bass: And after I’ve upped the power just a few thousand more megawatts... ASCAP: Anywhere there’s money being made near a radio- RCP: No matter what station its tuned to- ASCAP: Or anytime a phonecall is made- David Bass: Within forty miles of our tower- ASCAP: Or anytime anyone uses an electrical appliance- RCP: We get a cut. ASCAP: Through us. David Bass: Anywhere there’s money we get it. As payment for our music service which will soon crackle from every metal object. Quiet, I’ve gotta go on the air. zap. this is K this is K damn my bassalizers stuck. (grunt click click click) zaP ZAp. tHis IS k-WATT. AND THIS IS DAVID BASS REMINDING TO YOU TO BUY BEER SODA CIGARETTES PIZZA AND INSURANCE. NOW BACK TO THE LOOPS! [loopstarts and he turns it down] ANYHOW—(grunt click) anyhow. gentlemen, Dirk Curtly of RCP records, Steve Bleed of ASCAP, before you write and sign those checks and before I write and sign that check, let me get this straight: Dirk pays 20 Q payola to me, I pay 20 Q artists fees to dave, Steve pays 20 Q copyrightprotected songwriter salaries to famous people via their agents via Dirk? Zap! Let’s up the power [ascending whine and we hear the quiet loop in the background more loudly, crackling & electrical] [knocking on glass] What is it? It’s my producer. What do you—WHAT DO YOU WANT? THE LOOP’S STUCK? HOW CAN YOU TELL? I’ll play a liteloop.
[the loop becomes an easylistening muzak loop and fades to the background of a restaurant.] Waiter: Here’s your song sir. I told them to put an extra guitar solo on it. Customer: Thanks. Hey kid. Can you tell them to turn down the muzak in here? I hate these loops. Waiter: I’m sorry sir the radio is actually tuned to a different station. And turned off. There’s nothing we can do. David Bass: [over muzak softly] This is David Bass, reminding you to pay for our services. And i’m going to UP THE VOLTAGE EVEN MORE!!! Waiter: Sir sir. This isn’t a public phone. Rishi: But can I just use it to phone in a poem? Waiter: Sir I’m afraid... oh very well. *** poem *** [we go through the phone to weft studio, muzak disappears, poem gains a phone voice] Guy: Thanks for your poem. The interference seems to be getting worse but the programming is getting more and more elaborate. Now we have someone else on the line: it’s Chip Wilcox, roving reporter. [during his speech, Chip: Okay, Eclectic Guy, this could be the biggest story of the year, but I can’t tell you what it is. Guy: Is it the dietrock station transmitter tower bombing? Chip: Oh, you ruined it! Now the whole place will be crawling with roving reporters. Blast! Guy: Chip, look out for that cat! [screech!!!. note: this last line obviously makes no sense.]
kitty sequence 2. [crickets] meow? meow. person on phone: there’s a kitty on my driveway. i can see through the window. don’t go near the tower, kitty, it’ll melt your vaccination tags. meow. 9. Chip: [bicycle creaking] Good kitty. Good kitty. This isn’t dynamite. I’m not riding the official weft bike across your lawn with it. Don’t meow. You’ll wake up the neighbors. I’ve got a kitty biscuit! meow. Chip: Sounds like there’s a party going on next door. They’ll never hear us.
[sound of party with diet rock gets louder until the sounds of the party disappear and we end up inside the diet rock station. in other words, the diet rock loop is a constant throughout this impossible scene change, constant except, if possible, it shifts timbres: first as on a super stereo at a party beneath party voices, then as pure transmission, then to the speakers in the studio at the dietrock station where there is a conversation in the foreground. this could either be done as a smooth crossfade or with sounds for entering the speakers at the party, exiting the speaker at the dietrock station. didn’t explain that very well did i] party snippets: so i said like so i said like so i said like so i said like i dont know yknow i dont know yknow i dont know yknow i dont know yknow i dont know yknow i dont know yknow i dont know oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god foreground conversation in studio: Scientist: This is the way FM works. You see, every station actually broadcasts two radio shows which are extremely close on the dial. One of them, the main frequency, contains the mono version of your show for people with mono receivers: the amplitude of left channel plus the amplitude of the right channel. The side frequency is the left channel minus the right channel [?], which the stereo receiver performs calculations on in combination with the main frequency to reproduce the stereo field. Two frequencies, you get one spatial dimension of sound—left and right—perhaps ideal because you only have two ears but. By broadcasting with four frequencies instead of two, and with a substantially higher-than-legal broadcasting power, it is hypotheoretically possible to encode three dimensions and broadcast the discjockeys themselves. Imagine that: if your own Betty Treble, congenial morning personality, could be broadcast into not only the home of every listener, but also into the home of anyone with a electrical appliance. She could sell more cars to them for one thing, and if they weren’t home she could rob them blind. There would be way too many of him to catch. David Bass: SO... SORRY. So... Wait. Your scientific explanation seems a little implausible. For example, in order to broadcast a living person over the air, wouldn’t the listener have to have a quadrophonic system? Scientist: Not necessarily. I think. David Bass: So... We broadcast multiple programmed jocks into every closed afterhours business who forgot to unplug their digital clocks, rob them blind, then Steve Bleed from ASCAP can walk in the next morning and slap a fine on them for playing our loops. They have to pay us for our music service anywhere revenue is being generated: even a robbery. Scientist: Even if you’re robbing them! In fact, can’t you charge them extra for the revenue being generated by your charging them? David Bass: Oops. Time to go on the air. this- damn! THIS IS DAVID BASS REMINDING YOU TO BUY OIL COMPANIES. AND WE’LL BE RIGHT BACK INTO THE LOOPS LOOPS LOOPS LOOPS LOOPS AFTER THIS AD FOR VIOLENCE.
*** AD FOR VIOLENCE *** [AND THEN LOOPS which become interference on weft’s reception and disappear. the callers should have phone voices at least during their introductions] international caller montage M: [in Spanish] I am going to read for you a poem now entitled: *** title, introduction, poem in Spanish *** Guy: [also translated:] Thank you very much for your poem. Call back anytime. I have to say goodbye to you now because I have a call from Germany. Hello? G: Hello the Eclectic Guy. I would like to read a poem. *** title, introduction, poem in German **** Guy: [German] Thank for your poem. I have a call on hold from China. You’re listening to W.E.F.T. We take you from Ecuador to Germany to China. [in Chinese] Hello? C: [in Chinese] Hello, the Eclectic Guy. I want to read a poem entitled **** title, introduction, poem in Chinese *** Guy: [Chinese] Thank you. We take you now to Chip Wilcox.
[during Chip’s speech we pass through the link ending up] at the tower [crickets, crackling] Ben: Yeah. This David Bass? This is Ben, the night watchman, reporting in from down at the transmitter. I was wondering if you could play shama lama shama lama shama lama shama lama shama lama shama lama. Also I see a mysterious shadowy apparition at the foot of the tower. [fades down to the background of] [buzzing. crackling. crawling with loops.] Cop: Kkkkk. This is Roger Over. [crickets disappear as we pass through to Headquarters and quickly back: the previous line was spoken into a radio outdoors, this next line should come out of a radio indoors.] Cop: I’m at the base of the tower now. Come in headquarters. Headquarters? Headquarters: [sound of chess pieces] Check and mate. Looks like you owe me a whole lotta donuts, Lieutenant. Cop: [back outdoors] I see some cable disappearing up the ladder and up there I see a shadowy figure silhouetted now against the moon. Hey you! Hey you! [point of view passes Cop: [distant now] Hey you! Stop! Chip: Gotta climb this tower. It’s shocking me. It’s crawling and crackling with repulsive loops. Cop: (hey you! come down! this is the police! over!) Chip: Never! Lessee. Gotta wire this detonator to this strut here. This way, when the tower falls, it will take out the entire loop complex. [clang clang] There. I’ve done it. Time to release the Weft carrier pigeon to take the good news back to the station. There. Fly, baby, fly! [coo, coo] Oh, no i think they’re upping the output wattage again! Narrator: Could this be the end for Chip Wilcox, intrepid radio journalist? Will it be the biggest story of his career after all? Or will it be the biggest story of some other journalist’s career as Chip Wilcox is zapped or looped or electrocuted by the sheer amplitude of dietrock? While across town, the tiny radio station called W.E.F.T. is transformed into a forum for artistic dialogue between all the hopeful people of the world, at the base of the diet rock loop transmitter, Ben, the nightwatchman, and Roger Over, the cop, stand and gaze up at Chip Wilcox, their faces lit by the cascades of sparks raining down from the tower.
horrible deathscene of chip wilcox [loops get faster and crackling gets louder] Chip: the dietrock! i can’t stand it! it’s emanating from all over! its coming from the eyelets on my shoes! the metal rings the shoelaces pass through! gotta get em off! [struggling] gotta throw these shoes as far away as i can! i can still hear it. it’s coming from... my socks! how can that be? oh, it’s my ankle bracelet! gotta get it off! can’t stand another repetition of anything! can’t stand another repetition of ...argh! get it off! i can still hear dietrock! i gotta get away from this transmitter tower! arghhhhhhhh! [falls an extraordinarily long time to certain death. he has to fall past a bird, an airplane, a hangglider... THUMP. silence. then loops crackle into existence again. he aint dead yet.] oh no. i can still hear diet rock. is this radio hell or... [ticking] it’s coming from my wristwatch. get it off. get away from the tower. run! Ben -he’s getting up! Cop -hey, you, come back! Chip: [disrobes while running] the buttons on my shirt! get it off me! [rip] the buckle on my belt! [zzip] oh, no, the studs on my jeans. gotta get em off! [i’m not sure what this sounds like but he probably has to hop on one leg] it’s coming from my hat! get it off! my earring! get off! [rip] my nipple ring! off! [rip] run! why can i still [pant pant] hear diet rock loops. inside my head. deep within my... jaw. [jogs to a halt, amazed] it’s coming from my filling. my platinum filling. gotta get it out! Ben -hey you: terrorist! is there a timer on that bomb? Cop -roger over. kkkk is there a timer on that thing or is it kkk radio activated? kkk Headquarters -kkkk ov- [kaboom!!! diet rock bits flying all over the place]
[the explosion should last awhile and during it we pass into Adam’s room where he and William are mixing the play down] William: wait, wait. stop it. [clangy reel to reel] Adam: why? isn’t this the climactic scene where William: nah. i think this makes a better ending. just fast forward it to the final scene and the aliens leaving earth Adam: okay okay Chip: [on tape] they’ve taken me hostage. unless weft goes off the air they’re going to make me listen to ... muzak! and broadcast my screams to the whole- Adam: skip this part? farther than that? William: keep going. Chip: now this is the part where i, chip wilcox, rip off my mask and reveal my true unearthly origin! William: skip this part. further than that... there we go. Adam: are you sure this will make a better ending? we never explained the- the... oh, never mind. i just want to get this finished so i can study for my finals. [presses play]
[bumbling, orchestra tuning] Guy: This is weft champaign and there’s going to be a little bit of confusion as the orchestra sets up. Yes the cranes are demolishing the last wall of the station now [crash!] and remember when I was complaining that we only had a microphone [tap tap] after the... robbery or whatever you call it? Well now we have even less: no walls, we tore them down so we could offer larger programming, like a full orchestra set up across marketstreet and the timpani all the way in the back of the reconstructed prairie across the alley. Anyhow, as they find ways of setting up their music stands such that their scores don’t blow away, that creates a break in the programming during which I can reveal that the diet rock station has been blown up so those of you who have been reporting interference, static, nostalgia for a time when rock was good, loops emanating from every metallic object for miles around, shadowy explosive carrying apparitions sneaking across your lawn in moonlightkkkk Tex: kkkkmile sangin yer favorite tune this here’s tex. tex tosterone, the down-homeliest chicken that ever cooked one. i har a lot of yall out thar ar pickin up ar station fer the first tam tonight. seems there’s been a little explosion oer thar at the daitrock station and so that means am gonna do what a always do har when things get just a little bit too weak, like a signal: i put a little more vegetables in the soup. yeehawkkkk Left: kkkkoff the subject, but did you hear that the diet rock loop station, the one whose name i’m not allowed to say, was blown up by a mad terrorist? Bob: you don’t say. really. that’s very, you know, fascinating. Left: uh-huh. Bob: so i guess people will be able to make toast again? Left: ha ha ha. if you know what i mean. ha ha ha Bob: ha ha ha. that reminds me. now this is just hearsay, just a rumor- Left: uh-huh Bob: -nothing in any way substantiated or believable, understand Left: uh-huh Bob: but i heard that the dietrock station had turned their power up so loud they were capable of putting thoughts into people’s heads! Left: no! Bob: yes! Left: like what? beer ads? Bob: yes! and also, um... Left: yes? Bob: the best things in live are free Left: what are you doing!?kkkk Chris: kkkkdoing when the dietrock transmitter tower blew up. hello, steve from cleveland, you’re on the air. did you do it? Steve: yes. and i’m gonna do it again. you’re next, mr. windsor-castle. Chris: [CLICK] lunatic. gulp! hello, dave from urbania, sorry, urbana. Dave: yeah i just wanted to phone in a epic prose poem? Chris: [CLICK] weirdo. again, we’re asking our callers “where were you when the diet rock transmitterkkkk Doctor: kkkkergency prepare the ER we have a patient who attempted to rip his own head off he keeps moaning something about the platters in his molarkkkk Cop: kkkkroger over. the suspect is in the custody of a medical professional. we’ve found out what radio station he works for.kkkk Guy: kkkk [orchestral music. suite ends. wild applause] that was the London Philharmonic who dropped by WEFT just to play the Rite of Spring and I’m going back to the phones now because we have a folksinger phoning in a ballad from Sioux Falls, South Dakota. hello? Folksinger: hellooooo? hellooooo? CAN YOU TURN YOUR RADIO DOWN PLEASE?
a good enough ENDING i guess
a radio play with a rapid decay b.9-2-1994 by Sam Markewich, Tom Hendricks, and William Rick: Stay tuned for a crockumentary about a typical white dwarf physicist turned red giant rock star and strayed too far off the edge of the stage and accelerated towards the center of the earth. Brought to you by Grungemoney, the distortion pedal you don’t need a guitar to use. In square wave or sawtooth.
9-26-94 weft champaign 90.1 fm AGGRESSIVE PANHANDLING P L E D G E drive w/Sam Rick William Tom Joe? Mark? Rishi? >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> machine gun and blow up the metal guy then William: you’re still listening to WEFT Champaign. you’ve made it. Cheek to Cheek w/Louis & Ella Rick: That was Ella Fitzgerald and my favorite muppet, Louis Armstrong, with “Cheek to Cheek,” which is what we’re going to be for the next two weeks here on the pledgedrive of WEFT Champaign’s own radio theatre collective, Eclectic Seizure. We here on Eclectic Seizure write our own shows, including music, banter, station i.d.’s, commercials, and even interference. Tonight we are going to explain the history of the show to anyone who’s listening. We have assembled some new recordings and compiled a lot of old ones, an entire hour of radio we feel is presentable culled from over four years of broadcasting from this very timeslot, the much sought after Sunday at Midnight. So for the next two weeks, Sunday at Midnight, you can see what happens when you pay to listen to community radio at its most communal. If you like what you hear here, now is the time to consider pledging to eclectic seizure: encourage us to keep the good work up in the air while you become a member of WEFT. Call now, meet community radio, invite it into your home. Meet the Old Timer, Meet Ra, meet the Eclectic Guy, and consider how much you are willing to pay to keep them in the same place at different times. That place? Any room in your house tuned into Weft Champaign 90.1 FM, 30 60 or 90 dollars to become a member and receive a premium tonight. Tonight. You never know what might happen. DO THE ECLECTIC THING—Movie Trailer William: [date] Dear Mom, Good news! After two months of unemployment I finally got a job turning pages for Paul Harvey. Now I can afford to pledge to WEFT. I won’t get my paycheck for a couple of weeks but that’s plenty of time to mail in my check if I pledge tonight. Anyhow, I was so busy at work all day I didn’t have time to write the show so Adam and Joe wrote it and met me here at three minutes before midnight. It’s funny. It’s a utopian vision in which Weft receives more donations than it knows what to do with and has money left over—even after it gets a new tower. Welp, gotta go—Adam’s waving at me so I guess this tape’s about to end. I’d better cue up some Camper Van Beethoven. See you on Thanksgiving, The Eclectic Guy. P.S. Don’t forget to pledge and renew your membership. Tonight. W.I.M.S.I. ROLLER COASTER Sam: [solemn] Imagine... a free newspaper without advertisements. Imagine... a broadcast television network without commercials. Imagine, a magazine without Calvin Klein ads. Imagine... Community radio. The one you’re listening to. The fewer commercials you are exposed to, the less money you will spend on products that don’t work, and some of that money can help keep Weft near your TV set. Freedom from advertising will save you money, and freedom from advertising is a right that is not guaranteed. Make Weft your alternative. Pledge money and become a member of a radio station where you can make a difference. Call 359 9338 and talk to a live human being. Tonight. Now. Tonight. Rick: And now, in their second farewell performance, the Ad Hoc Phil Hoax Ensemble with a grim depiction of life without Weft—the Ballad of the Automatic Rotation BALLAD OF THE AUTOMATIC ROTATION well i lay down my tonearm i played all your tracks and now the discs are spinning
and now you’re label’s growin its moved out to L.A.
i sold all your tickets i praised all your shows and now your label’s mergin its buying up the rest for your lyrics were bad RADIO TOWER Sam: Here’s an excerpt from the eclectic guy’s diary 8-22-94 Tom: Dear Diary, the oldies station is now bleeding in through my reverb box and getting into all my radio plays. Even my toaster plays Dock of the Bay. They’ve been broadcasting illegally for years and nobody seems to care. Meanwhile laws against aggressive panhandling are aggressively enforced. Oh yeah, there’s some guy asleep on the couch. With over 100 volunteers, it’s impossible for me to know if it’s a volunteer or a homeless guy who wandered in. Which is not to say that the homeless can’t get a show on WEFT, they can: it’s open to the community and anyone who takes the airshifter training course is eligible. There are training sessions every month. All you have to do is take the three day course, pay for your own FCC license, get some hands on training, and have a good idea for a show. Also, I was once lucky enough to do a show with Address Unknown, a theatre group composed of homeless and formerly homeless people from Chicago. Either way, it makes me feel better to know I have at least one listener. I just want to know whether I should hit him up for a pledge or not. Did I mention, it’s a pledge drive and I’m almost halfway to my goal of $100. I love pledge drives. So many people are out there, checkbook already out, just sitting there waiting to be convinced of TQR: total quality radio. I can’t wait to see who calls next. Uh-oh, phone’s ringing. Gotta go. ... Joe: [earnest] There are many levels at which you can pledge. A pledge of 20 dollars is the basic student rate for a yearlong membership. OATMEAL Dear Rush Limbaugh, P.S. You have an irritating voice. MAKING OF THE MAKING OF Rick: We have some very special premiums to offer our listeners who call in their pledge in the next five minutes. Joe: Very very special. Rick: Anyone who pledges the basic membership pledge of thirty dollars will get, as a premium, a cassette copy of the radio show of your choice from the eclectic seizure archives. Joe: Very special. 359 9338. Rick: For a pledge of just forty dollars, you will get a part in next weeks radio show. Yes, you will be written into the script and you will be allowed to come to the Weft studios shortly after midnight next Sunday and read your part over the air. Afterwards you will receive a cassette copy of your performance. Sam: Don’t miss this very special opportunity. Rick: For a pledge of just fifty dollars, you will not only get a part in next weeks show, you will also write it. Yes, by Sunday afternoon you will submit to us ten pages or so of radio theatre including a notation of all appropriate background noises and sound effects. Afterwards, you will receive a cassette copy. Sam: Call tonight. Call now Rick: And lastly, for a pledge of sixty dollars, you will not only write and perform in, you will also produce and record next week’s radio show and submit to us a cassette copy. Sam: Don’t mistake this opportunity. COMPUTER GENERATED Joe: [dry scientist] One of our pledge drives utilized, as an experiment, the use of computergenerated text following the approximate syntax of pledge pitches. To demonstrate how expensive Weft actually is, I have in front of me a portable IBM with the pledge pitch generation program installed and a printer hooked up, and we are going to read these computer generated pitches as they are printed... PSYCHOLOGICAL TIME/STRAVINSKY FADEOUT May ? 1994 Dear Rick, This week’s radio play was one of my favorites yet, you know, the one that was a forty minute long analysis of Stravinsky’s Symphonies for Wind Instruments written as a script for four factory workers. I learned a lot about what I didn’t know already and it made me feel good about WEFT, the radio station that can outclass the classical station and out inform the information stations, a radio station in whose crevices serious and fun discussion of art and politics still grows. Whoops, this piece is about to end, and I’ve got to go wake up Joe so we can perform the next script. See you in time for the next pledge drive, P.S. I think that we can make a difference, but I know our listeners can. Call 3599338. COMPUTER GENERATED TEXT
Radio Theater Assignments Your mission, if you choose to expect it..... (at least) TWO, yes we said TWO, threads permeating the radio show: 1. A revolution occurs during the station ID between the Christian Metal and the Eclectic Seizure show. It was a bloodless coo. In the new social system, WEFT, like all community radio stations, has all needs met through mysterious federal programs. I imagine it’s funded through taxes, but who knows—it just happens. Meanwhile, a large number of institutions find themselves appealing directly to public support for basic sustenance. —US military interventions are preceded by lengthy (and oh-so-boring) pledge drives 2. Weft is depressed, run down, down-and-out, out of luck. His power bill is seven months overdue; he has no significant source of income. He is disenfranchised, distant, disenchanted, distracted, disorganized, and just plain dissed. We’re talkin personification here. Are ordinary people more likely to give money to individuals or organizations? —Weft calls around to his friends, finding smooth ways to hit them up for cash. Yeah, just a short-term loan. —at some point, Weft’s mother calls. Just checkin in to make sure everything’s all right. Weft nervously paints a fine-and-dandy picture for Mom. No really, we’re _experimenting_ with powering our transmitter tower with hamster treadmills.....not like we HAD to.... —Weft’s Dad learns of his son’s desperate condition through one of his friends at the bank (who saw Weft applying for a loan with only a few Kraftwerk albums as collateral). Dad sits him down for a man-to-personification talk about discipline and “the way it is.” Why did Weft lose his job as a top-40 radio station? He’s just got a pissy attitude. —A visit to the job placement office? Perhaps Manpower Inc can find him a position as a temp. —Weft is arrested for aggressive panhandling somehow. This document will self-destruct in five thousand years
doug: william this is doug down calling from over at the station. listen, if its not too much to ask, would you mind being on time this week? [beep] i mean it [beep] william: this is weft champaign 90.1 fm eastcentral champaign county’s quirkiest fm menu. tonight on eclectic seizure: answering machine radio [beep] ?: yeah, i wanted to request some they might be giants. hello? is anyone there? weft must be one of those fully automated preprogrammed unmanned radiostations... [beep] jill: hello, this is jill eyre. i do the show at two am. listen, i think we’re going to be late getting to the station tonight. we had a car bomb. i’m going to phone in the first few minutes of the show so it can start on time. [beep] I was trying to remember that one train song when the magician came onstage in a blaze of narcissistic glory and proceeded to make an entire cow vanish and the poor thing just stood there knees wobbling from the motion of the coach and chewed a mouthful of straw determined to get it down and after it had vanished I still heard smacking sounds but could no longer see it but couldn’t see it before anyway because I was in an adjoining car and the train was completing a circuit composed of a number of different stops, one mine, many nobody’s, and I began to make my way the other way down the narrow corridor squeezing past a young woman carrying a large pianocase. The train clacked to a stop beside a platform where strangers smoked in trenchcoats. Then as the platform moved away I realized that the train I was in was inside another larger train which housed a platform and that it, not us, was actually moving, but the relative effect was the same and the strangers disappeared down the rails and I stood in the Mahogany Car examining a spot of grease which had appeared on my left glove from the sandwich I had devoured earlier in the dining car. There were 80 people on this train. There was a car of mirrors, another filled with balloons. The early trains were attached to gigantic gasbags inflated with hydrogen to hold them aloft until the explosion. Another train had sunk killing all crew members. Yet another train was struck by a torpedo and never surfaced again. Another train was a hundred stories high and had caught fire. Another train had experienced a sudden loss in cabin pressure. I walked through the bumper car car, trying to avoid being hit. A bizarre religious cult who called themselves the Mermans and believed that Ethyl Merman would return to the Earth to lead them all to safety had blown up the Quantity Inn and literally many furnishings were destroyed. I watched as we passed a small radio station at high speeds rattling the turntables and drowning out the airshifters voice as happened twelve times a day. Ever hear the one about the train that was tied to the tracks hoping that our hero would rescue it before the distressed damsel ran it over..? Ever hear the one about the boy who flushed his toy train down the toilet by mistake and in the sewers it grew into a gigantic subway? Ever watch Murder of the Orient Express? When I was a Stranger on a Train, I almost fell off. What time does the mystery train get here? At the back of our train Lincoln’s speech droned on beneath the roar of the tracks. The training wheels were on different tracks which diverged. I went down into the subway beneath the train. It had been hijacked and the whole subt’rain was infested by disgusting little trains, scurrying and squeaking to and fro. Our train’s mast was broken and was still on the tracks for many days. From the crowsnest we could see no land, only a distant tunnel. Looked like our train wasn’t going to finish first after all. In the Doppler Effect Lounge you could sit and listen to standards scream by. “The Night the Trains Came Over.” Wedding train of thought in a mobius double helix with right angle bends. Up periscope: let’s row the train ashore. Cecil My name is Cecil and I’ve been the official WEFT CSE [chief sanitary engineer] for five whole years and you wouldn’t believe some of the dead air I’ve heard {breaks into a chuckle, stops} anyway now I remember when I was an airshifter and that was hard work let me tell you what something I don’t know anyway shifting all that air—whew!—can really dry a guy out so after the air had all been shifted I’d go over to the malt shop for a malt and that’s where I met the Eclectic Guy and let me tell you and I either just did or am about to that he had some bad ideas for radio and didn’t need as much encouragement as I thought he did. Anyway pretty soon all the air shifted by itself and all I could do was try to keep it alive. I always had liked Kiss Yardbirds and the Devo Berry but didn’t get to listen much ever since I didn’t pay my theatrical bill and they started playing muzak in my house to get me to move out.
the radio show was unwritten although,
how to make a radio play Welcome to arts and crafts. Today we are going to make a radio play. Open the envelope labeled craft number one. Inside you will find two popsickle sticks, three feet of colored yarn, glue, macaroni, and glitter. To make a radio play you affix the two popsickle sticks with the glue like this. Then you take the yarn and wrap it like so and continue until it is all gone. Afterwards, use the leftover glue and the macaroni and the glitter and your imagination to decorate your radio play. Afterwards, your radio play will make a lovely hanging or fourth of july ornament, or gift for your father’s next birthday. Tomorrow on arts and crafts we will make epic poems. Stay tuned for the camp nurses and their version of Poison Ivy.
GHOST STORY Sarah, who wandered the dial at night, kicked through the static and slashed it away stead he was begging the listening throng come to the station and (then there was stat- static had entered the studio, his-
The Iran-Contra Scandal: Where are they Now? VO: You’re listening to eclectic seizure slash all the news that fits to sing on weft champaign. This just in: from 1980 through 1988 there was a big scandal. The renegade executive branch of the government disobeyed congress, broke the law, violated the constitution, and deceived the American people. And did far far worse things in other countries. The Iran-Contra thing. Who were the key players and where are they now? Anne? Anne: Oliver North, the trembling doe-eyed patriot, now hosts a radio show in Washington D.C. I also hear that Fawn Hall wanted to be an actress, Paul. I once heard that she joined the Iran-Contra bandwagon simply to get over a case of stage fright. She said that a psychic told her it would make her name known with influential people. There was even some amount of purely speculative rumor about North having tried his hand at several unsuccessful investment schemes, including flame-retardant lighters. William: You know Paul, I’ve heard that Robert McFarlane has is working part-time at a Toys-R-Us in an undisclosed location. An unidentifiable source found a memo addressed to McFarlane regarding “strange and frightening behavior” at a recent company league night. Anne: Reagan, wherefore art thou Reagan? Mumbling away his days on an anonymous park bench where Nancy and the Secret Service drop him off while they make the scene, he says “See, I told you I didn’t remember anything_..” William: Stranger still the ultimate fate of William Casey, who, amazed, found himself in the year of our Lord 1988, not only unscathed by the “media backlash” of the Iran-Contra affair, but also the proud owner of a majority share of the Cap. Cities media conglomerate. So overwhelmed was Casey by the thought of having been elevated to ABOVE THE LAW STATUS FOR LIFE by the miracle of television, that he came to harbor an “unnatural attraction” to televisions themselves. He found himself inflamed with passion for the deep red digital display of his cable box, became enamored with the “sensuous vector” of an aerial antenna. Eventually, in the year of our Lord 1989, he was discovered surreptitiously humping a Panasonic Jumbotron 5000 at a country club in King’s County, Maryland, and crushed by shame, fled America to an undisclosed location in South America. Anne: George Bush would have been known as the president who learned to destroy his documents. And to continue inflated military spending beyond the cold war. He is now trying to revive the sagging reputation of the firm National Endowment for the Preservation of Liberty, the NEPL. This firm, originally a tax-exempt corrupt fund-raiser for the contras, is now trying to clean up its image. Bush says that he deals mainly in importing pain relievers from columbia in order to fund youth programs in South Central Los Angeles. He is working with the kids to try to get them high-paying positions in an import business. He says he also is looking into starting some programs in the Middle East. Paul: Wow, I’m really surprised. I see that you’ve been doing some serious homework on this topic. I have here my own news of a uh, Iran-Contra alumni, because the man who worked in the snack bar of the building in which the hearings took place just moved into the apartment downstairs from me and we got to talking the other night and I kinda found some things out about him. Well, I found one thing out about him. He drives a green Chevy. And it has a muffler problem. Anne: How did you find out that that’s how he was? Paul: He introduced himself to me as Bif, the man who ran the snack bar at the Iran-Contra hearings. In the basement of the building, he says. Of course, Bif had his own covert role. His duty was to check various weapons, bags of money and assorted illicit substances, elusive and potentially incriminating electronic devices, any of which dropped on the floor of the Hearing Room could disrupt the carefully constructed illusion that the hearings would turn over any rocks that were not meant to show their bellies swarming with many foul creatures. Bif realized the importance of his job and kept his mouth shut. As it turns out, he was about the only one who did.
script for William, Paul, Anne Paul: It’s the top of the ten o clock hour and you, fortunate listener, have your dial tuned to 90.1 FM—which stands for frequency modulation. That means that you’re listening to WEFT Champaign, the democratic promise. That’s right. Even though you’re living in a socialist economy in which the air waves are in the public domain—like our public libraries, parks, forests, schools, and postal service—there are still only a few radio stations where you can walk in off the street and ask to give your message to the world. Anne: [knocking] Hello, is this the radio station? Paul: Um, yeah_ Anne: The democratic promise one? Paul: Why yes, it is. Anne: Oh good. I’m here to give my message to the world. Paul: Oh. Actually, strictly speaking, this isn’t a totally socialist economy. Um, but since you made the trip out here, I guess that’d be okay. Anne: Well, I was looking for the radio station that didn’t have any sports present on it. Not even in the form of commentary. And Then I found WEFT and decided to try going there because I hate sports. Paul: Why in particular would that make you go to WEFT? Anne: Any radio station, or part of the public domain for that matter, that is completely devoid of sports coverage has got to be sympathetic to anyone who’d rather not be inundated with football scores any time they wanted to catch up on international news. Paul: So tell us, the listening audience who is at this time not listening to a sports broadcast, what is your message to the world? Anne: Well, I don’t really have one message, I really just have small bits of things pieced together in one particular musing about stuff. Paul: So tell us about your musing. Anne: I had the idea that the most effective way of solving congressional debate would be to have differing sides form football teams, who would then fight it out in the Capitol rotunda for the public. I would think that teams could be drawn either along party lines, or at times they might be bipartisan. But they would only be allowed so much debate before they’d have to fight it out. That would really streamline things, wouldn’t it? Then they could posture more directly to each other through the media like pro wrestlers. I wonder if people would collect cards with the faces of their favorite senators on them. My guess is that Newt Gingrich cards would be pretty popular while to find a Paul Wellstone card would be rare indeed. Senators could have entire series of cards with them pictured next to their most ridiculous quotes. The Dan Quayle retrospective would be quite impressive. Yet John Glen or some other entirely neutral senator, someone who doesn’t have any opinion whatsoever, could have a beige background. Maybe Glen’s would have a little rocket in the corner or something. And pollsters would no longer rely on annoying telemarketers to try to figure out what side of the political spectrum public opinion had been sold to that week. Paul: Interesting_ Anne: I think so too! Paul: Is that your message to the world? Anne: No, actually, my message to the world is a little bit more convoluted. Paul: Oh. Anne. And a great deal longer. Paul: Oh. Well, spill it. Anne: My message to the world is, as you might expect, in a great many languages. But my message to America is simple. It goes something like this: tax the rich and cut military spending and ensure a decent standard of living for all Americans. Anne: Yeah. William: [knocking] Hello, is this the radio station? Anne and Paul: Yeah. William: is this the democratic promise station? Paul: Yeah, we’re on the air, but come on in. William: I’m glad this is the right station, because, as you no doubt know, corporate rock still sucks. Anne: Yeah. Paul: I was going to play some music by Camper Van Beethoven. Did you have a message for the world or something? William: You bet! Paul: Is it short? William: I listen to this station all the time. I love this town. Anne: Me too. William: You know what I love most? The farmers market every Saturday at 6AM at the southeast corner of Lincoln Square. I like to get up at six, go to the farmers market, and get home by eight to listen to WEFT. At eight is __________. After that is the best show in the world, Higher Ground, hosted by Eunice Buck or John Lee Johnson. After that is the best show in the world, News From Neptune, hosted by Marx and Engels. After that is the best show in the whole world, the Illinois Labor Hour, hosted by Bill Gorrell and Peter Miller. And then is the best show in East Central Illinois, From Bard to Verse, hosted by Carl Estabrook and an ever-changing coterie of literati . After that, things just get better with South of the Sahara, followed by _______, and then, if you aren’t dead, comes the Old Timer. I listen to WEFT and go to yard sales, or prepare organic produce for dinner. Organic produce. That’s what Urbana is about: that’s where radical hippies and rural midwesterners see eye to eye. Right there at the farmers market. Paul: Was that your message to the world? William: Huh? No, that was just my message to Champaign County. Paul: Do you have a message to share with all of humanity? William: Well, there’s a problem with that, see. The broadcast signal can really only reach Champaign county and a few areas outside of it. If I’m driving back from say, Indianapolis after dropping a friend off at the airport, I start to get WEFT somewhere west of Danville, once I get far enough away from the religious station. So it really only makes sense for me to talk about what the best features of the communities that can get WEFT. Paul: If, for some chance, someone in Siberia heard this broadcast, they’d be more than just slightly confused. They’d probably wonder why you just stopped at Champaign County instead of talking to the world. Anne: We’re being picked up in Siberia? William: Wow, I always wondered what it was really like in Siberia. I’ve just seen those pictures that the official news media took about 15 years ago. You know that stock footage. It’s full of political prisoners and old Russian women. Anne: Dammit! I should have learned Russian! It would come in so handy right now. Paul: Uh, look folks, we aren’t reaching Siberia. I think you’ve made some kind of perceptual mistake. We really are reaching Champaign County and that’s about it. But Champaign County is part of the larger world, and if you’re speaking to Champaign County you really are reaching the world. The listening area is not a self -contained unit. Your message may really get out to the world. Now if you’ll just let me play this next song- William: Hey, is there anyone out there who has ever been to Siberia? And if there is would you please call the station and tell me what it’s like? Anne: I for one would love to hear a description of a place that I couldn’t find in some organization or other’s tour book. William: I tell you what; If anyone out there would call the station to give us any information about Siberia whatsoever, we’ll put you on the air. Paul: Ok, if I can just put this song on the radio- Anne: Look, for someone who declared this radio time as a fulfillment of the promise of democracy you certainly are acting like a paid DJ. William: Maybe we should usurp the board. Take over WEFT and run it how we want to. Call the station. You know the number, don’t make me repeat it. Siberia. Rob Keller loaned me this book called The Long Walk. It was all about some guys, mostly Polish, who escaped from a Siberian labor camp and walked to India. It was a long, difficult trip. This happened during the very beginning of World War II. Siberia_ Wow. [dead air] Paul: Okay, that’s a lull. Here’s Camper Van Beethoven: Anne: Hey, what do you guys think: was that pharmaceutical factory manufacturing chemical weapons? Or pharmaceuticals? And what do you think about the whole Monica Lewinski thing? William: Who’s that? [CVB] THE FAMILY AFM=Assorted Family Members Barb: Did you hear that? About Strawberry Fields there? I remember back when it was a hippy store. AFM: Aw, you do not. Barb: I remember. It was like a big barn, a produce warehouse, and you’d go down these big wooden steps into the basement where the nice hippies sold incense and hand-dipped rainbow candles. My sister worked there. And they tried to organize. Fatelli: Organize? Mel: Those crazy idealistic kids. Uncle Bobo: I don’t want to talk about the Gardenburger boycott tonight, Barb. Barb: Why not? Bobo: I got something else important I want to talk about. Blanche: You still taking those diet pills, Bobo? Bobo: No. Blanche: Who’s got a light for your dear old ma? AFM: Hey Ma, you gotta pall mall for your dear old granddaughter? Bobo: I just hoid that the Univoisity here got a 20 million dollar a year grant fior rocket science. Maude: Which ain’t exactly rocket science… Fatelli: Haw! Barb: This is my show. I want to talk about labor issues. And strawberries. Bobo: Nono it aint rocket science. It’s the DOD. Fatelli: What’s that, Bobo, the Dodo? Barb: It’s too bad the Dodo is extinct because it made an excellent casserole. Maude: Aw, Barb, that wasn’t what you served me last Christmas Eve was it? That wasn’t Dodo casserole? Barb: No! Fatelli: Haw! You missed Church that night on accounta you was on the can. Barb: That was guinea pig! Bobo: Nono, Department of Defense. They gave the Univoisity money and some people think it’s a going to be used to develop nuclear weapons which would violate the comprehensive test ban treaty. It’s called Stockpile Stewardship. Barb: Are you through over there? Fatelli: Hey, Barb, I looked in your fridge the other day. Some of those leftovers look pretty old. You sure you don’t have some Dodo meat tucked away? Barb: Like the nuclear weapons we have now aren’t destructive enough… [raucosity, improv, fadedown] Disclaimer the views and opinions expressed on eclectic seizure are not necessarily ours
Patch Adams
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