Fegmaniax Digest <==----------==> (Send posts to the list to fegmaniax@nsmx.rutgers.edu) (Send adminstrative requests to majordomo@nsmx.rutgers.edu) (Send comments, etc to the listowner at owner-fegmaniax@nsmx.rutgers.edu) <==----------==> Volume 3 Number 85 Today's Topics: ------- ------ I often dream of dogs..... Denzil... (absolutly no Robyn content whatsoever) is there anyone left? re : dog names whfs press; hitchcock diary [][][][][][][][][][] Date: Fri, 26 May 95 02:49:07 EDT From: Daniel Ginsberg Subject: I often dream of dogs..... To: fegmaniax@ns2.rutgers.edu Kin I cast a vote for erve when i know it ain't got roots in the concordance of all things Robyn; but at least one thing on this planet must be named Oscarina and i nominate Jay's pooch.... Dan [][][][][][][][][][] From: mikester@bix.com Date: Fri, 26 May 1995 08:26:04 -0400 (EDT) Subject: Re: Denzil... (absolutly no Robyn content whatsoever) To: fegmaniax@ns2.rutgers.edu >Well, the lead singer/songwriter may be called Denzil, but there were >definitely two guitarists... Denzil is the lead singer _and_ the band. On "Pub" (and when I saw 'em live opening for Concussion Ensemble about a year ago) the singer plays acoustic guitar, there's an electric guitar player, bass, and drums. They were a great live act. ---Mike (Nickname o' the month (extended into May) - "Rickenbacker Boy") mikester@bix.com mikeb@usa1.com [][][][][][][][][][] Date: Fri, 26 May 1995 12:24:55 -0500 (CDT) From: JAY LYALL Subject: re : dog names To: fegmaniax@ns2.rutgers.edu I would really hate to see what kinds of names some of you are going to give your children! :) ....ok, the scully thing...it a h...has really nothing to do with the X-files which I've only seen parts of...but the co-habitating co-owner of the dog loves that show...so she added that to the list...I on the other hand accepted Scully because that was William Holdens character in SOB, one of my all time favorite movies.... ...Nora is running a close second with the dark horse "Belvadere" coming up fast...afterall we are southerners and southern hounds should be called "Belvadere"...."Yipper" the name of the dog that inspired the Yip song chorus isn't going to work 'cause hounds don't yip...they arp... ....Oscarina....maybe after a few beers...but I doubt it... jay [][][][][][][][][][] Date: Fri, 26 May 95 14:00:26 CDT From: cheri@geoserv.isgs.uiuc.edu (cheri) To: fegmaniax@ns2.rutgers.edu Subject: whfs press; hitchcock diary well, gang, Many many thanks to Hollie Satterfield for finding this article and sending it to me. All typos are my fault, hope I caught most of them. I accidentally deleted the initial posting for this, so I don't really know how to give actual real credit, but mostly it's RH's anyway, like his lyrics, so I sincerely hope to avoid any copywrite infringement. And I thank Robin Moses for transcribing the RS interview!!! WHFS press Robyn Hitchcock Caught in the Act Robyn Hitchcock spent spring break in Rio with two dozen HFS listeners and HFSters Bob Waugh and Mary Kay LeMay. We're glad he kept a diary. Interval in Rio Sitting in a restaurant booth looking over the sea to the waves of mountains in the distance. On the beach, across two vibrant main roads from here, lies a corpse. It's the first dead human I've ever seen -- it was a she, I think. She has started to attract quite a crowd, though I don't know if the authorities have noticed. When I discovered the body, there was one woman standing by it. She didn't look upset, didn't look like she'd known the corpse when it was a woman. It was lying face down with a towel over its head. What was striking about it was the utter stillness. Not the motionlessness of a sleeper, but the stillness of a dead thing. Flies sparkled on its hands and ankles. Its hands were stretched out forward, and it looked as though it had been dragged a little way up the sand. Maybe she drowned. Having just shoveled a vat of asparagus soup down my throat, I have to record that it's getting darker. The international sea crashes on the beach. The sea doesn't change much from country to country. It makes the same shapes and obeys the same laws. The people come and go from around the dead woman like a flock of birds. You're always news when you're dead. Up to the sky, birds with broad wings and long tails wheel prehistorically. They look like archaeopteryxes. Now it's completely dark, and I've added a clutch of dry, batter-drenched prawns to the asparagus soup. I hope they all stay put down there. A football bops up and down on the beach where the dead woman lay. I hope that means they've moved her. At this point, I'm going to mosey back to the hotel in search of Bob Waugh and his pals. Note a bit later: No, they haven't taken the corpse away. There was a crowd around it taking pictures as I returned from supper. Bob and Mary Kay Lemay said it had been there this morning, too. So, its audience has obviously fluctuated throughout the day. The authorities are going to have to time this one properly. However, once it begins to decompose, the plus will becomre a minus, ratings-wise. What does this tell us about audiences? Later, I sat with Bob and Mary Kay talking about radio -- natch -- as people tried to sell us photographs, nuts and jewelry. It's hot and all the leaves are fleshy. Vegetation-wise, this place is the tops. That must be good news for the corpse. Two days later, on the beach The corpse has gone, but the living are still with us. If everyone on the beach fell down dead now, the place would stink in a couple of days. And the beach isn't even that crowded. The sea is full of leaves and the occasional plastic sack. I've been writing songs all day. Woken this morning by a live on-air phone call from WHFS, wanting to know if the lucky customers were having a good time. Well, presumably they enjoyed the live sex show last night. And they managed to sit through me playing six songs into a primitive p.a. in a courtyard by a noisy main road last night. Some of them came and sat at a table afterwards whilst I played requests and we passed dodgy Brazilian drinks around. Some of them are real live-wires -- mostly the men, natch -- like Beavis and Butthead if they had any enthusiasm for anything. But probably more good natured. Though, it pissed me off when Renalto, the tour guide, was trying to point out the frightening level of prostitution in some parts of town and they all hooted and made squelching noises. Renalto said, "Are you going to listen to me or just laugh?" "Laugh," they replied. Ye gods! It's spotting with rain. Yesterday afternoon, Bob, Mary Kay and I tried to go to a rainforest. After looking at a mysterious hill populated by stray cats and single, young men standing under fig trees, we got into a taxi and attempted to ask the driver to take us to a park/forest area near the Jesus-On-A-Hill. he seemed prepared only to take us to the statue. As we began to drive up the steep, cattled hills, the car just ground to a halt. The driver was having difficulty keeping the handbrake on, and I had visions of sliding backwards down the hill and being pulverized by traffic on the main highway or being mashed by cars whizzing around the bend that might hit us before they could see us. We got out of the car and helped pull it to the curbside. There was a lot of gesticulating. Neither the driver nor we understood one word of each others' language. Indeed, language is a great way for two tribes to get the wrong idea about each other. You just think the other guy is stupid. So we paid the driver off and left him to freewheel away. It seemed like a good idea to at least walk part of the way up to Jesus, who loomed with open arms several hundreds of feet above us. Some people driving past stopped and talked and gesticulated. Again, we understood nothing -- except that they didn't seem to like us going up the hill. Well, too bad. Onward we strode. Children passed us with bags on their heads. Then, we turned a corner and the road stopped being a kind of Mulholland Drive and mutated into the projects. We were about to walk through the slum district waving all our totems of capitalism. "Robyn, maybe you should put your camera in Bob's bag," said Mary Kay. We turned around and sped down the hill. Mary Kay and Bob realized the situation before I did. We could have been eaten by Brazilian children. I can't believe how stupid I am sometimes -- too busy thinking about life to actually notice it. Michi warned me to be careful. When we got back into town, we saw the taxi driver playing cards on top of a rubbish bin. Before leaving the beach, I went back briefly into the sea. As the water came up to my chest, I kicked my feet off the sand below and plunged into a delicious arching breast stroke. I felt like a bird, borne aloft by water instead of air. Suddenly, an object bobbed on the water in front of my face. It was a severed fish head. I grimaced, turned about and swam ashore through the dead leaves and plastic bags. I'm not sure about Copacabana Beach. It's just the Ipanema has headslapping waves and a belly-grasping undertow. But fewer dead things. [][][][][][][][][][] Date: Fri, 26 May 1995 12:13:39 -0700 From: librik@netcom.com (David Librik) To: fegmaniax@ns2.rutgers.edu Subject: Re: is there anyone left? >andyh@pavilion.co.uk (Andy Holyer) sez: >>At 3:05 pm 24/5/95 -0500, JAY LYALL wrote: > >>>and finally I've made the hard decision not to get the DAT machine...instead >>>I'm >>>getting an English foxhound, a Harrier to be specific, and I think it needs a >>>good Feg name...I'm thinking Nigel...which is a good English name for a good >>>English >>>dog, except its a female and I'd hate to confuse its gender perceptions...any >>>suggestions? > >>I don't think there's any choice but "Brenda". > >nora is better - brenda (and cynthia and sandra, for that matter) just >aren't english enough. > How about "Cleethorpes"? You can call your dog in the same voice that Robyn uses at the end of "When I Was A Kid" (or was it "Grooving On An Inner Plane"? one of those songs that's been redone a few hundred times). - David [][][][][][][][] End of this Fegmaniax Digest. Archives can be found at ftp://fegmania.wustl.edu/fegmaniax/archives/ For administrative questions, subscription requests, and all that boring crud, send mail to fegmaniax-request@nsmx.rutgers.edu. Slipping you the midnight fish...