Date: Tue, 15 Dec 1998 18:32:26 EST From: Bknt at aol dot com Subject: Norbert Fragg: the Tossed Diaries
While answering the call of nature in an appropriately placed watercourse on the grounds of an historic hovel owned by the Artist Formally Known As Quince, I gazed upward at an open window in a neighboring manse (listed on the Register of Untoward Places of West Corsetshire rabbit keepers) from which a haphazardly bound manuscript was summarily hurled. Pausing to zipper my trousers, I fetched the assembly and was astonished to find that these defenestrated fragments contained more writings of the petulant but marginally famous guitarist, the very Dabbling Friggster, Norbert Fragg, whose epic, Yellowtron-drenched art rock compositions, In the Waiting Room of the Bilious Barrister, Rupture, I Pee in the Wind, Matty Rubenstein and Eel Heads in Plastic (Parts One, Three and There Might Have Been Two But It Wasn't For Me So It Isn't For You), have been recently collected in the archival live recording, The Tight Crotch.
These writings came originated in Fragg's Fraggonomic period, when, after becoming dissatisfied with cappucinos served in the United States, he disbanded his band, Thing Simpson and committed himself, while reading the intensely philosophical journals of Bennett Cerf and giving solo concerts of echoing, tape-looped bleets in such artistically challenged locations as cheese shops and railway lavatories, Fragg developed a form of musical and spiritual instruction "intended to produce tunes that will be embarrassing and possibly annoying to anyone other than Earnest Young Men." Mr. Fragg called this instruction Guitar Wonk.
For the benefit of Mr. Fragg's many-but-not-too-numerous enthusiasts, I commit these excerpts to cyberspace:
In Guitar Wonk, we make use of aphorisms which may have meaning, but then again, may stink. Among these aphorisms are: Let us Have Clean Crispy Friends; Expectoration Has Its Consequences; Changing Underwear Changes Everything; It is Possible to Hate Those Who Like What You Do If They Take Your Picture First; and, Sometimes God Yawns.
In Guitar Wonk, the perspiring musician must develop three disciplines, the Discipline of the Nose, the Disclipline of the Sphincter, and the Discipline of the Big Toe.
A nose smells. A musician, more often than not, stinks. The Discipline of the Nose develops our understanding of what does, and does not, stink. By practicing the Discipline of the Nose, we can pick our noses and pick our performers but we can't pick our performers' noses.
Of necessity, a sphincter releases material when it must The Discipline of the Sphincter concerns the musician's relationship to the music industry. By practicing the Discipline of the Sphincter, the musician learns that it is better to be pissed on, than pissed off.
We rarely honor our toes until they are crushed, painted, stubbed or spat upon. The Discipline of the Big Toe has absolutely nothing to do with anything, but, because I like things in three's, the Big Toe reminds the musician that a life in music can be pointless.
(At this point the cappucino-encrusted manuscript fractalizes into unequal parts, some with acoustic drums, some without.)