Joe Frank
A couple of years ago, I listened to the Joe Frank radio show for the first time. It was after 11:00pm on Sunday night, and The Youngest called me into his room. He said, "I'm listening to a radio show where this guy is calling up people from all over the country that have his name." It sounded interesting, so I listened, transfixed, as trippy music loops played in the background, a Buddhist man with a Mr. Roger's voice calmly dispensed wisdom through modern zen anecdotes, a woman told a horrifying story involving self abuse with a lobster, and Joe Franks from all walks of life described themselves.
Almost every Sunday since then, I have tuned into the show on Chicago public radio WBEZ on Sunday evenings over Internet radio. Joe Frank stopped producing his show after broadcasting out of Santa Monica for many, many years. I'm currently living just a few miles from where Joe originally produced his material, but I tune into Chicago radio over the Internet. All radio shows are hit and miss, but the Joe Frank show has produced some absolutely amazing works of radio art. It's a shame that the great radio shows of the day: Joe Frank, The Mischke Broadcast, This American Life, are virtually unknown.
Some time ago, I saw Joe Frank perform at the Largo in Beverly Hills. Although I arrived early, I was forced to sit on a hard bar stool in the back of the room. I was alone, and drank three beers quickly while waiting for the show to begin. I stepped outside for a cigarette, and saw two woman, dressed up, looking for a lighter. I lit their smokes and talked to them briefly.
"How do you know Joe," one of the women asked, who turned out to be Debi Mea West, a regular on the Joe Frank radio show. Her friend was involved in editing and writing the show. Debi does voice for commercials, video games, TV shows, and movies. A lot of Joe Frank's later shows are very autobiographical, and the talent sometimes complains that they are not being treated fairly by Joe. A lot of Joe Frank's talent appear to be involved with Joe sexually. I had always wondered how much of the show was real, and how much was scripted. Based on the five minute conversation I had with Debi Mea West and her drunken friend, assuming they weren't engaged in some sort of performance art for an audience of one, the shows that were meant to come across as autobiographical were indeed based on actual conversations between the cast. Debi Mea West, it should be noted, accused her friend of "fucking Joe" in a manner that suggested that Debi doesn't shit where she eats.
I brought a friend to the same show at the Largo a week later, and before Joe took the stage, ran outside to smoke a J. A couple of people outside had the same idea, so we all huddled together to create a human shield to block our minor transgression from Fairfax avenue. The couple asked me if I was a fan of the Joe Frank show and I described how I started listening to him. The guy told me that he used to listen to Joe when he was broadcasting out of Santa Monica, and his show would air on Sunday mornings. He and the girl he was with would smoke a bowl on Sunday morning, lay on the bed together, and go to "the church of Joe." The three of us, reentered the Largo red-eyed and giggly, just as the show began.
The live performances were good. He incorporated some of my favorite monologues into the piece. Joe was physically a mess. His voice was still powerful, but his body appeared weak and old. He was apparently recovering from a major surgery, and I happened to meet one of the owners of the Largo, who explained that all ticket proceeds were going straight to Joe.
A couple of years ago, I listened to the Joe Frank radio show for the first time. It was after 11:00pm on Sunday night, and The Youngest called me into his room. He said, "I'm listening to a radio show where this guy is calling up people from all over the country that have his name." It sounded interesting, so I listened, transfixed, as trippy music loops played in the background, a Buddhist man with a Mr. Roger's voice calmly dispensed wisdom through modern zen anecdotes, a woman told a horrifying story involving self abuse with a lobster, and Joe Franks from all walks of life described themselves.
Almost every Sunday since then, I have tuned into the show on Chicago public radio WBEZ on Sunday evenings over Internet radio. Joe Frank stopped producing his show after broadcasting out of Santa Monica for many, many years. I'm currently living just a few miles from where Joe originally produced his material, but I tune into Chicago radio over the Internet. All radio shows are hit and miss, but the Joe Frank show has produced some absolutely amazing works of radio art. It's a shame that the great radio shows of the day: Joe Frank, The Mischke Broadcast, This American Life, are virtually unknown.
Some time ago, I saw Joe Frank perform at the Largo in Beverly Hills. Although I arrived early, I was forced to sit on a hard bar stool in the back of the room. I was alone, and drank three beers quickly while waiting for the show to begin. I stepped outside for a cigarette, and saw two woman, dressed up, looking for a lighter. I lit their smokes and talked to them briefly.
"How do you know Joe," one of the women asked, who turned out to be Debi Mea West, a regular on the Joe Frank radio show. Her friend was involved in editing and writing the show. Debi does voice for commercials, video games, TV shows, and movies. A lot of Joe Frank's later shows are very autobiographical, and the talent sometimes complains that they are not being treated fairly by Joe. A lot of Joe Frank's talent appear to be involved with Joe sexually. I had always wondered how much of the show was real, and how much was scripted. Based on the five minute conversation I had with Debi Mea West and her drunken friend, assuming they weren't engaged in some sort of performance art for an audience of one, the shows that were meant to come across as autobiographical were indeed based on actual conversations between the cast. Debi Mea West, it should be noted, accused her friend of "fucking Joe" in a manner that suggested that Debi doesn't shit where she eats.
I brought a friend to the same show at the Largo a week later, and before Joe took the stage, ran outside to smoke a J. A couple of people outside had the same idea, so we all huddled together to create a human shield to block our minor transgression from Fairfax avenue. The couple asked me if I was a fan of the Joe Frank show and I described how I started listening to him. The guy told me that he used to listen to Joe when he was broadcasting out of Santa Monica, and his show would air on Sunday mornings. He and the girl he was with would smoke a bowl on Sunday morning, lay on the bed together, and go to "the church of Joe." The three of us, reentered the Largo red-eyed and giggly, just as the show began.
The live performances were good. He incorporated some of my favorite monologues into the piece. Joe was physically a mess. His voice was still powerful, but his body appeared weak and old. He was apparently recovering from a major surgery, and I happened to meet one of the owners of the Largo, who explained that all ticket proceeds were going straight to Joe.
Labels: The Arts
posted by Mezz0 at 3:32 PM
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