“Junkyard Chicken"

c. 2018 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-18)

I grew up in a junkyard.

Quite literally, in a museum without pretense or the conscientious dusting of artifacts. A modern-day Egyptian tomb, no less appealing for its lack of precious metals or royal remains.

Our heap was too neglected for any nomenclature of elegance, out of necessity, because we were always moving. City to city, state to state. Thus, my sense of ‘home’ was not linked to any geography but instead to the things we carried on our journey. Books, vinyl records, photographs, spare parts from motorcycles and cars long lost from the household stable. Each relic spoke about those who had worn my family name, before. I grew up with a sense of membership in a bloodline that had endured for many generations.

‘Junk’ was a term I came to use with affection.

I immersed myself in the noble pile whenever inspiration was needed. Or when seeking shelter from negative vibes. Literally, I reconnected each day with this, the soil of my birth. Every castaway trinket, every faded keepsake, every stale splinter of yesteryear reverberated with spiritual energy. Neighbors would sometimes refer to us as ‘pack rats.’ But we were more than hoarders. Like gypsies, we carried these talismans of our culture along the trail, in the hope that future generations might behold them and learn.

I was that generation.

A recent exercise on Facebook revived such thoughts. One of my friends from New York offered a challenge to post favorite record albums, one for each day until they numbered ten in all. At first, I struggled to remember. Then, distant echoes began to resound. I remembered ‘Batman Theme’ by the Batboys and ‘Shock, Terror, Fear’ by Frankie Stein And His Ghouls. But finally, an oddity of lingering importance emerged from the mind-shadows. An LP my father acquired only a year before I was born:

‘Introspection IV – Weirdos From The Uncommon World Of Johnny Gunn With The Outre Musical Sounds Of Don Ralke (Warner Brothers, WS 1372, 1960)

Outre is an obscure word meaning ‘unusual and startling.’

This experimental recording was made up of spoken-word sketches, offered with Jazz of a space-age variety. Something very much in the vein of Ken Nordine. But with a dollop of good-natured humor like Stan Freberg. More than simply a comic exercise, it presented a sort of ‘Twilight Zone’ vibe with social commentary as the upshot. Being a kid, I connected with this platter in a way my developing brain could not fully understand. Only with the passage of time would I realize that the pairing of words and tones was something carried in my DNA. 

 

Decades after first hearing these grooves, the concept remained potent.

A search in cyberspace revealed that someone had posted the entire long player on YouTube. I clicked on the link and entered a warp in space and time:

“Go on… do it. Do it even if you don’t want to do it. Do it ‘cause I’m telling you to do it. ‘Cause your chick’s eyes are telling you. Look at her! Now go on… go ‘cause you know when I say go, you know you’re gonna go. You know if you don’t, they’re all gonna laugh at you. Keep on! Go… more, chicken! Why you waiting? You not gonna not do what I say! No… you know… I know… that in a few minutes it’s gonna be done. And everybody will know but they won’t know why. Well you just keep moving. Keep going, you’re gonna make history. And people gonna talk about you for a long time! And I’m gonna hear that talk, and I’m gonna live on it, and get fat on that talk! Listen chicken, they’re gabbling already! They’re talking already! And you’re starting to love it, too! Come on, chicken! You’re almost famous! Go! Go, chicken! You can do it! You gotta do it! You gotta! Come on, chicken!! CHICKEN… you did it. And I didn’t really think you’d go. I thought you’d fall over dead. I knew you’d try, but I didn’t think you’d go all the way. And I’m proud of you. And now the world is gonna wonder till the end of time. Why? What would possess a chicken like you… and nobody will know. You know, and you can’t ever say… and I know, and I won’t ever tell. And the mystery of all eternity will remain unsolved. And I made you do it. A million years from now, little kids gonna ask their mothers, why? And chicks gonna ask their daddies, why? And the daddies ain’t gonna have nobody to ask why… hahaha… WHY DID THE CHICKEN CROSS THE ROAD?”

The album was stylish and carefully put together. Each reading provided a wrinkle on familiar themes. Because I was so young and able to absorb these ideas freely, they helped shape my own concepts of writing and performance. Before long, I was creating stories of my own.

As with many such childhood influences, I only realized the true importance of this LP in hindsight. Viewed from the perspective of a middle-aged adult, this slab of vinyl seems nearly prophetic. A revelation from on high. But in the 1960’s, played on our Silvertone Hi-Fi, from the Sears & Roebuck catalog, it was simply one more shiny, black disc in my father’s collection.

Thank you, Dad.

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