The Chicago Tribune, June 29, 1966
June 21–26, 1966, held over July 3rd, Poor Richard’s, Chicago, Illinois
THE ONLY SENSES WHICH DON’T SURFACE INTENSELY IN POP ARTIST ANDY Warhol’s “Exploding Plastics Inevitable” revue are taste and smell. Sights there are, and sounds. For feeling, put yourself in a stable loft surrounded by panicked co-inhabitants.
Ingrid Superstar, who has “attained POP recognition,” according to a press release, briefed me after the first show on opening night at Poor Richard’s in Old Town. With her short, white hair lying flat and blurred make-up restored, she cooled off in a silver-lame pants suit before the second show started. She was filling in for two dancers—top billed un-Superstars—who hadn’t made it for the Chicago opening.
Action had begun with three movies flashing simultaneously on white paper screens. Colored lights were reflected in mirrored balls, and a constant clash of rock ’n’ roll music and garbled movie sound tracks accompanied the films. “In one film, a fellow in a rocking chair was just eating,” we ventured.
“That is Robert Indiana, the artist,” Miss Superstar explained. “He is eating—a big mushroom.” For 35 minutes, he is caught in close-up, sometimes with a pet cat, sometimes just masticating.
We tried again. “And on the adjacent wall, did the two films of the same people show someone being tortured?”
“Oh, they must’ve shown ‘Vinyl,’” said Miss Superstar, coming alive. “That’s one of Andy’s most famous classics. It’s shown either one reel at a time or both at once. They’re beating up Gerard [Malanga]—the one I was dancing with.”
Gerard, clad in black leather pants, red-dotted leg o’ mutton sleeved shirt, leather vest and assorted leather straps at the wrists, joined us. With him was a Chicago poet. (Gerard is a poet, too.)
“‘Vinyl,’” he explained patiently, “is supposed to be a farce.” Actually, it spoofs a sado-masochistic work of literature, as does the bullwhip he uses in his dance with Miss Superstar. Gerard choreographed “Venus in Furs.”
“This show is a new phase for Andy,” Gerard continued. “It has no message: it’s just entertainment.” Gerard has been with Warhol four years—thru the Campbell’s soup can and Brillo box phase, the underground films, and now the rock ’n’ roll.
“Rock ’n’ roll?”
“Yes, the films, the lights, the music are all parts—but the main thing is music. Andy is the catalyst for this, but he has no part in the show itself,” Gerard said.
During the movie-lights sequence, three speakers pitch out music with intermittent groans from “Vinyl” audible, too. The sounds don’t stop, except for the five minutes it takes for the Velvet Underground to set up two big amp guitars, one big amp, viola and assorted percussion pieces.
It’s at this point that Gerard and Miss Superstar, and four local “volunteer” dancers, enter the scene. Then stroboscopic lights (the kind that make everything jump) are aimed at dancers gyrating with silver foil in their hands, and the sounds begin again. This time they don’t stop until the end of the show, some 30 minutes later.
What makes the show a success? Gerard was asked. “The ideas,” he said. What’s next for the troupe? Miss Superstar mentioned something about going to London—and continuing the “concert element.” They may even make room for readings by famous poets, she posed.
Concerts are usually attended for their entertainment value. But after the novelty of the lights and the big amp shocks of the group wore off, it seemed that most of the audience in the loft of Poor Richard’s was bored—and on the verge of heat prostration. To feign comprehension— some tried valiantly—is letting a group which admits its farcicality put you on.