Of course, bringing Hollywood Boulevard and what used to be Times Square to Phoenix is tough, even if you're Bob Judd. He couldn't even manage to get Count Smokula's video shot. It rained hard the evening Judd had arranged to tape the video at the Icehouse, and although it cleared up by 8 p.m., Judd couldn't get ahold of the Icehouse folks to go ahead and make it happen. (He rolls his eyes at the mention of Helen Hestenes, owner of the Icehouse; she rolls her eyes at the mention of Judd.) Subsequent attempts to reschedule failed as well.
Such is life. Judd says he'll just plan to shoot the video in Los Angeles next month, when he goes over to see Genesis P-Orridge's show.
Kristen Wright
Bob Judd has designs on a freakier Phoenix.
courtesy of Bob Judd
Bob Judd and his beloved parrot Poky.
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En route back to Los Angeles, Count Smokula calls. He doesn't mind at all that the video shoot had to be postponed. He's so delighted with his new friend, he even drops the phony Smoksylvania accent (think Dracula, but from Brooklyn) to call Judd a "genuine avant-garde genius. . . . He knows everything and everybody."
Turns out that Bob "Count Smokula" Miles is not only Princeton-educated (some class notes from several years ago on the Princeton University alumni Web site revealed his name), he's also an accomplished musician who once played with Bob Dylan. And he plays a mean ukulele, if he says so himself.
Miles loved his three weeks in Bob Judd's Phoenix, says he can't wait to return, even if he didn't have such a huge turnout at his show at the Trunk Space.
Perhaps it's best if Judd lays off the event-planning for a while. The non-paying clients are getting restless. Kreemah Ritz complains that since February, Judd hasn't done what he promised to do on the Cockettes' Web site. "Bobbee tends to drag his heals [sic] and make lame excuses as to why nothing has been posted in eihjt [sic] months. He talks the talk but can't walk the walk," Ritz writes.
(Take that with a shaker of salt. In the 2002 Cockettes documentary, Ritz makes lots of nasty cracks. He bitches that artist Robert Rauschenberg once gave the Cockettes $1,000 -- when he could have afforded $10,000.)
Judd admits he's happiest behind the computer, anyway.
"That's my connection to the outside world," he says. "If I didn't have my computer, I'd probably be a homicidal maniac."
What does it mean, having Bob Judd in town? Count Smokula slips back into character.
"It makes Phoenix the hippest city in America, vhat can I tell you? I don't know very many filmmakers valking around in a skirt."
E-mail amy.silverman@newtimes.com, or call 602-229-8443.
