Hort comes from a long line of show business people. The
son of Bruno and Clara Elvistein, a Viennese mime team who fell upon
hard times when without warning Bruno became convinced he was Billie
Holliday, young Hort spent his adolescence touring Europe in an early
incarnation of "Up With People". But the road was a harsh mistress and
things were never easy for Hort and his compadres. Too poor to afford a
whole hotel room, they had to take shifts sleeping upright in a closet,
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sublet from a Lithuanian
poultry merchant named Donny. Things began to look up when Hort shortened his last name to Elvison and moved to Los Angeles. By day he worked breeding osce- lots and at night he played in a group called |
identical, narcoleptic triplets named Walker.
They achieved a measure of success until the lead singer met
with a fatal accident after falling asleep on a Slip'n'Slide. The band
folded. Despondent, Hort practiced his drums alone in his room for
years, reading pamphlets like "Horticulture and the 17th Century
Church" and consuming vast quantities of "Moon Pie" marshmallow
sandwiches.And then fate intervened.
Hort knew it was an omen when he opened the South El
Monte Weekly Shopper and read "Atmospheric, Neo-Motown, post-
Zydeco, pre-CBS psychedelic country surf, blues band with it's own van
seeks sensitive, intellectual drummer with Master's degree in bio-
chemical engineering. No flakes." Of course it was what would soon be-
come the infamous "Swirling Eddies".
Singer Camarillo Eddy remembers Hort's fateful audition: "I
knew instantly that we'd found our drummer when Hort came right up to
me and hit me in the face, without saying a word. And when I noticed
tapioca pudding seeping out of his
coat pockets, well, that was it."
Peter the Great (before his surgery) have made him an irreplaceable part of
the Eddies' saga.
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By Rex Alfresco
Ok, let's get this out in the open. First
off, I don't want
to write this stupid column. Some clown name o' Armadillo Eddy or somethin' is blackmailing me. He come blundering into one of my skunk traps one day and he said he'd let a certain supermarket tabloid know of my whereabouts if I didn't write this hoky column for his newsletter, So, if I want to keep my anonymity in these exquisite environs I guess I better get to typing. This month's outdoor tip is on avoid- ing dangerous animals and photographers. The most important factor in remaining hidden in the wild is camouflage. For instance, in winter I've found that my white sequined outfit blends perfectly with any glacier or snowbank I may happen to be hiding in.l've had polar bears sniffin' my pompadour and never knowing it was me. In spring I usually wear the "Jailhouse Rock" getup. Hunters and hikers commonly mistake me for just another escaped con ditchin' the heat. Sometimes it takes more than camouflage to avoid those nasty brutes. One day I was sitting on a log toying with a rap version of "Rock-a-Hula Baby" from Blue Hawaii when this giant anaconda come slithering down from a nearby tree and wraps his evilsome coils about me. Well, I can tell you he was more than a bit surprised when I picked up my guitar and began gyrating like Jimmy Swaggart's worst nightmare. There was a whole LOTTA shakin' goin' on! I musta thrown him thirty feet. Well, I hope these tips have helped you become a safer outdoorsperson. I gotta run, I think I see Geraldo coming. |
