Laurie Anderson The Rotowhirl Lyrics

The Rotowhirl Lyrics

Around 1978, I met a comedian, Andy Kaufmann. And he was performing his
avant-garde Elise act in a club in Queens. The performance started with Andy
playing the bongos, and for some unknown reason, sobbing. We became friends and
I acted as Andy's straight man in clubs and field trips. At the Improv in New
York Andy would begin his show by insulting women and saying, “I won't
respect them until one of them comes up here and wrestles me down.� This
was supposed to be my job. I sat in the club drinking whiskies trying to get up
the nerve. In the meantime I was also supposed to be heckling him. And after
three whiskies I managed to get pretty abusive. Wrestling him down though was
really hard because Andy really fought. On our field trips we would go to Coney
Island to try out some of Andy's theories on cutting-edge comedy. 

We'd stand around the “test your strength� games, the one with the
big sledgehammer in the bell, and Andy would make fun of all the guys who were
swinging away. And I was supposed to beg him for one of the huge stuffed
bunnies. “Oh Andy Honey, please get me a bunny, please, please.�
Finally Andy would step up to the big thermometer and take a swing. The
indicator would rise a few inches and “Try again, weakling!� would
flash. At this point Andy would start yelling that the game was wicked and
demanding to see the manager. 



We also went at the rotowhirl, the ride that plasters everyone against the
walls of a spinning cylinder, and stretches their bodies into Dopplered blobs.
Before the ride actually starts, there are a couple of awkward minutes while
the attendant checks the motor and the riders, bound head and foot, stare at
each other. This was the moment that Andy seized. He would start by looking
around in a panick and then he would start to cry. “I don't wanna be on
this ride, I've changed my mind; we're all gonna die.� The other riders
would look around self-consciously. Should they help? He would then begin to
sob uncontrollably. 



I loved Andy. He would come over to my house and read from a novel he was
writing; he would read all night. And I don't know if any of this book was ever
even published. 



I have never been one that hoped that Elvis is still hanging around somewhere,
hiding, but I will probably always expect to see Andy reappear, someday.