A photo from Cheri magazine of Frank Zappa and adult film star Cherry Bomb (sadly, no relation) from the March 1979 issue.
“Here comes CHERI! A star-spangled, Yankee-doodling dingdong of a magazine! A motherfucker of a book! Bid farewell to commercialized cunt-mongering. We’re free-swinging, free-thinking family, larynx for the morals revolution, an arsenal for all liberationist movements. We’re out to shatter all the old sexual formulas.”
—Cheri Magazine’s Peter Wolff announcing the arrival of the first issue of Cheri magazine in 1976.
In addition to an interview and photo spread with the great Annie Sprinkle (who was also a contributor to the magazine at the time), the first issue of Cheri magazine also included a $1,000 “Blow Job Contest.” All contestants were required to submit a 150-word essay on “the superlative cock-sucking abilities” of a woman you knew like your wife, girlfriend, secretary, friend, sister(!), or roommate to the magazine for review. All essays went to Cheri’s “jury” comprised of two adult film stars, Gloria Leonard (the future publisher of High Society magazine), Kim Pope and, of course, Wolff. Over time the magazine would do its best to bring riveting features to its “readers” such as Sprinkle’s consumer guide to selecting the best massage parlor, and an in-depth article on the art of fisting written by Screw magazine contributor Bob Amsel, who was also the president of The New York Mattachine Society—a pioneering gay rights group. Cheri would also feature music-adjacent articles such as an interview and pictorial with Elda Stiletto (of the band The Stilettos, which included Debbie Harry and Chris Stein), and contributions from adult star Cherry Bomb about hanging out with Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd.
In 1979, Cherry Bomb scored an interview with Frank Zappa. Zappa was in town for a series of shows at the Palladium, including the famous one on Halloween which Cherry attended.
The interview was conducted at Zappa’s room at the historic St. Regis Hotel. Here’s Cherry on her first impressions of a man she had a “near reverence” for:
“And there he was (Zappa), crouched and glowering on the couch. I’ll tell ya, I was just stunned. Forget your Mick Jaggers and your Robert Plants—this guy is gorgeous up close! Frank Zappa radiates an animal magnetism, a bumpy allure his photos have never approached, and I’ll play Suzy Creamcheese to his Uncle Meat any day.”
With her photographer Eileen along for the ride, Cherry fearfully started her line of questioning for Zappa, and it’s full of all kinds of interesting tidbits that Zappa might not have discussed had Cheri not been an adult magazine. Issues from 1979 haven’t been digitized yet, but a Frank Zappa site dedicated to collecting and cataloging articles and written material about Frank, afka.net, published the entire article. Without further adieu, here’s Uncle Frank and Cherry Bomb (again, sadly not me), chatting about SNL characters the Coneheads, Cynthia “Plaster Caster” Albritton, and the time a fan gifted him with an actual turd in a jar.
Cherry Bomb: I saw you on Saturday Night Live, and you were just FABULOUS! How did you get on the program—I mean, are you good friends with the cast?
Zappa: First off—I have no friends. (LONG PAUSE)
Cherry Bomb: You wrote that song about the Coneheads.
Zappa: Yeah. The Conehead is a way of life. I think Americans are beginning to realize it means something important. Unfortunately, TV hasn’t taken the big step to capitalize on it. They should have a Conehead series on NBC—a situation comedy every week. That would be great! Only the Coneheads, though.
Cherry Bomb: Do things ever get too wild in scenes like this?
Zappa: Well, you know, I was knocked off that stage in London in 1971—I spent a year in a wheelchair. Prior to that, I’d never carried a bodyguard with me, but now I always do. He’s in the next room right now—so don’t you girls try any funny stuff!
Cherry Bomb: I never realized rock could be so ... hazardous. I guess a lot of your fans really like to get physical.
Frank: Oh yeah. They wanna touch—remember the Plaster Casters? We were opening for Cream at the International Amphitheater in Chicago. I was friends with Eric Clapton from before, and we were talking in the dressing room, and he said, “This chick’s been trying to get in touch with me. You won’t believe what she does. You’ve gotta come back to the hotel and meet her.” After the show, right, there she was, sitting in the lobby, carrying a big briefcase with the insignia “Plaster Casters of Chicago” on the side. Eric gave her the nod—I think her name was Cynthia—and she got into the elevator with us, with her friend. The friend had a paper bag full of statuettes of dicks they’d made. They were after Eric’s wienie, but he wasn’t going for it, so they figured maybe Frank would. I wasn’t interested, either, but I did spend two hours talking to them about their project. Yeah, actually it started off as a school project assignment, making casts of whatever they wanted with the stuff dentists use—alginate. One girl was supposed to give you a blowjob to get your weenie standing up, while the other mixed the chemicals. So, every time a new group came to Chicago, they’d make history.
Cherry Bomb: Do you think your type of show might have encouraged them? I mean, one critic called you “pornographically delightful.” Did you ever set out to, um, gross out your audience?
Zappa: No! I’ve never done anything like that! That’s the fantasy of some drug-crazed hippie’s imagination. It has nothing to do with my music or the real world. But my fans do some weird things, I’ll admit. There was this girl from Chicago, Laurel, who won a contest. And I was the first prize—I mean, she could come backstage and meet me. And she gave me a present—a Mason jar with one of her turds in it, rolled up into the shape of a cannonball. I didn’t know what to do. I just said, “Thank you,” and put it down on the dressing- room table. That was when I had the Mothers with Flo and Eddie, and Jim Pons was playing bass. I’d planned to just leave it in the dressing room—but no, Jim got curious to see if it was real. Was it or was it not a piece of poop? He carried it around for a while and finally took one whiff—and yecchh! It was real.
Continues after the jump…
