Wendy Mitchell

After experimenting with different casting materials including wax, clay and aluminum foil, she perfected her technique with dental alginates. Soon, she was meeting rock legends from Keith Moon to Jimi Hendrix (the largest cast in her collection). Later, she was the subject of the 1977 Kiss song “Plaster Caster” and Frank Zappa became her patron.

While being a groupie and plaster casting are still heavily identified with the rock excesses of the ’60s, Cynthia is, in fact, still relatively active in her hobby. Her recent subjects include Momus, Jello Biafra, Jon Langford of the Mekons and Ronnie Barnett of the Muffs; and she has her eye on Jarvis Cocker of Pulp. She recently dusted off her phallic castings for an exhibit, which runs through July 29 at New York’s Thread Waxing Space, and a new documentary titled “Plaster Caster” will be released in 2001.

Now 53, with auburn-and-blond streaked hair, Cynthia doesn’t look a day over 35. She doesn’t have a boyfriend, but “there are some cutie-pies out there that I’m acquainted with,” she says. Above all, she doesn’t shy away from discussing her encounters with favorite rockers and their not-so-private parts.

You’ve been described as a groupie and as an artist. Which label is more appropriate?

Both equally. What is a groupie and what isn’t a groupie? That is a long, involved answer. Even though I may not be actively a groupie at all times, I feel like I’ve got groupie in my blood. Not that I’m about to join Groupies Anonymous anytime soon. But I’m also an artist and a collector. And a fan.

You don’t have a problem with the word “groupie”?

Hell no! Well, It does have a stigma attached to it, but it really shouldn’t. There are different definitions in different dictionaries. I read one that said a groupie is a young girl who pursues musicians in order to have sex with them. I’m not young, and I know male groupies. I don’t think you even always have sex to be called a groupie. You can want to have it. There’s a lot of legitimate groupies; they want to have sex with musicians but they have jobs related to music. And they’re in total denial about being groupies, and I think that’s pathetic. What’s wrong with being attracted to sexy men who make fabulous music and are really smart? And occasionally are fabulous in bed!

Why are sex and rock ‘n’ roll so intertwined?

It could have something to do with the beat, which resembles a good fuck sometimes [laughs]. I’ve actually been sexually stimulated by the sound of a really sexy tune; it would draw me to men, more than their looks sometimes. And then it was always helpful if they were good-looking too!

Your work is so heavily identified with the ’60s. Why is it still relevant today?

I’m really happy that people want to get cast. I don’t know if it’s a backlash to the AIDS scare, or just that a lot of guys may want to be on the same mantelpiece as Jimi Hendrix. They seem to be more interested than they ever were.

Are you more well-known today?

Yeah, I seem to be. It’s cool, but it’s strange. My partner and I never did it to become famous.

Why did you keep doing it if it wasn’t for fame?

Initially it was to get laid because we were shy. And then when we finally got around to learning how to do it, it kind of backfired for me in the sex department, because I wound up being the mold mixer, and I hardly got laid as a result! First it was a shtick to get laid, and then as it progressed, I got this collector’s impulse to collect more and more. And then people told me it was art, and it is art in the school of Andy Warhol, art repetition.

What’s the criteria for people you decide to cast now?

In my mind, they have to be superheroic and talented. Not just musical. I have a soft spot for artists in general. I’m interested in maybe a cool politician — Rev. Jesse Jackson, whoa, man! Top of my hit list, honey!

Have you tried to get into the political arena?

No, it’s tough. And I don’t really pursue it anymore. If I get introduced to someone, I like for these guys to get to know me and for me to get to know them so we can get comfortable with each other. ‘Cause it’s also done for fun! And everyone should have a good time. Especially the stimulator.

Do you do any of your own stimulating?

Ironically, I have been doubling roles lately at my advanced age! Which is fun. I’ve done it a few times.

Is it hard for you to do both?

It is. It’s hard to coordinate. For the subject’s sake, it’s really not recommended. It was originally called the Plaster Casters, two girls in Chicago.

Do you have a partner now?

I used to, I have a couple of them. Lately, I prefer to work with the wife or girlfriend or boyfriend. I have yet to cast a gay man, but I look forward to it someday. It’s just better to do it with their partner: Everybody’s happy, they’re good to each other. It’s not really the most sexy of processes. Especially my role, trying to mix that perfect batch of alginate.

I was wondering if it ever felt sexy for you. It seems like it would be too clinical.

It is, and it should be. I really need to stay focused on getting that alginate mold just right, so the negative impression is perfect, all the veins are captured. So I have to leave all the sexiness up to the partner.

What was it like casting Jimi Hendrix?

Casting Jimi was too unreal — I just couldn’t believe it was me and my girlfriends who made it up to his hotel room, against all the other groupie competition. He was a casting dream. When his pubes got stuck in the mold because I didn’t lube them enough, he didn’t freak out at all. Just very patiently fucked the mold while he waited for me to pull out one pube at a time.

How did you end up with Keith Moon’s pant leg, but no plaster cast of him?

I met Keith Moon in the early formative days of the Plaster Casters when we were just trotting around our kit from hotel room to room without knowing exactly how to cast dick. Keith Moon, always up for something new and different, was willing to let us experiment on him. When I needed an apron, he very obligingly ripped off one of his pant legs and handed it over! I use it to this very day, and have never washed off all the alginates crusted over it, and never will.

What about Wayne Kramer of the MC5, why did you only get his tip?

Wayne Kramer and [band mate] Dennis Thompson wanted to be cast simultaneously. I’d brought along only one proper container for one dick at a time, so I thought I’d use the actual alginates can for Wayne to dip his dick in. Much to Wayne’s disadvantage, I’m afraid. Most of the alginates set prematurely before all of his dick could penetrate and all I captured was the head. I want the world to know that Wayne had more inches to offer and it just got fucked up. Sorry, Wayne!

Did you ever cast Zappa?

I never cast Frank Zappa because in real life he was a normal family man with the reputations of his wife and children to consider. Casting was never his thing, but he sure was qualified to be in my collection!

Are there any rock legends you regret not casting in their heyday? The Beatles, the Stones, Iggy Pop, Led Zep, Ray Davies?

Too many dicks that got away to mention! Sure, the Beatles, Stones, Iggy and Ray Davies. Especially Brian Jones. And Serge Gainsbourg.

Who is the last person that you’ve cast?

Well, my youngest baby — I call them my sweet babies — his name is Bill Dolan of 5ive Style. He’s the guitarist.

How did that casting go?

We got there, I’ll put it that way. It was a little rough at first. I’m finding that I like to have enough alginates to cast them once and have them see what it feels like to try and stay hard in a cold mold. A lot of times they might lose their hard-ons, so I’m perfectly willing to do them again.

Is there any secret for staying hard while you’re in this cold substance?

If I knew that, I’d know the secret to life! I sometimes just tell them to “think hard” — it’s easier said than done. It’s really tricky because the dick is submerged in the mold and direct stimulation cannot be applied. So it’s really up to the talents of the partner, the bond that those people have with each other.

You stopped doing this for a while in the ’70s. Why?

It was a combination of things. The sexual revolution had died down and it wasn’t trendy to have casual sex with strangers and people were getting married, and I was working a straight job — it was hard to do this during the middle of the night. The music wasn’t really thrilling me that much at the time. I wasn’t really into the hard rock, I was busy collecting Glenn Miller and Fats Waller and Bing Crosby music. But I didn’t intentionally retire. I wasn’t avoiding it, but all the right circumstances just weren’t there for several years.

When did you start up again?

In the late ’70s, I think I successfully made a cast of Ivan of the Flying Karamazov Brothers; he was in town for a few days, and everything was right. But, again, I never intentionally retired, it was more of a timing thing.

Now that you don’t have a day job, do you think you will do more casts?

Yeah, I have more time, I can stay up as late as I want to. I have made a couple lately. I’m trying to be really picky, too, so it’s not like every month. Sometimes a year goes by, sometimes it’s a few months, sometimes a few weeks.

Does today’s rock ‘n’ roll still excite you the way it did when you were a teenager in the ’60s?

I’ve been a little bit let down by the music coming out of Britain lately. I don’t know, I have to research that a little more. I’ve been a little broke so I can’t afford to buy imports. There are a few. I heard this band called Brassy; I just heard a single of theirs. There are others I’m sure I haven’t been subjected to. It’s really weird, but I think that Chicago is now the mecca for cool music.

Do you get recognized in Chicago?

Sometimes, it’s weird. People say, “Are you, are you [whispers] Cynthia Plaster Caster” or “I know who you are. You do that thing, that thing with you-know-what.” It’s not a problem yet, and it won’t be. For one thing, my mother doesn’t know I do this.

Wow. And how old is she now?

She’s about 84. I can’t afford a bodyguard.

Why don’t you tell her? Is she close-minded?

That ain’t the word! She is in her own weird world. She just doesn’t understand the pleasure of sex. She thinks it’s evil. It’s hard to explain things to her just in general. She maybe subconsciously would rather not know. She’s happy in her own weird fantasy world.

Do you ever get tired of looking at a bunch of dicks on your mantelpiece?

Never. Never. They’re like my pets. I have them in this room on pedestals, and there’s a warm yellowish tint in the room, it’s like sitting in your living room with your pet kitties.

Do you have a personal favorite among your collection — maybe someone who wasn’t the most famous or the biggest, but one you like for some other reason?

No, I love them all! They’re my babies.

A lot of women think penises are ugly.

And scary.

I guess you’re not one of them.

No! I think they’re funny and cute and cuddly, they look kind of goofy. And that reminds me to tell you that I’m casting tits now.

Yeah, I read that you did Suzi Gardner from L7. Why did you decide to start doing breasts?

It was the right time. I had been thinking about it for a while. Tits as opposed to vaginas. I know girls who have done their vaginas and gotten really nasty infections. The boobs are a more cuddly object to me.

How do you broach the subject with someone for the first time?

When I’m friends with someone, it just crops up. I really have to like their music. I don’t pop the question the first time I meet somebody. It might just be too heavy-handed for them. That’s not me at all.

But you had to do that back when you were first getting started?

Yeah, but neither me nor my partner were very good at that. We would pass out calling cards. Again, in the ’60s it was just not that unusual of a thing to ask someone to do. Strip down and try something new and different sexually.

Do you miss the open sexuality of the ’60s?

No, I lived it and it helped teach me what I was and what I wasn’t. Like being involved in orgies taught me that I wasn’t interested in being involved in orgies! I’m really, really glad it happened, but I don’t need it anymore.

You started this art form as a way to meet men back in the days when you were a virgin. But did it ever become more of a feminist thing for you, turning the tables and objectifying men?

No, it didn’t. I discovered my feminism in different ways. I was never doing it to turn the tables or be on top or anything. In a way, I felt like I was in the exalted presence of a supreme being, and this could bring them down to the same level, the same page [as me]. But it wasn’t an empowerment thing.

So what are you ultimately trying to say with this?

I’m saying, “Look at this chorus line of gorgeous penises, left and right and swirling around. Aren’t they pretty?” That’s all.

There’s no message behind your work?

No. There could be, but I don’t think there really has to be. I just want everybody to have a good laugh.

“Early Tracks” remembers Miller and the rest of the 97′s at their loose-cannon best, when they were still down-home Dallas boys with a love for honky-tonkin’ fun. Featuring four singles and four unreleased tracks from 1995 and 1996, the short CD collects Old 97′s songs from before the band’s major-label deal, before their faces were airbrushed on posters and before they started pumping out the wonderful radio-ready ballads of 1999′s “Fight Songs.”

“I’ve got my wife, the other women and the whiskey killing me,” sings Miller on “W.I.F.E.” “The first two make it so that I see red, the third one makes it so that I can’t see.” Miller’s tone and his perfect couplets explode country clichis, and the rhymes are so perfectly sad-sack that it’s hard to remember that they don’t belong to some long-forgotten Hank Williams number. While not all of the lyrics show off the literate wit Miller would sharpen over the band’s subsequent records, there are several other clever turns: In the punkish “Eyes for You,” the object of his affection is “an ice cream cone in a minidress.”

The loud-and-fast licks by guitarist Ken Bethea, bassist Murry Hammond and drummer Philip Peeples remind listeners that the Old 97′s are a band, not just a witty frontman. Hammond also takes over lead vocals on covers of “Harold’s Super Service” and “Let the Train Blow the Whistle” — and his own “Sound of Running.” He doesn’t hoot like Miller, but his smooth delivery gives him the quality of a seasoned country crooner who has spent years riding rails and perfecting songs.

“Early Tracks” doesn’t have the polish of recent Old 97′s albums; it’s more like pair of scuffed cowboy bootts. With the band’s leaps from country standards to punkabilly to folksy introspection, it’s possible to hear the band struggling for a way to come up with their own fresh amalgam of different genres. That’s OK, because even before the Old 97′s nailed down that sound, they were raucous fun.

Travis frontman Fran Healy and his former art-school mates have left pub rock behind, recording instead the year’s best collection of bummer folk rock. On “The Man Who,” Healy can’t see silver linings, only darker grays. But the best part is that he can sing lines like “I’m seeing a tunnel at the end of all of these lights” in the standout “Why Does It Always Rain on Me?” and come across sounding like the average tortured guy next door, not just another whiny rock star.

The guy-next-door image, in combination with some stellar songs, has made Travis the most popular band in Britain. “The Man Who” has already gone six times platinum in the U.K., and the band won this year’s Brit Awards for best album and best band. The hype traveling across the Atlantic is finally worth it and the band actually has a chance to succeed here: They’re smarter than Oasis, more earnest than Gay Dad, less stoned than Gomez and more focused than the Stereophonics.

Travis’ graceful, introspective ballads sound a bit like Radiohead’s more straightforward moments — thanks in part to some work with Radiohead producer Nigel Godrich. Healy’s aching tenor is every bit as passionate as Thom Yorke’s, but on tracks like “Writing to Reach You,” Healy’s voice sounds even prettier, more honest and more intimate. Even when Travis’ acoustic guitars and occasional string arrangements are scruffed up with more atmospheric noise and texture, their pretty melodies are never obscured. And the whole affair is guided by Healy’s laments about going to sleep alone (“I can’t sleep tonight/Everybody’s saying everything is all right”), waking up alone (“Every day I wake up alone because I’m not like all the other boys”) and the same old miserable routine in between (“The radio is playing all the usual/And what’s a wonderwall anyway?”). Turns out all the sleeplessness, isolation and rainy weather is a viable cure for schizophrenia. The only thing to worry about now is that Healy will move to a sunny climate and start dropping Prozac. Who would the rest of us have to mope along with?

The program follows the band’s evolution from unknowns to megastars, but it doesn’t really attempt to explain the phenomenon. There is no voice-over narration to say what has changed in either the band or the music world around them. The breadth of footage and the juxtaposition of the images, however, says more about R.E.M. than any VH1 announcer could.

For one thing, R.E.M. has grown comfortable talking about their music. Early on, the Athens, Ga., quartet was notoriously reluctant to explain anything about their songs. One telling clip shows them after a 1983 “Live Wire” performance, responding to a questioner in the audience who asked them to decipher lyrics. Michael Stipe politely says that he’d rather let the music speak for itself. Things have changed a bit by 1998, when during a VH1 “Storytellers” session the singer explains his fascination with comedian Andy Kaufman, who inspired the song “Man on the Moon.”

“Rapid Eye Movement” also illustrates how much more comfortable the band has become with visual presentations. “We hesitate to call them videos,” Stipe said on that 1989 “Rockumentary.” Pretensions aside, R.E.M. certainly embraced the form as a creative outlet. Instead of MTV staples like dancing babes and live group shots, R.E.M. favored striking visual images that complemented — rather than completed — Stipe’s impressionistic lyrics. Some of those shots became almost as closely associated with the band as Peter Buck’s guitar melodies: the black bars censoring topless male and female dancers in “Pop Song ’89,” the skateboarder pilfering through an abandoned house in “It’s the End of the World As We Know It (and I Feel Fine),” the fed-up commuters fleeing their cars in “Everybody Hurts” and the wounded angel in “Losing My Religion.”

Along with the band’s growing mastery of the music-video format, the program also acknowledges Stipe’s transformation into a true front man. In 1983, he plays the part of a shoe-gazing singer. Much later, he’s shaking his hips to the bombast of “What’s the Frequency, Kenneth?” The program also reminds viewers about Stipe’s stints on the soapbox: public service announcements, the band’s involvement in a 1998 Tibetan freedom rally at the White House, Stipe’s political sloganeering at the 1991 MTV Video Music Awards.

This exhibit’s presentation often ignores the cult of celebrity that goes along with being a rock star. Instead it concentrates on R.E.M.’s music and visual creativity. We don’t see any Leif Garrett-style teary confessions here. In fact, there’s hardly any biographical information. The “This Way Up” documentary avoids revealing specifics, even as it alludes to personal tensions during the recording of the album. Cynics argue that R.E.M.’s celebrity has lately become more important than the band’s music, especially after the shift away from the glory days of college rock that lasted from “Murmur” (1983) through “Document” (1987). This three-hour presentation, however, scales back to the essentials, which in its own way allows for revelation — especially regarding the late-period work. In the end, watching that side of R.E.M. is almost as exhilarating as it was back in the early days.

More than a dozen albums of hilariously cheeky and intelligent songs have earned Momus (aka Nicholas Currie) a small but obsessive following. His fans are an eccentric bunch, and on “Stars Forever” they make for good material. One is a Parisian artist, another a rock star with cats. Artist Jeff Koons paid for a song, as did a shy Japanese woman and a gay writer with a fetish for soldiers.

To help him prepare for the record, each person “sat,” or provided Momus with a little information about him- or herself. Playing off skeletal facts, Momus wrote stories with wild premises, rarely losing sight of himself. He rarely plays the part of the objective bystander — instead, he interjects himself into one fan’s proposal to his girlfriend, or he wonders about sleeping with one of his pen-pal fans. There are surprisingly few straightforward songs (Miles Franklin, however, is “single, 32, working in I.T.”). Instead, Momus tells the sort of imaginative and slightly bent tales that he’s told before, songs in the past that have called God a “tender pervert” or posited “the cultural meaning of coming in a girl’s mouth.”

Musically, Momus deftly switches moods and styles even though he limits himself to electro-pop keyboards and drum machines. Each tune has a distinct personality — there isn’t a single template. There are a few bouncy synth tracks alongside bits of disco as well as trip-hop, hip-hop, a swashbuckling sailor song, an impressively schlocky ballad and an over-the-top western theme. The only song that seems forced is dedicated to an Internet newsgroup, the Indiepop list, which had 40 members who wanted to be mentioned.

Even though the project is commercial, listening to “Stars Forever” never feels like listening to two hours of jingles. At times, the songs are simply Momus songs, unforced and as natural as anything he’s written. Lesser artists might have taken a more literal approach to portraiture, spewing facts in rhyming couplets. But Momus’ subversive streak creates songs that people would never have written about themselves. About the gay writer with the military fetish, Momus sings: “On a military base or a battleship deck/Let me come in his ass with my tongue down his neck.” For $1,000, these fans didn’t get exact representations of themselves. They got something better — a chance to become part of Momus’ twisted world.

To celebrate its 10th anniversary, Merge offers “Oh, Merge,” a compilation of mostly previously unreleased songs. A greatest hits collection would have been nice, but Merge doesn’t specialize in what most people would call hits. Most of Merge’s bands have only small cult followings, so Superchunk’s record sales keep the label running.

Following the excellent fifth anniversary compilation “Rows of Teeth,” the “Oh, Merge” companion concentrates on the label’s roster of the past five years (except for notable absentees Verbena and Cornershop). These 20 songs — presented democratically, alphabetical by group — are a testament to Merge’s overall diversity as well as each band’s individual greatness. Unlike most rarities collections, “Oh, Merge” sounds almost like a singles comp: The songs here aren’t throwaways or should-be-forgotten B-sides. Maybe the songs by Beatnik Filmstars, Guv’ner and the Rock*A*Teens don’t catch those acts at their best, but the rest of the tracks are essentials for fans of Merge bands (or, heck, just fans of good music). Highlights include the melancholia of East River Pipe’s “So Much Hate,” the raw beauty of Neutral Milk Hotel’s “Engine,” the Ladybug Transistor’s pensive update of the Bee Gees’ “Massachusetts,” a revision of the Magnetic Fields’ “Take Ecstasy With Me,” the Karl Hendricks Rock Band’s clever “You’re a Bigger Jerk Than Me,” Portastatic’s sultry ballad “Easily Aroused” and the impeccably weird drum ‘n’ bass of Third Eye Foundation’s “Semtex.” And as much as Superchunk would like Merge’s other bands to take the spotlight, their new song here, “Clover,” makes them sound as vital as they did in 1989.

Unlike Mammoth Records, located across the street from Merge’s miniature office in Carrboro, N.C., the indie label doesn’t have any platinum records or Disney deals to prove its greatness. With little fanfare, Merge has built a tiny but grand empire, one great record at a time.