UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN
Monday, November 20, 1995
8A
Tim Jordan, also known as "Typewriter Tim," uses the American flag in his performances to question freedom.
Kathleen Driscoll / KANSAN
Typewriter Tim: pushing the boundaries
Continued from Page 1A.
such as Tydewriter Tim can thrive.
Jacki Becker, music promoter, was the first to give Jordan a chance to make money by being himself on stage at the Bottleneck, 737 New Hampshire St.
"I think people in Lawrence are more willing to push the boundaries of their sexuality, the boundaries of their bodies and the boundaries of music," she says. "I think that is where Tim fits in."
Becker says that in her seven years in Lawrence, she has seen few acts that can be compared to Jordan's.
"He challenges people, and many people here are willing to try something different," she says.
Few disagree that Jordan is different — if for no other reason than he has been naked in almost every live music venue in Lawrence.
Nakedness, though, is not his only act. It is the typewriter that gave him his gimmick and his stage name. The typewriter, given to him by his mother, is an old, bluish-green Royal with a Band-aid on one scratched corner and an upside-down sticker of an American flag on the other.
But the particular medium is almost incidental. It is the audience that matters.
"A lot of it goes back to childhood and my need for attention." Jordan savs.
His childhood contains nothing shocking or traumatic. The most scarring incident he can remember is an encounter with a hardcore pornographic magazine. Other than that, he was bored with the normalcy of his life.
The baby of the family, Jordan grew up attending predominately white schools in the St. Louis suburbs, hearing adults tell the occasional racist joke and feeling a little out of place.
"That is what drives me — conform, watch TV buy this. I don't buy it."
His mother, Jill Jordan, says that only her son would know what formed him into this "unusual" artist. Her other son and two daughters hold what she calls "more traditional" jobs.
"Tim is the only artist in the family," Jill Jordan says. "I would say he gets kind of mixed reviews from his siblings."
Although he has been painting since 1989, Jordan's passion for art did not hit full stride until he moved to Lawrence in 1991. After a short stint in community college and a failed relationship, he applied to the University of Kansas to become an art student.
"My parents do not agree with their son being naked in front of a group of people," Jordan savs.
Typewriter Tim is more direct.
"It wasn't until I came to Lawrence that I realized that I could be a freak. I could be myself" he says.
But Jill Jordan seems hesitant to criticize her son and his passion for art. She sighs, and says that she will always emotionally support him.
Then followed the birth of his public nakedness, his public painting and of course, the tynewriter.
Jordan says he first heard the typewriter used as an instrument on the soundtrack for Rumblefish.
"I couldn't afford a drum set, and I didn't have a place to play it where people didn't mind," Jordan says. "So I just started playing the typewriter."
He first played the typewriter in front of an audience at an open mike night in Lawrence. The first public clicks of his typewriter were simply the repetition of the letters FOFO, which spelled out his grandfather's nickname.
Since then, Jordan has expanded his keyboard range and has become more concerned with rhythm than with words. He avoids the H, K, C and E on his Royal because they tend to stick, but the rhythms he can create with the simple sounds of the typewriter seem to be limitless.
Jordan is now joined by a number of other musicians who add to his rhythms. In a recent performance in Buford M. Watson
Park, he was joined by eight other performers' drums and voices.
He calls the collaboration of artists the Typewriter Band. During the Watson Park performance, when Jordan was not clicking the keys, he was banging on his congas or flailing through the small, shivering crowd, waving incense around each person's body.
This time, Jordan was fully clothed. But the 40-degree weather wasn't the only reason he had for keeping his shirt on. As the Typewriter Band becomes more established, Jordan wants to separate his performance art from his music.
Jesse Jackson is a local musician and a close friend of Jordan's. He has shared the stage with Jordan as a performance artist and as a musician. Jackson met Jordan about two years ago after seeing him play his typewriter at Hockenberry's, which is now Mulligan's, 1016 Massachusetts St.
"I wanted to talk to him and find out whether he was nuts or whether he was really sincere about what he was doing," Jackson says. "I guess they can be one in the same."
Jackson says that Jordan used his art to wave issues in his audience's face and to examine the social biases that Jordan himself admits to having.
"When you are in public, the light shines really bright on your racism and sexism," Jackson says.
"His nudity, because of the environment he is in, shocks people," he says. "If he was in SoHo people would be like, 'What is your point?' But I think he would still do it if he was in SoHo."
While many people in Lawrence are willing to accept Jordan as an artist, Jackson doesn't consider Lawrence to be as open-minded as some would like to believe.
But whether in New York's SoHo or Lawrence, Typewriter Tim is likely to surface. Whether confronting racism, homophobia, sexism or censorship, Jordan is always trying to push the boundaries of his and his audience's understanding.
"I am not using the blow-up doll to get a laugh," he says. "I am saying, 'look at this artificial woman. This exists, and it represents so many ideas that males have about females and sexuality."
Jordan pushes the boundaries of understanding by pushing the boundaries of art. He does whatever it takes to break his audience out of their complacency. He is determined to make Lawrence audiences pay attention.
He wraps the American flag around his waist, he says, to show his respect for the freedom that the flag stands for. That message may seem convoluted, but he just wants to get people thinking.
However, he says, his audience should not be shocked by anything he does.
Tim's typewriter tapping and on-stage nudity may not be the most shocking things to reach the art world. But what makes Jordan different, Shimomura says, is how far he has been able to go with his act in Lawrence
"There are certain standards, but they are defined by the people that participate in these activities," he says.
Roger Shimomura, Jordan's first performing arts professor, said that boundaries in art, while they may exist, are impossible to define.
But then, given Lawrence's history, maybe that's not surprising.
"If I had to do performance art anywhere in Kansas, I would want to do it in Lawrence," Shimomura says.
Lying on his couch in a pair of ripped jeans in his Lawrence apartment, Jordan has trouble remembering a decisive moment or event that inspired him to be the character he has become. He was always self-expressive, his mother says.
But now, the suburban misfit is paid to tap on his typewriter, bang on his congas, play with blow-up dolls and take off his clothes.
He has found Lawrence. A place where, he says, misfits can be cool.
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