Cynthia Plaster Caster: Controversial Artist and Rock Muse

Art is a funny thing, isn't it? If it's doing its job, it doesn't just exist—it stirs lively debates, ignites controversy, and even sparks outrage and protest. As a young artist first becoming aware of the political world, I remember how conservative members of the US Congress used art controversies as excuses to target the National Endowment for the Arts. I also recall the world turning on Sinead O'Connor for her dramatic statement on Saturday Night Live, even if her protest against Pope John Paul II was completely warranted. When art is all fluff and niceties, it's usually forgettable. This is especially true when art intersects with sexuality, triggering debates about the fine line between art and pornography, self-expression and promiscuity (here’s looking at you, Robert Mapplethorpe). Sometimes, shock value for its own sake can ring hollow, but some of the greatest art has the power to evoke rage and disgust when it's first introduced (see also: Elvis; hip-shaking).

Art in the '60s and '70s rock scene wasn't just about the music; it was a whirlwind of creativity, rebellion, and an unprecedented openness about sexuality. Cynthia Albritton, better known as Cynthia Plaster Caster, was a prominent figure in this era who was first drawn to my attention in the Pamela des Barnes ode to groupie culture, I’m With the Band. Cynthia's art held the admiration of no lesser cheerleaders than Frank Zappa and the MC5's Wayne Kramer, and she straddled the worlds of art and rock music: capturing the essence of the male "rock god" in a way that was both provocative and unforgettable.

To put it bluntly: she would lure a rock star to her place to immortalize his... um... “member” in plaster.

Cynthia with her wares (photo: Mick Hutson)

It felt oddly fitting to see her name all over the news this week while reading the Linda Ronstadt autobiography, Simple Dreams: A Musical Memoir. Linda, who had been friends with Cynthia, took inspiration from her bravado and sex positivity. She shared a short anecdote that perfectly encapsulated Cynthia's eccentric artistry:

"The plaster penises were housed in a filing cabinet in the Bizarre Records offices. When someone wanted to see them, Pauline, the leggy, miniskirted British secretary, would pull out the file drawer. They would glide into view, trembling and shivering from the motion of the drawer, resplendent in their plastery tumescence. They gave the impression of a tiny forest, with Jimi Hendrix’s unmistakably distinguished as the mightiest oak in the wood."

Yeah, I LOL’ed at that last line, startling both my cat and my wife (well played, Linda, well played).

Cynthia's art inspired a 2001 documentary and more than several songs dedicated to her. Such tribute songs include those by KISS, Jim Croce, and—even one co-written by yours truly.

Hear “Peter Frampton” by The Normans on Spotify

In the past, my bandmate Corey and I developed a unique songwriting process. We created topic flashcards, randomly drew them from a hat, and had just three minutes to craft a song idea based on the chosen concept. One day, I placed Cynthia's name on a card, which Corey drew. After a quick Google (the rules allowed for this), he hastily composed a demo, though instead of focusing on one of her more, um, significant subjects, he chose one of her, shall we say, less impressive ones. In keeping with our spontaneous approach, Corey came up with a single chorus and a verse, laden with errors (we were adherents of the "don't think—just write" rule). Intrigued by his melody, I took it home, refined it, added lyrics, rearranged chordal elements, and infused Beach Boys-style harmonies for a ridiculously over-the-top result. When selecting songs for our next EP, I insisted that "Peter Frampton" be included, and it became one of my personal favorites in The Normans' extensive catalog of over 400 songs.*

Cynthia passed away this past weekend at the age of 74. Her art was audacious, unapologetic, and undeniably unique. She pushed boundaries, challenged norms, and left an indelible mark on the music world.

In celebrating her life and work, we not only pay tribute to a remarkable artist but also recognize the power of art to provoke, inspire, and endure.

Rest in Plaster, Cynthia. And thank you for the art.

* of which a few dozen have made it to the world in album form: we’re solidly on-target to have all 400+ recorded and released by the year 2176…

(Cover photo by Jim Newberry)