No more will the aging rock press dismiss Norbert Fragg as "a former rock goat," an "anfractuously anachronistic axe man," "a chevre without chevrons," or, most heinously, "a bootlessly borborygmic bloviating bodger."

The unmitigated excess of Norbert Fragg’s debut Chautauqua chit-chat, coyly titled "Fragg Me With a Spoon," has sent nittering nay-sayers scurrying for new cliches to glorify the rhetorical redux of our teaching, preaching but never quite over-reaching (unless for a tasty dessert) guitarist’s sudden re-invention. Early reports from the trenches confirm that Fragg’s semiquavering hesitations, mordant half-witticisms, wrenching recitative, polyrhythmic protologies, and his infamously uncertain "je ne sais quoi" have broken new boundaries, cemented new understanding, bridged the gap between the daft and the daft-not. Especially relevant, noted one sharp-eared audient, was Fragg’s clever juxtaposition of "the proglomena of practical rabbitry" with a relentless denunciation of his experience with the music industry kakistrocracy’s carnivorous philophobia, which he deviously dubbed his "period of friendless beef."

Such accolades have inspired the newly famous Norbert to make a list of future topics upon which he may declaim, exclaim or just lay the blame.

We will soon be able to hear an ode to village domesticity, "Let Us Please Go Gentle in to that Long Night" and a heart-warming travelogue recounting his numerous years as a touring musician: "Brooding at the Breakfast Bar: the Grouchy Gigster’s Guide to Unacceptable Hotels And What To Do About Them." Journalists will be fascinated with "Right Said Willy Fred: or, Why I Don’t Do Interviews Anymore." Then there’s the astonishing "Doin’ What Comes Preternaturally," in which a blindfolded Norbert amazes the assembled by identifying those audients who might just want to photograph him or record his presentation, before they can even THINK of doing this, much less secure the necessary technology. "Pointless Shtick and the Joy of Whizzing" is a merry explanation of his Guitar Daft courses. CEO’s should heed the "The Business of the Venal is Business," about when, and when not, to flame disappointed mail order customers. Java junkies will adore Norbert’s nostalgic recollection of coffee bars he has known and loathed: "Latte, Dude, or Café Anxiety." New Agers will want to hear "Cheatings of Remarkable Men," Norbert’s grab bag meditation on how his experiences at the Sheepshorn House, his editing of the recorded lectures of J.G. Gazoontheit and the new age spirituality of the G.I. Kerchief helped him find moral lessons, if not occasional bliss, in contemplating the moral depradations of his former agent and manager, Slee-Zee Records Norbert is also preparing what he feels should be required hearing for all transportation industry professionals, a coy expose of airborn boobies entitled "Picky, Picky, Picky."

While we’re on the subject of nasal retention, Norbert is about to launch a new Internet web service called You Boob: in which Norbert and far flung followers of Guitar Daft post covert video recordings of genuine airline passengers probing, picking, examining and even marveling at partially crusted orificial goo.

Jet setting Fragg fans, have your cameras ready!