The Unexpexted Zappa Orgy of 1Q25 Part III—Hot Rats Sessions B

When MGM Records neglected to exercise a contract option in 1968, FZ founded Bizarre Productions with manager Herb Cohen. This company mutated into Bizarre Records (with distribution taken care of by Warner Brothers' Reprise label) by October 1968. "Sister" label Straight Records was formed by FZ in the spring of 1969 to release material by slightly off-center artists, but these artists were not nearly as extreme as those on Bizarre (hence, the name "Straight" versus "Bizarre"). After Straight finished its independent run with Reprise and Warner Brothers-distributed stints, the DiscReet label was created in 1973.

— Zappa Wiki/Jawaka

Tryin’ to buy a grunt with a third-party check.
— Captain Beefheart, “Willie the Pimp”

There’s an unlikely, if  distant, connection to Ol’ Blue Eyes: the Reprise record label was founded in 1960 by Frank Sinatra. Warner Bros.

purchased the label in August of 1963. And now: back to our regularly scheduled programming.

It shouldn’t really surprise me that the music made during these

sessions which did not appear as tracks on Hot Rats would surface

on, e.g. Weasels Ripped My Flesh (“Directly From My Heart to You”)

Studio Tan (“Let Me Take You to the Beach.” here under the working title

of “Dame Margret’s Son to Be a Bride”) and Burnt Weeny Sandwich (“Another

Waltz,” here, 28 minutes of music-making would reduce and morph into

“Little House I Used to Live In.”) So, I waive any and all surprise pertaining

thereto. “Directly From My Heart to You” as released later on Weasels runs five

minutes and a quarter; the unedited master here runs five minutes longer, and I can

report that they are five toothsome minutes. Disc 4 sees “Son of Mr Green Genes

being workshopped, and more work towards “It Must Be a Camel.” The bulk

of the disc, though, is an almost 33-minute master take of “Big Legs,” which when

edited, will greet the world as “The Gumbo Variations.” I live for discoveries like these,

I freely admit. There’s more work on the jazz waltz here dubbed “Arabesque,” which

will see light on Weasels as “Toads of the Short Forest,” which was Zappa’s nickname

for “the crabs.” The disc closes with almost six minutes of Ian Underwood playing

keyboard overdubs which will appear on Burnt Weeny Sandwich. Remembering how

strong the final albums are, makes it a joy to hear these musical notions in embryo.

Since I had begun with Disc 5 whose mainstay was the 1987 digital re-mix of the album.

That leaves Disc 6, which takes us back further, opening with a two-minute acetate of the saxophone tune of “Little Umbrellas,” recorded at Studio Z in Cucamonga, “circa

1961-64.” Then 1969 mix outtakes of “Minuscule Umbrellas,” as Zappa says on tape,

“It Must Be a Camel,” and “Son of Mr Green Genes.” There are more sundries, perhaps

most notably a 1970 Record Plant mix of “Bognor Regis” (you may be pardoned if you

might not recall from earlier, substantially a showcase for Don “Sugarcane” Harris’

violin; cool, where “The Gumbo Variations” run hot.)

In sum, while nothing would have prevented me from observing so before, had I been

facing the right direction, the experience of passively “participating” in the making

of the album by listening to all the myriad pieces of the puzzle has put for me into sharp

focus the tripartite symmetry of Hot Rats: one-third of the album (that is, two of the six

tracks) is rhythmically straight—“Peaches en Regalia,” the number Zappa would jestingly count in for his bandmates when they visited him while he recovered in hospital after he

was attacked and pushed off the stage of London’s Rainbow Theatre, and “Son of Mr

Green Genes,” an instrumental timbral reimagining of a song from Uncle Meat, faithfully following the song’s form. Another third is the two compact jazz chamber music vignettes—“Little Umbrellas” and “It Must Be a Camel,” brightly polished jazz gems whose finished perfection gives no token of their volcanic birthing. And the remaining third is the

exultantly extrovert vulcanism of “Willie the Pimp” and “The Gumbo Variations”—vehicles

for the trading off of athletically virtuosic solos, not forgetting Captain Beefheart’s by turns gravelly and hootey vocalizations.

Insofar as recording my musings here has a purpose, I doubt that the purpose is to get the Reader to purchase this set. Presumably, if you are inclined to find such a cornucopia

of source documents for a seminal album by an iconic countercultural American musical master an engaging listen, you may likely already own the Sessions. For the other Readers, though (held in no less warm regard by the Author) I expect the principal end will be a renewed interest in hearing the album itself, an album, as one witty promotional spot

puts it “almost too psychedelic, almost too spiffy to listen to,” and to which I myself will

listen afresh directly.

The Unexpexted Zappa Orgy of 1Q25 Part III—Hot Rats Sessions A

These are the days of spherical and under, this is the long-defunct mall.
Porridger’s Almanack (Breakfast of Ganglions)

That’s where I got the idea for … the title of the Hot Rats album: There’s a recording that I picked up in Europe that had “The Shadow of Your Smile” with Archie Schepp playing on it, and he played this solo that just sounded to me immediately like there was this fucking army of pre-heated rats screaming out of his saxophone. That’s what it sounded like.

— Frank Zappa

A complete line of extras designed with your mind in mind.

— Philip Proctor as Ralph Spoilsport, a parody of Encino automobile salesman Ralph Williams

Plunging into the Hot Rats Sessions, I started with Disc 5, which includes the 1987 digital remix of the album, and closes with a sweet shuffle on which “Sugarcane” Harris shines. I then proceeded to Disc 1. It's not for everybody (obviously) but I am really enjoying hearing all the bits, the jams, the what-have-you’s. The details listed in the book are interesting and informative. If like me, you’re a fan of Burnt Weenie Sandwich, the first two tracks of Ian Underwood playing piano shine with glimpses of familiarity and are entirely engaging. The bulk of the disc’s running time is workshopping “Peaches en Regalia,” and while (sure) I get that not everybody will find it engaging, as a composer, I entirely enjoy this opportunity to be a fly on the wall as Zappa by turns takes part in the jams and guides the rehearsal process. This is not “aimless noodling” but highly directed noodling by superb musicians with a great sense of ensemble. Disc 2 workshops “It Must Be a Camel” and “Little Umbrellas” (whose working title was “Natasha.”) There’s a tasty eleven-minute violin blues, “Bognor Regis” with a nice wrangly guitar solo. Then, workshopping “Willie the Pimp,” as well as an unedited master thereof running quarter of an hour. From a cassette recording from preparing The Real Frank Zappa Book by Peter Occhiogrosso (I don’t recall this actually appearing in the book:

That’s where I got the idea for … the title of the Hot Rats album: There’s a recording that I picked up in Europe that had “The Shadow of Your Smile” with Archie Schepp playing on it, and he played this solo that just sounded to me immediately like there was this fucking army of pre-heated rats screaming out of his saxophone. That’s what it sounded like. To backtrack, the arrival of the parcel confused me quite. The Apostrophe (’) 50th anniversary edition is a delightfully compact affair, and I had allowed this to set my expectations for this comparable Hot Rats celebratory issue. So, this enormous carton arrived, and when I opened it up, I found an LP-sized box within. I mistakenly supposed that I was sent vinyl in error, but no, when I spoke to an agent to sort out (as I thought) the “problem,” I broke the cellophane, examined the contents, and discovered that yes, this is the compact disc edition. My initial trend to dismay at the unanticipatedly much larger footprint of the product has been completely reversed to pleasure that the book reproduces the LP artwork, hitting all the nostalgia buttons.

The Unexpexted Zappa Orgy of 1Q25 Part II

 

But, really... when the bee stings, who can think of snowflakes that fall on your nose and eyelashes?
Welcome to Hackensack
“A City in Motion”
Yet—it remained exactly where I knew to look for it.
(Just saying.)
Porridger’s Almanack (Breakfast of Ganglions)

Madness is rare in individuals—but in groups, parties, nations, and ages it is the rule.

— Nietzsche

Time for more Henning Paleontology. Back in the late ’70s/early ’8os,

a friend introduced me to Zappa with We’re Only In It For the Money (by then,

already out of print for some while) and One Size Fits All. At or about that time,

Sheik Yerbouti, Tinseltown Rebellion and the first instalment of Joe’s Garage

would be available at record stores, and “Dancin’ Fool” was a big single.

Another friend (of a friend) wound up making me a fan of the Sheik. I don’t

know exactly why I was standoffish towards the Rebellion and the Garage,

but I was. Because I was more interested in finding copies of out-of-print

Mothers titles, I discovered a nearby-ish used record shack somewhere

on Route 23 in New Jersey. I did not find any copies of the first three albums

(which were my especial target) so I “flew blind” leafing through what I did

find. Although I now know that I should not have gone wrong with any of what

they had available, I pored and picked, and wound up taking home Uncle Meat,

Burnt Weenie Sandwich, Hot Rats and Chunga’s Revenge. Collectively they all

opened up my ears good and wide, and thus they have all been great sentimental

favorites of mine ever since. Keeping in mind that what I had already heard of

his work was highly unsystematic, one of the big surprises for me was the Doo-wop

numbers. Another was the dazzling array of instrumentation and the amazing

textures. Of these four, my enthusiasm burnt least hot, perhaps, for Chunga’s

Revenge, but no record with “Transylvania Boogie (more proof that Zappa was the

unequalled poet of the wah-wah pedal) the exquisite insouciance of

“Twenty Small Cigars” and the momentary percussive anarchy

of “The Clap” could be bad. And, as mixed as I might ultimately find

the “comedy music” angle of the Flo & Eddie version of the Mothers, “Road

Ladies” makes a short, punchy case for it. Of these, my first four Zappa

LPs, Hot Rats stands out as being atypically homogeneous. There are no

non-musical comedic elements, and the album plays as consistently

earnest music-making, sort of a precursor to Shut Up ’n’ Play Yer Guitar,

if you will. “Willie the Pimp” was my introduction to Captain Beefheart,

and if his performance

struck me immediately as peculiar, even rather alien, it was also undeniably

visceral. “The Gumbo Variations,” especially “Sugar Cane” Harris’ violin solo,

knocked me base over apex. And I immediately loved the sweetly sculpted

“Little Umbrellas” (with Ian Underwood playing recorder, among other

winds) and “It Must Be a Camel,” miniature masterpieces, both.

The long and the short of it being that the one over-cautious corner

of my subconscious wasn’t fooling anyone: I was certainly going to fetch

in the Hot Rats 50th anniversary “Hot Rats Sessions” box. Today, in case

you

were wondering if some people who are apparently paid for their musical

opinion might not be dense as a sandstorm, I read this on Wikipedia:

“Writing for Rolling Stone, Kory Grow enjoyed the album but thought

that it was flawed, stating that while it was a very interesting listen for

those curious about the making of the album, it could feel like overkill

at certain times.” Grow apparently does not understand the difference

between an album and a collection of musical documents made in the process of creating

the album. Nice work, if you can get it. What a display of underqualification for the task. Moving on ….

Just before actually revisiting Les rats chauds, it dawned on me: just why I am

writing of this experience and of the unprompted recollections this writing process

has caused to resurface (I was half-afraid it’s been something of an exercise in

rationalization): Although I have long enjoyed listening to Zappa’s work, and have comparatively recently enjoyed the “deeper dives” afforded by the lavish releases

from The Vault, I had never before realized how deeply Zappa’s rich musical world

has insinuated itself into my composer’s brain, have not hitherto appreciated

the degree to which ZappaSound (no less than Stravinsky himself & al.) helped

form the rich musical backdrop to my own creative work. And this year, as I find

myself still wrestling with whether my own work actually means anything

in the Universe, I feel that this re-immersion into Frankreich (so to speak) is

a kind of going back to the well.

So, The Sessions has been delivered. The presentation misled me

into supposing that the vinyl version had been sent to me in error.

I soon discovered the mistake, which was mine own.

The Unexpexted Zappa Orgy of 1Q25 Part I

 

I stood there, powerless to help. When they announced, “Cinnamon pumpkin scone,” the lady standing beside me was corn to their sickle. I thought, “Thank God they didn’t add chocolate!”
Porridger’s Almanack (Breakfast of Ganglions)

To me, absurdity is the only reality.

— Frank Zappa

As an homage to Zappa’s own wordplay, which was at times orthographyplay, I’m letting the misspelling “unexpexted” in the headline stand. I suppose, actually, that my adventure this month ought not to have come as such a surprise to me. To begin with, I was just the sort of Zappa enthusiast that I must have all six volumes of You Can’t Do That on Stage Anymore. Nor was it very long after its 1996 release that I snapped up the three-CD release of Läther. Then, I exulted in the Project/Object releases MOFO (Making Of Freak Out!) Lumpy Money and Meat Light. I shan’t numerate the various concert releases &c. which made their way into my library. Nevertheless, one corner of my subconscious made war with much the greater part, seeking to assure me (contrary to my historical affection for the album) that no, you do not need The Hot Rats Sessions. S0mehow, for some reason, I held onto that thought. But then, I purchased on an impulse the 50th anniversary edition of Apostrophe (’). No, I hadn’t seen any of the buzz by the YouTube commentariat, so I cannot lay any blame at their feet. Hidden cozmik forces prompted me to search for it, and before you could say Jimmy Carl Black, I had clicked to purchase it. This 5-CD plus Blu-ray audio box set has knocked me out. One takes it as read that the album itself sounds superb (it does.) The almost-12-minute unedited title track I found absorbing. A little surprisingly, since the cut on the album as released is a hair bit shy of six minutes. Zappa’s invention on the guitar never flags (let alone fail) so my guess is that he felt the full track would overbalance the flow of the album. Obviously that is mere speculation on my part. There are two smashing concerts in their entirety—in Colorado Springs and Dayton, Ohio (21 March 1974 and 20 November ’74, respectively. The Colorado Springs concert includes fascinating “preview” outings of a couple of numbers which would appear on One Size Fits All: “Is There Anything Good Inside of You?” i.e. “Andy,” and “Florentine Pogen.” Also, a bonus outlier of “Inca Roads” similarly previewed in Salt Lake City, Utah. And I loved the Colorado Springs version of “Dupree’s Paradise” and  “RDNZL.” Heck, I always like the latter. I love Zappa’s solo in the Dayton “Pygmy Twylyte,” as well as the deliciously incongruous intrusion of the Mozart C Major Piano Sonata, K. 545. The Apostrophe (’) 50th anniversary box is a thorough joy, which discovery has definitively demonstrated that Resistance Was Futile. Oh, I had forgotten: one of my first compact disc purchases (’89? ’90?) was the Rykodisc reissue of Over-Nite Sensation together with Apostrophe (’). I recall finding it interesting that the two albums were each so short that the two would fit on a single compact disc. And lo! one of the things I learn from reading Simon Prentis’ liner notes is that “audio quality deteriorated rapidly over the last five of the twenty minutes traditionally squeezed onto one side of an LP.” Zappa therefore scaled the albums such that the highest quality of sound should prevail. Entirely like him.

A Versus B

 

Facebook’s click-for-a-translation tool observes no distinction between the Russian words for “soul” and “shower.” Use with caution. (And, as needed, rinse.)
Porridger’s Almanack (Breakfast of Ganglions)

While you see it your way, there’s a chance that we might fall apart before too long.

— Lennon/McCartney “We Can Work It Out”

Somehow, I’ve recently been on another serious Beatles kick. I think my present episode even surpasses my first deep dive into their work, back in the early 80’s. That first plunge was typified by my quest (successful) to find all the original Parlophone LPs. It was an exploration which I found exciting, though to this day, I cannot explain it entirely. I’m at rather a loss to account for the strength of my emotional connection to the Beatles’ music. They weren’t really “the soundtrack of my youth” the way they were for millions. Well, with probably the notable slight exception of the single (at that time I should have called it a “45” which chanced to come with a “Close and Play” phonograph I was given when a boy: “Yellow Submarine”/”Eleanor Rigby.” Which, by the way, must likely have been my first exposure to a string quartet. By the time I was fully conscious of them, they had been broken up for a few years. Still, I feel a strong sentimental bond. It’s a mystery I may never fathom. My high school jazz band played a kicking arrangement of “Norwegian Wood,” and at the time I’d never heard the original. You could have knocked me over with a swizzle stick, the first time I heard George Harrison sing “Something,” because I’d heard the song in various “easy listening” arrangements a hundred times before. Prior to my 80’s plunge, while I was yet in high school, I experienced a kind of proto-plunge. Walking up Park Avenue, I saw in a record store window the 1962-1966 and 1967-1971 anthology double-LPs. At that age I was not so flush with cash to run in and buy both as an impulse purchase, but I did feel an impulse to plan the purchase of both. Signal discoveries from those compilation albums include “I Am the Walrus.” “Old Brown Shoe” and “We Can Work It Out,” the latter (like “Something” and “Fool on the Hill” I had heard countless times as Elevator Music, so the song’s true provenance was the revelation, as well as what a damned fine song it is. Something I had forgotten for decades, and which I am remembering (somehow) practically as I type this: Our High School Chorus director had us sing a Beatles set, including “With a Little Help from My Friends,” “Magical Mystery Tour,” “Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da” and “When I’m 64.” For the last, I was asked to glean and indeed play clarinet licks. So, it may be argued that the Beatles catalogue is more deeply embedded in my past than I have been conscious of. All of this surfaces as I have been considering“Yesterday,” one of McCartney’s greatest musical successes, and (e.g.) “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer,” which is perhaps not, the late George Harrison once describing it as “fruity.” I’m not writing to pan “Maxwell.” I think most listeners will at least entertain the possibility, if we acknowledge “Yesterday” to be Grade-A McCartney, that “Maxwell” may be Grade-B. It would be unfair to “grade” it any lower, and I certainly think it better than McCartney’s weakest effort(s) on the titular “White Album.” Hence my headline. Decades since, at a time when I myself was apt to think poorly of Mendelssohn, I was reading (I think it was) the Foreword to Joseph Machlis’ History of Western Music, in which he mentions a student objecting, “but isn’t he (Mendelssohn) a “B Composer?” to which the reply was, “Yes, but I don’t think you realize how very good that is.” So I’m not here to trash “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer.” It’s just an example leading us to the real value in distinguishing a composer’s/songwriter’s best work from the sub-best. McCartney is an apt subject fpr this thought experiment because, like Saint-Saëns’ analogy of the apple tree bearing apples, Sir Paul has been the most prolific, in his solo career, of any of his bandmates, and sometimes the result has not been as good as Grade-B. He has certainly penned an inarguably impressive number of hit singles. A quick list of eight McCartney solo tracks I think very highly of: “Junior’s Farm,” “Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey,” “Band on the Run,” “Hi, Hi, Hi,” “Helen Wheels,” “Mull of Kintyre,” “With a Little Luck,” “Waterfalls.” I don’t own many McCartney albums, because, where with the Beatles’ albums, on which you remember practically every track, personally I don’t find this true of his solo albums. When “With a Little Luck” was the big single, I bought the London Town album, but I don’t remember any note else from the album. To be sure, McCartney is one of the deservedly most successful song-writers in the world, my ears cherish what I consider the best of his work, and he doesn’t have to prove a damned thing to me. It’s just another day.

Good News the New Year Brought In

Take the Listerine for Clarksville
Il y avait un médecin de Limousin
Doc Brown in surgery?—Back to the Suture.

– Postcards From Red Squirrel Trail

Strange spaghetti in this silent city.
— Adrian Belew, “Neil and Jack and Me”/King Crimson

 

The piece I wrote (as this blog doth attest) as something of an afterthought, and partly in response to a dream, the brass choir fanfare, Lord of the Things, has been accepted for performance in Phoenix, AZ on 22 Feb 2025. This marks, in fact, the first time I’ve had a positive result from a call which I found on the American Composers Forum Opportunities Page. Then let me be no cynic. I needed to write back for clarification, as the message didn’t specify whether Crazy in a Bottle or Lord had been accepted. I also resisted the urge to ask, What was wrong with the low clarinet choir piece?  But the experience demonstrates the wisdom of having gone on to write the brass piece. This looks to be the first performance of Henningmusick in 2025.

What the Dickens

 

Thanks to my phone not liking (apparently) the Italian word for Vespers, I discovered a startling new Monteverdi manuscript, the Velcro della beata Vergine. Weirdly percussive.
Porridger’s Almanack (Breakfast of Ganglions)

"Speak comfort to me, Jacob!"
“I have none to give,” the Ghost replied. “It comes from other regions, Ebenezer Scrooge,
and is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds of men.”

— Chas Dickens, A Christmas Carol

I doubt very much, now, that I ever actually read Dickens’ A Christmas Carol before. I don’t have any misguided memory nagging me, “you’ve read it.” The one certain memory I do have of long ago is seeing an illustration with Scrooge quashing the Ghost of Christmas Past with his cap. Cinematically, for some few years I have been practically exclusively a fan of the 1951 production with Alastair Sim as Scrooge, and while I have since come to accept and enjoy other actors in the role, I don’t feel that Sim is in any substantial sense surpassed. In the past couple of years, I have come firmly to revel also in the film versions headed by Geo. C. Scott and Patrick Stewart. The wiseacre in me cannot help feeling that, for the latter, it was a lost opportunity, not to cast Brent Spiner as Bob Cratchit. Not surprisingly, the first thing I noticed was the absence of “favorite bits” I’ve long known in the 1951 version from the recenter productions. With, I think, admirably adroit emotional adaptability, I made immediate mental allowance for the fact that different productions would bring out different details. And then, inspired by a virtual acquaintance’s resolve to reread the Ur-text, methought, “me, too!” I was therefore pleased to find that Sim’s Scrooge addressing his sister as “Fan” was true to the original, and mildly surprised that he was “wrong” in addressing the girl who breaks off their engagement as “Alice.” It’s a good job that I didn’t allow the absence of certain scenes from 1951 to interfere with my assessment of the later productions because, as suited as they are to the story, they are liberties, though artfully designed to illustrate (mostly) Scrooge’s character, and the partnership with Marley: young Scrooge and Marley meeting when the former has left Fezziwig to work for a Mr Jorkin the aversion of scandal on the exposure of Jorkin’s embezzlement. Fan’s death-bed request of her brother that he take care of her boy, the actual death of Marley (separately, one of many things to like about the Patrick Stewart version is, it opens with Marley’s funeral) and a poignant scene in which Peter Cratchit reads from Psalm 91 at the time of Tiny Tim’s death. Against the “omission” of these narrative liberties, the later versions brought more details from the source whereof I had been ignorant. It is perhaps obvious, but I’ll go ahead and say that reading the Dickens original is an entirely rewarding activity.