There is no half position on bigotry. Bigotry condoned is bigotry.
— Dan Rather
There is no half position on bigotry. Bigotry condoned is bigotry.
— Dan Rather
Just when you think all the laughs on Facebook have been exhausted ... right there, below “Pages similar to William Shakespeare,” is The Da Vinci Code
Porridger’s Almanack (Breakfast of Ganglions)
My mother had once said to me, “Not everybody is going to think you are as cute and love you like I do.” She sure was right.
— Lewis Grizzard, If I Ever Get Back to Georgia, I’m Gonna Nail My Feet to the Ground
Just had a good catch-up phone call with my friend and colleague, Kevin Scott. Triad sang a motet of Kevin’s at our last concert. Orlando Cela will conduct the Lowell Chamber Orchestra in a piece they commissioned of Kevin on their concert this Saturday. I’m delighted that Kevin will make it to the concert.
As reported here, Lord of the Things will, erm, ring out in Tempe, Arizona on Saturday, February 22, at 7:00 PM at St. Augustine’s Episcopal Church. ’Tis pity I shan’t be able to attend in person. Nevertheless, I am thrilled at what appears to be the première of henningmusick in The Apache State.
Since (as noted erewhile) Uncle Meat was an early Zappa acquisition of mine, I especially enjoy the fact that the show documented on Disc Four of the Over-Nite Sensation 50th anniversary box (in Detroit’s Cobo Hall on 12 May 1973) opens with a kind of Uncle Meat Suite, starting with a loose chamber-musicly “Exercise #4.” Then, missing Ricky Lancelotti, a purely instrumental “Fifty-Fifty” whose overall tenor feels like an echo of the Grand Wazoo. Then Sal Marquez sings a sultry “Inca Roads.” Oh, very nice trumpet solo, too. Then a preview of Apostrophe (’), the “Don’t Eat the Yellow Snow” medley, closing with a sped-up reprise of “St Alfonzo’s Pancake Breakfast.” Then “Cosmik Debris,” and a concluding medley of “King Kong”/“Chunga’s Revenge” and “Son of Mr Green Genes.” Overall, I’d say that one of the things I’m especially glad of in this box, is all the Jean-Luc Ponty.
The Over-Nite Sensation 50th anniversary box came in. I began with listening to the blu-ray audio (It’s an interesting industry artifact that Zappa prepared the album in a quadraphonic mix—and fittingly enough the subject of the song “Camarillo Brillo” says her stereo is four-way) Purely as regards my personal feelings let me get the “bad news” (merely my least flattering remarks, really) out of the way first: overall (and arguably against consensus), the album is not one of my favorite Zappa releases. When the topic/thought of the album arises, my first thought is apt to be, Oh, not “Dinah-Moe Humm” again. In my view there is space for finding the more raunchily ribald of his songs tiresome, without lapsing into Prudery. I don’t discount any of his songs merely because it’s salacious, and that said, “Humm” is only one song out of seven, and but 17% of the album’s run time. And sure enow, in listening to the album afresh I am reminded that the Sensation is rather better than I have been apt to credit it. And after all (literally) it closes superbly with “Montana.” My favorite extras from Disc One? I find myself asking, Where has “Wonderful Wino” been all my life? And the short answer is that (somehow) I’ve never listened to the Zoot Allures album. I’ve heard the exquisite title track in a number of live versions (also the studio version, I think, on the Frank Zappa Plays the Music of Frank Zappa disc. Love the 1973 versions of “Inca Roads” and “RDNZL,” the latter with especially tasty work by Jean-Luc Ponty. The single versions of “I’m the Slime” and “Montana” are fun, as is the “Bolic take-home mix” of “Inca Roads.” Of course, Take 2 of “RDNZL (also with cracking work by Ponty),” obviously. And another apparent prototype: “X-FORTS (Echidna’s Arf (of You)).” The entire disc, in other words, is solid.
As to the Disc Two odds and ends, the track I personally found of greatest interest was the pipe organ improv (Ian Underwood, Geo. Duke? Unclear, but I guess I lean towards the latter) by way of introducing “Fifty/Fifty.”
The final three tracks of Disc Two and all of Disc Three are what remains in the Vault of a 23 March 1973 show at the Hollywood Palladium. Duke plays a smoking electric piano for the eight-minute introduction to “Dupree’s Paradise” Perhaps unsurprisingly (for many reasons) the whole show is a rewarding listen. Bottom line: Although I had some slight misgivings that this box might prove a disappointment after the Apostrophe (’) 50th anniversary box, when I got me down to some listening, I found no such matter.
Gentle Reader, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve reported here on
this blog that my piece was not selected for whichever call I had submitted
it to. The fact that Lord of the Things actually succeeded in being chosen was therefore an instant rarity, and perhaps a kind
of landmark. Yesterday I received a message which, while it reported the
apparent disappointment that my piece could not be included in the program
driving the Call, was a highly encouraging
and unforcedly kind word from a conductor associated with the call:
I am reaching out
to you personally to express my admiration for your submission. Due
to practical limitations,
the organization was not able to program your piece for the upcoming
season. However, with your permission, I would like to add it
to my personal
repertoire and perform it at some point in the future, through the DNMC or otherwise. Please stay in touch. I’ll
let you know when I am able
to play your piece. In the meantime, I will stay alert for any
of your new works. [emphasis in the original]
The piece in question? Thoreau in Concord Jail. Highly gratifying, indeed.
A week ago, I was still dithering over whether to pull the trigger on
The Hot Rats Sessions. Could I find it cheaper anywhere? My first
thought was to try zappa.com. Natural enough, right? No dice.
Didn't find it there then, don’t find it there today. The only
apparently relevant search result was a three-CD issue, Funky
Nothingness. The blurb on zappa.com begins: ‘Funky Nothingness
is the “lost album” sequel to the iconic Hot Rats (1969)’
In the booklet, “Vaultmeister” Joe Travers writes: “With archival
releases from the vault it is normal to find different arrangements
of past tunes featured in live concerts and studio settings with other
bands, but actual NEW compositions are few and far between,
especially from within Zappa's golden years of the '60s and '70s.
Funky Nothingness delivers on all fronts showcasing Zappa's love for
rhythm and blues, picking up where Hot Rats left off with extended
instrumental workouts fusing rock, jazz, and classical elements into
music that can only be described as ZAPPA. The guitar work and
virtuoso musicianship are in full effect.” Expectations are therefore
high, and—to get briefly Meta—the Expectation is that those high
expectations will indeed be met. So, here we are.
Disc One is headed: Funky Nothingness, the album.
Disc Two: Zappa/Hot Rats '70—Session Masters and Bonus
Nothingness.
Disc Three: Zappa/Hot Rats '70—More Session Masters and Bonus
Nothingness.
Quick thoughts on Disc One:
I’ve listened to the first disc, which is the speculatively ‘reconstructed’
album itself. Enjoyable, plenty of good stuff. I’m suppressing a weak
tendency towards prejudice against the project. After all, in the first
place, recordings/performances which are worth hearing have been
made available to us. And in the second, the methodology is on the same
lines of Burnt Weeny Sandwich and Weasels Ripped My Flesh. I’m still
mulling. Welp, and when we got to track 12, the sound cut out several
times. Defective disc? I’ve ripped it, and am now listening to the track via
Media Monkey to check. The problem may be my machine? It’s very old,
to be sure. And now, it won’t even receive the disc to play at all. Other discs
still play fine. And the erstwhile uncooperative track plays on Media Monkey
fine. Do I really care if that one disc and my machine don’t get along?...
Now, there’s a certain You play the game with the team you’ve got aspect
to this, but I’ll go ahead and register as a disappointment the fact that
designating the “lost album.” and therefore this 3-CD release, “Funky
Nothingness” (a title which seems to promise so much) after a track which
runs less than two minutes. I’ll stipulate that it’s a highly interesting
108 seconds, but “Don’t Blink or You’ll Miss It” isn’t the spiffiest idea for a
title track. Much more substantial (and of correspondingly greater interest)
and equally new to us lay listeners is the 13-minute “Twinkle Tits.” Now, of
course, no one need enlighten me as to how poor advice it had been to title
the album thus—Heck, I almost physically wince to type those two words.
That technical disappointment noted, overall musically I find the album
a gratifying listen.
First thoughts on Disc Two: all good. It’s possible that if you had asked me
before listening, which tracks I expected I should find the most interesting,
I might have trended towards the longer tracks, but this was, simply, my
experience. “Chunga’s Revenge” (Take 5) at 16 minutes and a quarter, the
18-minute-plus unedited master of “Transylvania Boogie” (fascinating for
all the musical material different to the 5-minute track which opens the
album Chunga’s Revenge as released, a 15-minute unedited master of
“Sharleena,” and—consistent with remarks above—“Twinkle Tits.”
First thoughts on Disc Three: all good, too. Take 8 of “Chunga’s Revenge”
features an especially tasty organ solo (either Don “Sugarcane” Harris or Ian
Underwood, I could only guess which) and if you need a reason for
another sinuous Zappa solo, you may be in the wrong place (I mean, you’re
welcome, all the same.) Compared to the 1:23 track as it appeared
on the album Chunga’s Revenge, we enjoy nearly 16 minutes of freewheeling
percussion in unedited masters of “The Clap.” “Halos and Arrows” is
a three-minute “guitar experiment” with Zappa playing all the instruments,
which, Travers writes, “was not meant to be saved.” “Moldred,” a wah-wah-
marinated composite of otherly bits. Most substantially, we have a 22-minute
unedited master of “Tommy/Vincent Duo” (whoever they might have been.)
The actual duelists are Zappa and Aynsley Dunbar, a drummer with whom
Zappa began working in 1970. From this mammoth master, about seven
minutes were excerpted for two tracks on the putative Funky Nothingness
album. And, also in the “otherly bits” column, Disc Three closes with
“Fast Funky Nothingness,” a 45-second bluesy shufflette which was “found
on a two-track reel full of snippets and oddities.” And truly, of course there
are no snippets and oddities in the musical world like unto Zappa snippets
and oddities.
Is this Phase One of Chunga’s Revenge?
Now, let me return to Disc One. Mitigating against the disappointment noted
above, following the 108 seconds of “Funky Nothingness” with 44 seconds’
worth of “Tommy/Vincent Duo I” is a creative solution, and as with so many
of FZ’s own musico-chemical alloys (that’s got to be a mixed metaphor, but let it
ride) the result is perfectly smooth. This album plays very nicely in toto,
indeed. Can’t play it in the CD player, but I’m not sure I care, ultimately.
There are bigger problems in the world.
After a beginning (to the process) perhaps best described as tentative, I let O singer, bashful and tender, I hear your tender notes have a good long rest, because, I suppose, I didn’t hear enough of the tender notes as yet. The news, such as it is, is that there has been no dramatic change. I’m inching closer to hearing more of the notes, really is all, at present. I foresee more notes in a non-distant future.
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.
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.