I’ve been sick with the flu since Wednesday night, when I felt a bug slam into my chest like something out of “Alien.” For the last four days, I’ve risen out of my bed mainly to hand out Halloween candy — with sanitized hands at a protected distance — and to continue to photograph the ratty degeneration of my appearance as I pad around the house in ancient pajamas.

Being ill allows you to obsess on small outrages, because you don’t have the energy or money to remedy the big ones (a crumbling roof or current medical insurance deductible). About all you’re really capable of doing is lying flat on your back while watching a movie and becoming increasingly and irrationally irritated over the fact that an actress is playing exactly the same character in your newest Netflix flick rental as she did in the completely different film in which you last saw her (Kelly MacDonald in “The Merry Gentleman” and “The Girl in the Cafe”).

I’m too tired to write her agent, but Kelly really needs to start challenging herself more in her roles; even the hats in both movies are the same. And Bill Nighy and Michael Keaton are playing almost identical repressed, older male love interests opposite her in the two films.

Today, after I stopped fuming over the characters in two movies that almost no on has seen, I staggered downstairs to ponder the state of my record albums, about which I keep saying I am going to copy and transfer over to CDs or my iPod. I had to pack a couple of hundred of these suckers up up when I was painting several rooms of my house this summer. As I boxed and cataloged them, I realized that there were several albums missing.

Only one of the vanished really bothered me, because I can probably live the rest of my life without listening to the third album of “The Association” or the waste of vinyl released by one-hit wonder, Johnny Nash (“I Can See Clearly Now”).

But what is gnawing away at me is the loss of “Hot Rats,” by Frank Zappa, a post-Mothers of Invention work that was the only record I ever purchased solely for the album’s cover design. I am infinitely more galled about Frank’s disappearance than I am about Kelly MacDonald’s acting career choices, because the album was in flawless condition. This is due to the fact that I only once tried to listen to Zappa’s weird instrumental foray into jazz, and just planned to eventually frame the endearing psychedelic pink 60s-era photograph of him crawling out of a crypt.

Now I suppose I’ll have to go crawling myself, only this time over eBay, to look for an equally pristine version of the album that has inexplicably vanished. That is, unless I forget all about it in an hour or so, and begin obsessing on some other aggravating bit of minutiae that briefly grabs my attention in between swigs of cough syrup.

Foto: André Smirnoff

Um baterista: Neil Peart.
Outras influências: John Bonham, Rob Reiner ( Anvil ), Charlie Benante etc etc.
Disco de cabeceira: Ramones, “Acid Eaters” (no momento).
Hit da semana: “Luta” , recém gravada pelo Metalmorphose (hit pra mim , né? hehe).
Banda de coração: Frank Zappa (solo) e com os Mothers of Invention.
Melhor banda de todos os tempos da última semana: Deathchain (thrash /death finlandês – conheci agora).
Time do coração: Heavy Metal.Mas se tiver que torcer pra alguém , que seja para o meu sofrido Vasco da Gama.

Of all the musicians who passed recently, none stand out in my mind more than the legendary Les Paul. He changed the way musicians approached their craft, from the instruments they played to the way the recorded them to the attitudes they portrayed. He was a guitar hero for some, an accomplished engineer and producer for others, and an iconic personality for the rest. His impact will live on long after some other musician’s hype wears off. Not every recording here probably was on a Les Paul guitar but they all were avid Les Paul players and that’s part of what I remember them by, that distinct tone and the impact of Les’ approach and how it influenced each of their playing. I was trying to figure out how to work some Bob Marley and the Wailers into the mix but it just never seemed to fit, so enjoy what did from those who I remember off the top of my head in honor of the one-time Mahwah, NJ genius:

“Guitar Boogie” by Les Paul
“The Rock/Love, Reign O’er Me” by The Who (Pete Townsend)
“Whiteroom” by Cream (Eric Clapton)
“Heartbreaker” by Led Zeppelin (Jimmy Page)
“Blow by Blow” by Jeff Beck
“Rockin in the Free World” by Niel Young
“Don’t Eat the Yellow Snow” by Frank Zappa
“Zero Tolerance for Silence” by Pat Metheny
“Siberian Khatru” by Yes (Steve Howe)
“Temples of Syrinx” by Rush (Alex Lifeson)
“Barracuda” by Heart (Nancy Wilson)
“Never in My Life” by Moutain (Leslie West)
“Paradise City” by Guns N’ Roses (Slash)
“Hell is High” by Black Label Society (Zakk Wylde)
“Stranglehold” by Ted Nugent
“Crazy Train” by Ozzy Osbourne (Randy Rhoads)
“Sunday Bloody Sunday” by U2 (the Edge)

Can I just ask now? Are you not air guitar-ing all over your pad now? Pahleeze… tell me that’s not so much more emotionally invigorating – the windmills, the jumps, the screaming at the top of your lungs pretending you’re the rock star, the satisfaction of pulling off that next sick solo… ah capricious youth, the feeling that never dies so long as the next song keeps coming along… feel free to add your faves from the Les Paul era

Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention

From Der Spiegel:

Frank Zappa famously had a very individualistic approach to rock: groupies, no sheet music and extra-strong coffee instead of drugs.

In no particular order:

Golden Dawn – Power Plant

Totally my #1 desert island pick. I could listen to this album from start to finish on repeat for days (I did when I first slapped it   on m’spinner) and never get sick of it. How this could have been dismissed as a 13th Floor Elevators ripoff is beyond me, it’s perfect in its straight-forward Texas psychedelia, but is seeping from the edges of the mold into what I wish punk was. Don’t get me wrong, the Elevators are great and nothing beats an electric jug and a schizophrenic in the same room, but as much as I wish I loved them I’m forever doomed to only “like them a lot.” Golden Dawn, however, does something else to me. There are awesome high-powered, twangy, jangly guitars, weird folk rock, backwards guitars, chimes, lyrics about “crystal visions of an opened mind,” high-pitched vibrato shrieks/ singing, and this shit is so Texas there’s not a sitar in sight. This music delves deep in what it was to be a Texan psychonaut. I sincerely believe that these songs are trying to be nothing else aside from what they are, and in that they are modest in their ridiculous ambitions. They set out to do what the Elevators tried to do with Psychedelic Sounds Of. Transplant the Old Way with the New Way. They may have not succeeded for the human race, but they sure as hell succeeded for me.

Soft Machine – Vol. 1

What do you get when you mix Mike Ratledge’s fuzzy mind-fucking, wild Hammond, Kevin Ayers’ glorious goofy-assed self and song-writing skillz, Robert Wyatt’s ragged-in-perfection style drumming and goofy song-writing skillz, and Cliff Burton’s thumping, clunky bass? Some pretty goofy and super-duper nuts psychedelia in the “traditional” Canterbury style. I’ve been in love with this album since I first laid ears on it, and until I found Golden Dawn it was my all time favorite record in existence. Now it’s tied for #1, I could spin this baby over and over and over. Although not loved by all, if you can just see a glimmer of the genius that went into this strange album then you’re just as lucky as me. I can’t even describe the feeling I get when I listen to this album. Just plain good shit.

The Kinks – Are The Village Green Preservation Society

Okay, I lied. The past two may be tied for best album ever, but let’s add this to the mix. This beloved Kinks flop from smack in the middle of the “Golden Era of Pop Music” (66-69) (well, disco was great pop music, but I’m talking about song-writing here, kids) isn’t too obscure but damn is it great. It’s hard to pick one song that I’d rather listen to alone than with the rest (if I had to maybe I’d choose Big Sky, maaaybe), but it’s even harder to pick one song that I don’t want to listen to at all. When I first started listening to VGPS I used to skip over Last of the Steam Powered Trains ’cause I was pretty much over ’60s guys trying to be badass with bluesy riffs. Leave the spirit of the blues to Skip James or Electric Wizard, I say. But now, even that song has grown on me. Every song is just a plain ol’ good fucking song. And some of the best arrangements this side of the Andromeda Galaxy. There’s no way anyone can listen to this and not be blown away how well crafted of an album this is, perfect in modest concept (every good concept album must be modest: S.F. Sorrow totally successful, VGPS totally successful, Tommy totally unsuccessful). This album shines.

Kevin Ayers – Shooting At The Moon

When you ignore the arty experimental tracks that are mostly silent with some shitty atonal crap sprinkled around, this is actually a brilliant album. I don’t know what was going on in Mr. Ayers’ head when he did that, because that’s the one thing holding me back from making this THE Numero Uno. That being said Ayers’ deep, smoooooth voice is slathered on these super well-written, kiiiinda-cosmic (emphasis on kinda), but mostly just goofy/romantic pop songs. And goofy/romantic pop is what I’m all about. These songs really work. Where Joy of a Toy fails, Shooting at the Moon succeeds in terms of writing. The lyrics are quirky in a way that isn’t sickening (jeez I hate that word) and the music is just great. This is one of the few albums I don’t feel like would benefit from being more demented. I mean, name one person that hates Clarence In Wonderland?

Kevin Ayers – Joy of a Toy

This album is fucking great, but it’s baaaasically only up here by default because Shooting at the Moon’s got the aforementioned “experimental” tracks. That being said, every song is great and even goofier than Shooting at the Moon. The opener is optimally ridiculous, and not ONE of these songs fails to make my mouth stretch from ear to ear rendering my face just as goofy as the tunes. From Joy of a Toy to All This Crazy Gift of Time, I’m happy. That being said, I’m not quite sure why this isn’t my favorite album ever. It’s a total recipe for success, but there’s something holding it back…I don’t know. Best not to dwell on the negative and just enjoy it, right? Right.

Syd Barrett – Madcap Laughs

This is an old standard. Has been my favorite album since I was 13 and I first heard Terrapin. Every time I played this in the car as a kid my dad would complain that “this guy doesn’t even know how to play guitar.”But that’s pretty much the magic of the album. This one is appropriately demented, perfectly dolloped with acid-drowned silly/romantic songwriting and played by the main man himself, Syd. This shouldn’t be new to anyone but it simply must be mentioned. The two gems here for me have always been Terrapin and Here I Go. Hearing this is kind of like getting kicked in the head at a carnival after just meeting a really cute girl, and music doesn’t get any better than that, does it?

Mothers of Invention – We’re Only In It For The Money

Another album with sentimental value, I’m not even sure if this album is any good anymore, but I definitely love it. One of the only Frank Zappa albums that’s actually funny, I’ve been spinning this puppy since I was about 12. We’ve had a rocky road (went through an “I Hate Frank Zappa” phase) but we’ve reunited once again and it feels gooood. Just a bunch of hairy guys gettin’ silly and playing around in the studio. No real solid songs here that I’d pinpoint (maybe What’s The Ugliest Part Of Your Body, maaaybe) but as a whole it’s a good, goofy spin.

Washington Phillips – Key to the Kingdom

This is what gospel is meant to sound like! Dinky, jangly, sparkly, homemade instruments by the mystery man himself make up the body of this album (more like a compilation of all his recorded material), with his divine voice hovering slightly above each tune. This is the kind of music that makes you believe in a Christian God. Kind of makes you feel like you’re a cartoon character and you’ve been hit so hard in the head that your floating up to heaven with some tweeting bluebirds flying around your dented skull. A bunch of pretty dittys that blow my mind every time. Huge in their modesty, these songs are possibly the best songs of the 1920s. Maybe even best of the first half of the 20th century, and there’s not even any kazoo/comb-with-tissue-paper so you know these songs must be good.

The Velvet Underground – The Velvet Underground

Another album that shouldn’t be new to anyone but still fantastic all the same, the third album by the VU has always and will always be my favorite of their albums (even though my favorite VU song is Here She Comes Now on White Light/White Heat). It’s just one of those instances where the songs are just so cohesive, really melt into one another while still remaining seperate gems all their own. It just fucking works. Jangly and garagey and totally rock and roll. This is Reed and the gang when they were just playing music, and playing it weird. Before “songs” got in the way of anything (like on the aaalmost hunk of crap save Who Loves The Sun and Oh Sweet Nuthin’, Loaded). Simply good, kinda weird pop music strung together masterfully into one smoooooth listen.

And last but not least:

Love – Four Sail

I feel guilty for loving this album so much, but I really do. Whether an Arthur Lee solo album or a Love album doesn’t matter one bit to me, because these are just some fucking JAMS! Strange mix of jazz, folk rock, and psychedelia that’s unlike any other Love album. For a little while when I first came into possession of this gem I was in love with Dream and Always See Your Face so I pretty much only spun Side 2. After getting my fair share of said Side, I branched out into Side 1 and realized this whole album is amazing. After a few listens, every song gives me that warm feeling of future-nostalgia. This music sounds 60s futuristic, not in the sense that they’re using any specific advanced technology like a Moog or tape effects, but just the melding of musical styles into one warm, fuzzy mess. Maybe that doesn’t make a lick of sense, but the sounds on here surpass anything the “real” Love ever put out (in my humble opinion). I’d still argue that Side 2 works better than Side 1 (even though there’s kind of an Eleanor Rigby ripoff on Side 2 called Robert Montgomery, but even that song is awesome). Still all great jams though.

Album: Hot Rats

Artist: Frank Zappa

Year: 1969

Label: Bizarre/Reprise

Why you should hear it: Because it is one of the most influential albums in the jazz fusion genre. If you’re like me, you like anything involving jazz and rock, especially if it involves the prolific Zappa. A true master of music in all of its forms, Zappa had recently left the infamous Mothers of Invention to compose, arrange, and produce this first album to be released under his name alone. At times tightly arranged and others only loosely structured, Hot Rats’ musical prowess never lets up. From the popular Peaches en Regalia to the shape-shifting It Must Be A Camel, this album demonstrated the depth Zappa’s music had and hinted at the sound he would cultivate over the next few albums.

If you gotta pick one: Track 5 – The Gumbo Variations – call me a sucker for extended jazz jams, but this song’s groove doesn’t slow down for nearly 17 minutes. You get a sax solo, a bass solo, a guitar solo, a drum solo, and a violin solo. The only thing you don’t get is a chance to breathe. Fans of the genre should not miss out on Zappa’s technique or his unique approach to writing.

CW

Zappa / Ensemble Modern
The Yellow Shark
(Music For Nations)

När Frank Zappa var i Sverige runt 1969-70, vill jag minnas, och höll presskonferens i Kaknästornet i Stockholm fick jag och en kompis en extremt fånig men ändå rätt fascinerande idé. Vi skulle skriva en bok om Zappa, kom vi på. Ja, egentligen skulle han själv skriva boken.

Idén gick nämligen ut på att han alltid skulle ha en liten bärbar och helst ljudstyrd kassettbandspelare i fickan och varje gång han fick en idé eller hade något annat på hjärtat så skulle han prata in sina tankar på bandspelaren. Kassett efter kassett skulle han skicka till oss och så skulle vi redigera boken.

Men nej, tyvärr, Zappa nobbade.

Jag hängde på låset och köpte debuten med Mothers of Invention, “Freak Out” (1966), och Zappas första skiva med “klassisk” musik, “Lumpy Gravy” 
(-68), var en av mina favoritplattor tills någon skurk stal den ur skivhyllan.

Men sen har jag inte följt Frank Zappa. Rättare sagt: jag har inte klarat av att följa Zappa. Hans öron var inte mina. Hans musik (plural!) är bara delvis min(a).

Också hans åsikter var bara delvis mina. Därför retade eller förbryllade han mej lika ofta som han roade och förtjuste. Men det förringar inte musikern och – framför allt inte – kompositören Francis Vincent Zappa. (Nej, fel av mig. Han hette Frank Vincent Zappa, ändrat efter påpekande.) Det förringar honom inte det minsta!

Han var en av de stora, en av de största. Han är en av 1900-talets främsta kompositörer – oavsett musikgenre. Och bättre sluttoner än på albumet “The Yellow Shark” kunde han inte ha fått. (Fast “sluttoner”… Det finns mängder med burkade Zappa-inspelningar som säkert kommer på skiva framöver.)

Ensemble Modern, en nutida klassisk orkester från Tyskland, framför Zappa-musik inför publik. Musiken växlar – mellan styckena och mellan takterna i ett och samma stycke från rock till klassiskt, från spräck till melodi, från humor till allvar osv, osv.

Ensemble Modern lyckas fånga så många av dessa språng och nyanser som någon, inkl. Zappa själv, kan/kunde begära. Resultatet är mästerligt.

(Ur ”Erikssons Skivmeny” i Galago 1994)

I typed the word ”cosmic” into the search bar and got some interesting results that I’ve already come across but figured they were noteworthy of sharing.

Happy Mothers Day!  Learn more about your Mothers!

Hello again folks on this fine Easter Monday 13th April, well that’s Easter over for another year. Did you over indulge in Easter Eggs? I didn’t. But whether you did or didn’t check out this great short film which explains where those gooey little critters Cadburys Creme Eggs come from. Let me know what you think of it.

So on with the usual crap starting with a birthday. Today would have been the 64th birthday of Lowell George off of Little Feat, but sadly he died from a heart attack in 1979 aged just 34. He was born in Hollywood where his father became known as ‘furrier to the stars’ his Dad raised chinchilla’s to provide Hollywood’s biggest stars with fur coats! He was also a member of Frank Zappa’ Mothers Of Invention at one time. Lowell was one of the first along with Ry Cooder to bring the slide guitar into rock music. He also played guitar on JJ Cale’s 1973 album ‘Paris 1919′ (thank you for Rocky for pointing out my error here, it was in fact John Cale and not JJ Cale. I’ll put it down to my age and imbibing a few beers whilst writing this post! Apologies to all concerned, in particular John and JJ) He found fame as a producer as well, he produced the Grateful Dead’s 1978 album ‘Shakedown Street’. Little Feat’s name arose partly because of Lowell’s short stumpy feet. Here are the wonderful Little Feat with “Dixie Chicken” live at the Rainbow in London in 1977.

Lowell had decided to change his image with the aid of a Rasta wig

On this day in 1956 the UK Top 20 became a Top 30, how things have moved on since those days of 78rpm shellac discs when rock ‘n’ roll was still in nappies (or diapers if you’re reading this in the North American colonies across the big pond!)

Londonbeat reached the top of the US charts with “I’ve Been Thinking About You” which also hit number 2 in the UK. The band’s lead singer was Jimmy Helms who had a solo hit in the early 70’s with “Gonna Make You An Offer You Can’t Refuse” At various times the band or it’s members provided backing vocals for Paul Young, Godley and Creme, Shakespears Sister, Dead Or Alive and Deacon Blue. At one time they were also signed to Dave Stewart’s Anxious Records. My favourite Londonbeat song is “9 A.M. (The Comfort Zone)” click the title to hear it.

After Londonbeat's new spectacles arrived they realised what a spectacle they had made of themselves with their ridiculous headgear

And finally on this day in 2002 burglars broke into a house in Bexhill, Sussex, in England where they stole a hi fi system and a number of CDs. They left behind albums by Madonna, Robbie Williams (good taste then!) and Oasis (well as long as it wasn’t either of the first two albums that’s ok). However, this is the strange part, they did steal the owner’s entire collection of Showaddywaddy CD’s. Very strange indeed but let’s be honest Showaddywaddy are significantly more talented than Robbie! Here are those Showaddywaddy boys with their first UK hit “Hey Rock ‘N’ Roll” OK fact fans did you know that the first Showaddywaddy single was originally going to be “Sugar Baby Love” which was eventually taken to number one by the Rubettes. It still has the ‘bop showaddy, bop showaddywaddy’ refrain in the chorus

In spite of his innocent look the rest of the band could tell by the smell who had just farted!

A very good Kiwi friend of mine (hello Fraser) also had the misfortune to have been burgled a few years ago and his hi fi, TV and the like were all stolen. Along with most of his CD’s, whilst he had no Showaddywaddy CDs, well none that he was prepared to admit to anyway, the thieves left all his Joe Satriani CDs in his flat. I do like to listen to Mr Satriani occasionally, however we did tease Fraser mercilessly about this for a while. So Fraser if you’re reading this I’m sorry mate and here is Mr Satriani especially for you! (just click his name)

Joe was very proud of his acheivement of knitting himself a new guitar with those magic invisible knitting needles

Frank and I planted new cucumber and red pepper yesterday. After a morning of first of the month errands we hauled out the heavy bags of soil filled a tote box full of organic soil and put in the newbies.

The red pepper is in the middle. This may be an unrealistic amount of room for everybody but we’ll make it work.

I can trim and tend to the greenies like a motie.

Vegetation, I salute you.

Vegetation, dear departed Brian Jones salutes you.

The sun calls you out of the ground. Its radiant warmth pulls you from below.

Brian Jones wants to go. Brian Jones wants to go.

Something kept you sleeping, but in your tiny seed a promise.

Your energy unleashed by light.

You could feed the world. You could clean the air and look so beautiful while in the midst of your charity.

You are so willing to lay on my plate.

Vegetation, be yourself. Be organic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

DarcyArts, where rock takes a vegetable for a bride.

Ah! Do you hear it? Strains of the Mothers of Invention.

Soprano sax sez: da da da da da da da da da .

Ray Collins (vocals)
Jimmy Carl Black (drums)
Billy Mundi (drums)
Roy Estrada (bass)
Don Preston (keyboards)
Bunk Gardner (woodwinds)
Motorhead Sherwood (soprano, baritone saxophone)

(Cheesey, Cheesey)
(This is a song about vegetables, they keep ya regular
They’re real good for yo)

Call any vegetable Call it by name
Call one today When you get off the train
Call any vegetable And the chances are good
Aw, The vegetable will respond to you

(Some people don’t go for prunes…I
don’t know, I’ve always found that if they…)
Call any vegetable Pick up your phone
Think of a vegetable Lonely at home
Call any vegetable And the chances are good
That a vegetable will respond to you

Rutabaga, Rutabaga,
Rutabaga, Rutabaga,
Rutabay-y-y-y…

(A prune isn’t really a vegetable…
CABBAGE is a vegetable…)

No one will know
If you don’t want to let them know
No one will know
‘Less it’s you that might tell them so
Call and they’ll come to you
Covered with dew
Vegetables dream, Of responding to you

Standing there shiny and proud by your side
Holding your hand while the neighbors decide
Why is a vegetable something to hide?

March – 1972 – Just Another Band From LA – The Mothers

This great album starts off with a 25 min track consisting of Zappa´s usual hilarious crazy commentary about a mountain named Billy whose wife was a tree which growed off his shoulder called Ethyl!! Brilliant. The album´s rock virtuosity isn´t as good as some of the other Mothers and Zappa stuff, but still a classic in my eyes. my fav trck though has to be “Dog Breath”, a perfectly flowing piece of music with a fantastic rock guitar solo to boot.

Listen to it here.

...but lack of money did them in.

Although Frank Zappa enoyed an extremely long and prolific career and is revered by most as one of the most important artists of the twentieth century, the real Mothers of Invention was a very short-lived group. And while Zappa would go on to play with some of the most technically proficient musicians in rock (like guitarists Adrian Belew and Steve Vai and drummer Terry Bozzio), many believe he never had a better band than the original Mothers.

While sloppy and unkempt – okay, borderline filthy – in their personal appearance; the Mothers combined comedic chops with an incredible versatilty in rock, blues, soul, swing and jazz, even though half of them were classically trained and the other half couldn’t read music at all. They started to take off after a residency at the Garrick Theatre in New York City, where every show was a unique performance involving a revolving set of music, improvisational comedy and audience interaction. Their recordings seemed out of place for the times (AM radio pop and emerging hippie rock) and their label (Verve, a jazz imprint), but have stood the test of time as stone cold classics.

There are a lot of great books about Frank Zappa, but I really enjoyed Necessity Is by Billy James because it focused upon the early Mothers and let them speak for themselves. That’s also why I really enjoy the latest DVD documentary about the band, because I got to see and hear about it from Jimmy Carl Black and Don Preston and Bunk Gardner directly. If you’re a fan, you need to grab this now.

The Mothers of Invention this week are...

Read my review of the In the 1960’s DVD in Blurt.

***

ANNIVERSARIO. Compie 40 anni la più controversa unione della storia della musica. Usurpatrice per molti, «orrenda» per Starr, la Ono fu parafulmine della crisi dei Beatles e «madre» per John. Che onora ogni anno accendendo una candela.

Sono passati esattamente quarant’anni dal 20 marzo del 1969. A Gibilterra, si corona l’unione di John Winston Lennon e Yoko Ono: non un semplice matrimonio, ma un happening imperniato sullo slogan pace & amore, che verrà replicato per giorni all’Hotel Hilton di Amsterdam, con una serie di interviste collettive, i famosi bed-in, e il lancio dell’inno Give Peace A Chance. I due sposi si sono conosciuti a Londra, tre anni prima, all’Indica Gallery. All’epoca lei è già trentatreenne, maritata due volte e con una figlia; Lennon, invece, ha ventisei anni, una moglie, Cynthia, e un figlio, Julian. Lei espone le sue opere performative. Lui, uno dei quattro Beatles «più famosi di Gesù Cristo», tenta di irriderla, ma, per dirla con le sue stesse parole, ne rimane «totalmente stregato». Installazioni in movimento, come nella scia artistico-concettuale del gruppo Fluxus, a cui questa alto-borghese di Tokyo appartiene fin dall’inizio: fra le altre, una scala che “dice sì”, grazie a uno straniante gioco di riflessi. L’aneddotica vuole che sia stata proprio questa scala a invaghire John. Ci vorranno un paio d’anni, poi, per definire uno dei legami più dibattuti della storia del pop.

Nel frattempo, si è scatenata una bufera fra i diversi spiriti della band di Liverpool. Il manifesto psichedelico di Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (agosto 1967) ha avviato un processo a catena, magari inconsapevole, che porterà però alla perdita dell’innocenza non solo dei Beatles, ma di tutto un movimento. John è da sempre più irrequieto e irriverente degli altri: ha già pubblicato un paio di libriccini, partecipa come attore a un film di Richard Lester (Come ho vinto la guerra, 1967) e il legame con Yoko gli dà lo spunto per nuove avventure, ancora più stranianti: dischi di rumori e sperimentazioni, spesso velleitari (Unifinished Music N.1 – Two Virgins, Unfinished Music N.2 – Life With Lions e il mitico The Wedding Album, con assaggio virtuale della torta nuziale), intervallati con le produzioni maggiori dei Fab Four.

Insomma, l’odio che la giapponese si è attirata nel corso del tempo ne testimonia paradossalmente la rilevanza nella crescita personale di Lennon: uno che la chiamava mamma, e che dalla mamma vera era stato parecchio trascurato. Difficile sminuirne il ruolo: Yoko Ono è stata colei che è riuscita, in qualche modo, a spingere John fuori dal recinto, abbastanza confortevole, di un meccanismo dorato ma sempre più asfittico, chiamato Beatles. Videomaker, scultrice, performer, cantante (come minimo dissonante), musicista, ha spiegato all’indole eternamente insicura del compagno che era il momento di osare. È pure grazie a lei, se esistono capolavori del calibro di Imagine, Working Class Hero o Instant Karma.

Una figura rigeneratrice, quindi, a cui si farà riferimento continuo nelle ultime canzoni dei Beatles. Per esempio, è lei la Mother Superior di Happiness Is A Warm Gun, o, in Julia, la bambina dell’Oceano, traduzione letterale del suo nome giapponese). Un personaggio che finirà per mettere progressivamente in evidenza le contraddizioni interne alla formazione di Liverpool. Contraddizioni lampanti nel cosiddetto Album Bianco, il doppio vinile uscito a ottobre del 1968: lì ciascuno, perfino Ringo, agisce in perfetta solitudine, in una specie di copia & incolla creativo. Così, durante la sua lavorazione, esplodono i primi veri contrasti: «Ogni tanto Yoko si avvicinava ai microfoni e cominciava a cantare: uno strazio. In una occasione la lasciammo completamente sola, e pure John le urlò di finirla» (Paul).

Il ruolo di usurpatrice di uno spazio, in cui prima c’erano solo quattro maschietti a giocare, non le verrà mai perdonato da molti dei beatlesiani più accaniti. Facile parafulmine per una crisi ben più grave e complessa, la «donna più brutta che una rockstar potesse avere» (sono parole di Ringo) dovrà scontare l’idolatria dell’innamorato con l’astio feroce degli altri tre. Il resto della storia della band, dopo il White Album, sarà un litigio continuo, più o meno celato al grande pubblico, fino al commiato rapsodico dei quasi contemporanei Abbey Road (1969) e Let It Be.

Comunque, in quel marzo di quarant’anni fa, in pieno clima di attivismo e pacifismo, la coppia Ono-Lennon sta per inziare un sodalizio fatto di canzoni e Lp di tutto rispetto: una fase di politicizzazione in crescendo, che parte con Live Peace In Toronto, del 1969, e arriva all’apice con il doppio Sometimes in New York City (1972), un’opera oggi ancora emozionante, con un disco intero speso a improvvisare con le Mothers Of Invention zappiane.
«Quando ho incontrato John e ci siamo messi a fare cose assieme, a cominciare dai bed-in, mi chiese esplicitamente di smettere di lavorare con i vecchi compagni. Pensai “Va bene, come artista sarò finita”, e così fu. Ero molto romantica, all’epoca, e accettai la situazione senza nessun tipo di rimpianto. Impegnarsi nello scrivere canzoni, una cosa che non avevo mai fatto, era eccitante. Dopo la morte di John, pensavo di essere morta anch’io. Allora, ho cominciato a concentrarmi su quello che aveva lasciato, e tutti hanno detto che lo stavo usando, pure da morto. Sono andata avanti lo stesso. Adesso, dopo molto tempo, c’è chi ha riscoperto i miei lavori: mi hanno addirittura dato una laurea ad honorem. Tutto torna, alla fine: non bisogna spaventarsi di fare ciò che si crede giusto, in nessun caso».

Una missione, insomma, non priva di spine. Dopo i grandi slanci, Lennon getterà via dalla finestra tutto, sia il candore di Imagine, sia la storia con Yoko: saranno i cosiddetti Lost Weekends, fatti di bevute e di una nuova, fugace compagna, Mary Peng, una “segretaria” scelta dalla stessa Ono, di incredibili atti d’ira, di amici più e meno raccomandabili, della dipendenza da eroina, delle difficoltà per il visto americano. Diciotto mesi di separazione e poi il ritorno a casa, nel 1975, con la nascita di Sean e la scelta di ritirarsi dalle scene, per cinque lunghi anni. Al rientro, ci saranno subito ad attenderlo i colpi di pistola di Michael Chapman, l’8 dicembre 1980, sotto il Dakota Building di New York. Rimarranno i suoni di una rinascita, spezzata: quelli di Double Fantasy. Un disco a metà fra i due e che, oggi, suona quasi più convincente nei pezzi ideati e cantati da Yoko.

Con il tempo, lei arriverà a riappacificarsi con il grande nemico, Paul. Insieme vareranno il progetto Anthology (1995), lungo film di memorie e tre doppi dischi di materiale inedito e scarti di studio: da allora, ogni tanto salteranno fuori dal cassetto registrazioni mai sentite, progetti nuovi (per esempio, il Let It Be Naked, di sei anni fa, oppure la pianificazione, prevista per quest’anno, di una ripubblicazione ad alta definizione dell’intero corpus beatlesiano) e inevitabili affari, per entrambi.

Yoko celebra il compleanno di John, ogni 25 ottobre, accendendo una candela. Ha raggiunto una discreta sobrietà. Molti di coloro che la disprezzavano, oggi la stimano. La fedeltà giurata quattro decenni fa sembra, in qualche modo, ancora intatta. E fruttuosa. Ma su questo, l’ultima parola spetta a Miss Lennon: «chi pensa che io mi sia messa con John per arricchirmi è pazzo. Io sono nata ricca».

Welcome to the weekend good people, bad people and those who aren’t sure. It’s time to let your hair down for a couple of days, well metaphorically in my case! It’s 14th March and just one day away from those dastardly Ides, so remember to stay bewared so to speak.

Did you make a donation to Comic Relief yesterday? If not it’s not too late and if you did feel free to donate more. Just click here and remember just £5 will buy a mosquito net for an African child. This could help to eradicate Malaria which is one of the biggest killers of children in Africa. Just think that if everyone who read this blog yesterday donated just £1 that would total £450! For the latest update on Comic Relief click here, the ‘on the day total’ topped £57m!

I have a confession to make about last night’s show though and I can’t believe that I’m about to say this. But Robbie Williams was bloody good last night in the Little Britain sketch. To be fair he wasn’t singing, thankfully but nonetheless he was good. Click here to see the sketch. What do you think of it?

That little devil Robbie Williams raids the tranny dressing up box with David Walliams and Matt Lucas

We continue todays post with a few contributions from some regular readers. Firstly thank you to Tom who passed on a great video and indeed a potentially great band today. We were talking at the Hospital Radio Station on Wednesday night about Ringo Starr’s solo efforts, which in my opinion have been somewhat patchy. Anyway Tom mentioned that there was an excellent video on YouTube promoting the current single from a band called Blame Ringo, click on the song title to see it, it is all filmed at the famous Abbey Road zebra crossing that was featured on the cover of the Beatles Abbey Road album. The song is called “Garble Arch (A Day In The Life Of Abbey Road)” So tell me, how many of you have had your picture taken on that crossing? Feel free to mail a copy to me and I’ll happily publish it in the blog for you. Blame Ringo’s website is pretty good too, click here to check it out.

This Beatles fan makes his feelings clear about Ringo having a bum deal even if he wasn't the best drummer in the band. To be fair Meg White wasn't the best drummer in the White Stripes either!

I found this while I was searching for a Blame Ringo picture. So I had to include it. Why? Because I can of course! Indeed it even features Catwoman as well

Secondly here’s a great tip off from Nick H who lives in what used to be the hometown of Mary Shelley who wrote the rather spiffing Frankenstein. Nick has given us an excellent link to a brilliant cover of Gary Numan’s “Are Friends Electric?” by Jack White’s new band ‘Dead Weather’. It consists of Jack himself, obviously, Allison Mosshart from the Kills on vocals, Jack Lawrence from the Raconteurs and Dean Fertita from Queens of the Stone Age. Click the song title for the video and click here for the band’s web site.

Jack tried to warn Allison that she was about to feel a little prick....... from the thorn bush of course, you readers are just sooooooo rude!

And finally for those readers contributions here is a brief one from Marcy. She wanted me to let you know that she lives a mere stones throw (well if you can throw a stone 7.1 miles) from Mr Davy Jones off of the Monkees. Davy also plays a few shows in Marcy’s home town too. Do any other readers live near a celebrity? Let me know and maybe I can include it in a future post

A horse walks into Davy's Bar and orders a beer, Davy serves him and says "why the long face?"

Anyway let’s move on with the trivia and useful/ useless (delete as appropriate) information for today.

Firstly the birthdays and today is the 63rd birthday of Jim Pons who was the bass player for classic 60s band the Turtles who had a massive hit with the classic (ok so I’ve overdone the classic superlative, so what?) “Happy Together”. Jim didn’t join the band until after that though. He was also a member of Frank Zappa’s Mothers Of Invention. The Turtles first hit was a cover of Bob Dylan’s “It Ain’t Me Babe”. Before this they were called Crossfires From The Planet Mars. Another classic Turtles hit was “She’d Rather Be with Me” which does indeed feature Jim on bass.

Everyone else had walked across the Abbey Road crossing, but the Turtles had to show off by crawling across

The second and last of our birthdays today is the 26th birthday of Jordan Taylor Hanson. He was, somewhat obviously, a member of Hanson who had a massive hit with “MMMBop“. I must confess that I love that song, a true guilty pleasure is that one I suppose. Does anyone else admit to liking it? Jordan preferred to be known by his middle name Taylor and he was just 14 at the height of “MMMBop’s” success. The band have the honour of appearing twice in TV’s Celebrity Death Match. The first time they fought the Spice Girls and both they and the Spice Girls were killed by a chainsaw toting Marilyn Manson. Bizarrely they came back for a rematch with Manson (hey I wonder if it was billed as Manson vs Hanson?), they lost again after Zac Hanson lost control of the chainsaw. Please note that Celebrity Death Match was not real and no stars were harmed during the making of it. Although there are some I would like to see on a real version! any guesses or suggestions? Incidentally fact fans, “MMMBop” has been featured as House’s mobile phone ring tone in House MD.

On further investigation it became clear that Hanson were in fact Triamese twins who shared four legs and three heads

On this day in 1985 the mighty Frankie Goes To Hollywood played a show at the Sheffield City Hall in the UK. The band were absolutely mega in 84/ 85 with their first three singles all reaching number one in the UK. At that point they were only the second group ever to achieve that feat after Gerry and the Pacemakers in the 60s. There are various stories as to how the band got their name all relate to a newspaper or magazine headline of a star going to Hollywood. To be perfectly Frank it was one of the following Franks; Frank Sinatra, Frankie Vaughan (one of my Mum’s favourite singers!) or English comedian Frankie Howard (titter ye not!). “Relax” had reached number 6 in the UK charts after an appearance on Top Of The Pops and then the infamous Mike Read banning incident occurred. Allegedly Mike objected to the sexual content of the lyric, this of course gave the band and the song such publicity it shot to (read no innuendo into that smutty people) number one, where it stayed for 5 weeks. The follow up “Two Tribes” went to number one and stayed there for a phenomenal 9 weeks at the same time “Relax” climbed back to number 2. The third single “The Power Of Love” was number one for a short period in December 1984. It’s nativity themed video means that is still seen as a Christmas song by many, but I’m not convinced! The rise of Frankie also led to a proliferation of ‘FRANKIE SAY……’ Tee shirts. Here are the Frankie’s with “Relax” on Channel 4’s the Tube in late 1983.

They had reached page 42 in the Kama Sutra but now neither of them had a hand free to turn to the next page

And finally on this day in 1991 REM played the first of two nights at London’s Borderline billed as Bingo Hand Job. Not only did they come up with a different name for the band they also gave each other new names for the shows; Michael Stipe was the Reverend Bingo, Peter Buck became Raoul, Bill Berry was the Doc and Mike Mills had the honour (?) of being Stinky. Out of those I would rather have been called the Reverend Bingo but a number of people have told me that Stinky would be more appropriate. Hmmmmmm I’m not sure why that is Anyway to finish here are REM with the Muppets on a cracking version of “Furry Happy Monsters“

Michael had heard that many dog owners resembled their dogs, but.......

..... he hadn't realised that he was starting to look like his gargoyle!

I just read the latest post by Jennifer New (one of my favorite mom bloggers) who writes the Blog “Mothers of Invention.” She wrote about working on “kid time” and how it reorders our lives as mothers (read her post here: http://jennifernew.wordpress.com/2009/03/09/working-on-kid-time/).

It’s so funny how, after having three kids for almost seven years now, I still forget to factor in “kid time” as Jennifer calls it.

I told a friend last week that if my husband would just agree to take three weeks off of work to babysit the kids, and therefore relieve me of my mommy duties, I would write a book, publish it, create an entirely new teleseminar series and coaching program, write my next several blogposts and newsletter articles, get hired by 10 new clients, and drop 25 pounds (due to not getting up from the computer to eat since I would be so happy to finally be the productive person I want to be)!!!

Sometimes I get frustrated since I have all this creativity, energy and passion to do my work, but am constantly interrupted by someone who needs a snack, to be wiped, wants to snuggle in my lap and play with my hair or my zipper, needs help building their pillow fort, or to play referree in a sibling war. Sometimes I’m able to shift from my work to my natural mothering-love mode. Other times I shout and fiercely defend my space like a territorial pit bull. Tears fall. Guilt engulfs. But eventually, we all get over it.

I don’t beat myself up for any of it. This is just what it looks like to be a mother, where my kids are always my priority, but also a human who has her own interests that are extremely worthwhile.

Now, off to clean up the puddle of pee my daughter just made on the floor.

Frank Zappa & the Mothers Of Invention “Boy Wonder Sessions” [zip]

Here’s a strange one for you: Burt Ward aka TV’s Robin from the 60’s Batman show recorded a fan record with Frank Zappa. I found this on some message board last year, then listened to it once I got to LA and it makes surprisingly good bus music. The zip includes outtakes and alternates, so enjoy the awkwardness. Judo Chop!

I read the obits every day. I read them in my local paper, in the papers from the towns in which I grew up and in the Los Angeles Times, which has some of the best obits. I write them, too.

I wish I would have written this line. It’s from my friend Larry over at Funky 16 Corners. It was a comment on one of my posts earlier this year:

“The first thing I do almost every day is check the New York Times obit page. Therein lie all manner of stories that would otherwise be forgotten, the last stop for really interesting people.”

Looking back at 2008, these folks made their last stop. This is my list. You have yours, and vive le difference.

Lee Sherman Dreyfus, 81, Jan. 2. LSD was Wisconsin’s governor when I was starting out in the newspaper business in the late ’70s. This former speech professor always wore a red vest and had a pencil-thin mustache. He campaigned from a school bus in 1978. I once was part of a panel of journalists … or college students … or both … at which he and the other candidate appeared. I remember nothing about it. Too much LSD, perhaps.

Howard Washington, 98, Jan. 15. The security guard at the Warner Bros. Records parking lot in Los Angeles. No, Madonna, you may not park here. You neither, Prince.

Suzanne Pleshette, 70, Jan. 19. Ooooh, those looks, that sassy attitude and that sultry, smoky voice. I always had a thing for her.

Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, 91, Feb. 5. Meet the Beatles, expand their minds.

Charlie Ryan, 92, Feb. 16. Riding that “Hot Rod Lincoln” into legend. He wrote it. (This version by Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen, from “We’ve Got a Live One Here!” 1976.)

Jeff Healey, 41, March 2. We spent a night with Healey in Memphis in the late ’80s. We were listing to his music. It got fairly drunk out.

Gloria Shayne Baker, 84, March 6. She wrote the modern Christmas classic “Do You Hear What I Hear?”

Ivan Dixon, 76, March 16. Sgt. Kincheloe and so much more.

Bob Kames, 82, April 9. You know you want to do the Chicken Dance, made famous by this Milwaukee organist.

Al Wilson, 68, April 21. “The Snake” and “Show and Tell” and so much more.

Here then, “The Snake,” from “Searching For the Dolphins,” 1968, (available on “Searching for the Dolphins: The Complete Soul City Recordings and More, 1967-1971.”) and “Show and Tell,” from “Show and Tell,” 1973 (available on “Show & Tell: The Best of Al Wilson,” a 2004 CD release).

Dick Martin, 86, May 24. Sock it to me? Godfather of a thousand junior high catchphrases.

Earle Hagen, 88, May 26. You know all his classic TV theme songs … and “Harlem Nocturne,” too.

Harvey Korman, 81, May 29. No, it’s Hedley Lamarr! Seeing him surrender to Tim Conway was even better.

Bo Diddley, 78, June 2. “Sixteen Tons,” my ass. Remember how he pissed off Ed Sullivan? (From “Bo Diddley is a Gunslinger,” 1960.)

George Carlin, 71, June 22. My dad found him increasingly less amusing. I found him increasingly amusing. That is how fathers’ sons start to become their own men.

Isaac Hayes, 65, Aug. 10. Imagine you are 14 and you listen to the “Shaft” soundtrack day after day. That is how a record collection starts.

Wonderful Smith, 97, Aug. 28. There was a man named Wonderful, and it was his real name. Everyone from Richard Pryor to Dave Chappelle followed in his footsteps. All this, and Spinal Tap, too.

Gilbert Moorer Jr., 67, Aug. 28. Get on up, and pay tribute to the leader of one of Milwaukee’s great soul bands of the ’60s. “Get On Up,” the Esquires, 1967, from “Get On Up: The Esquires,” a 1995 CD compilation.

Jerry Reed, 71, Sept. 1. The skinniest man I ever saw, and I watched him from backstage one night.

Don LaFontaine, 68, Sept. 1. In a world where we no longer hear his voice on movie trailers …

Norman Whitfield, 67, Sept. 16. I didn’t know his name, but his music greatly influenced the way I looked at life when I was 13.

Paul Newman, 83, Sept. 26. The essence of cool. He made a movie in our town and raced at a track in Wisconsin’s rolling hills. He drank beer. He made “Slap Shot” and “Absence of Malice.” The dressing on my Southwest salads at McDonald’s are Newman’s Own. Good enough for me.

Carmen Rocha, 77, Oct. 9. The waitress who introduced nachos to Los Angeles.

Neal Hefti, 85, Oct. 11. Give me the theme to “The Odd Couple” over the theme to “Batman.” (It’s from 1970 and from “Television’s Greatest Hits, Vol. II,” 1986, which is out of print.)

Edie Adams, 81, Oct. 15. Hey, big spender … why don’t you pick one up and smoke it some time? I’m fairly certain the slinky, sultry Miss Adams was the reason my dad smoked Muriel cigars in the ’60s.

Levi Stubbs, 72, Oct. 17. I am more a Temptations man than a Four Tops man, but I know greatness when I hear it.

Mr. Blackwell, 86, Oct. 19. How will we know who is worst dressed now that the former Richard Sylvan Selzer is gone?

Studs Terkel, 96, Oct. 31. One of America’s legendary journalists and storytellers. The voice of Chicago.

Joe Hyams, 85, Nov. 8. One of Hollywood’s great stories. A New York reporter sent west in 1951 to do a story on illegal immigrants, he did it, then was told to interview Hollywood stars if he saw any. He fell into an invitation to Humphrey Bogart’s house. Bogart offered Hyams a drink. Hyams asked for a Coke. Offended, Bogart said, “I don’t trust a journalist who doesn’t drink.” The tee-totaling Hyams told off Bogart and headed for the door. “Get back here, kid,” Bogart said, “I like you.” It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Irving Brecher, 94, Nov. 17. Another of Hollywood’s great stories. One of the funniest men you never knew. He wrote for Groucho Marx. When they met in 1938, Brecher said “Hello, Mr. Marx.” Groucho responded, “Hello? That’s supposed to be a funny line? Is this the guy who’s supposed to write our movie?” Brecher shot back. “Well, I saw you say ‘hello’ in one of your movies, and I thought it was so funny I’d steal it and use it now.” Groucho smiled, bought him lunch and they were pals forever after. The New York Times’ obit recalled that Brecher once pissed off producer Darryl F. Zanuck by saying his new movie “hadn’t been released; it had escaped.”

Guy Peellaert, 74, Nov. 17. A Belgian pop artist and a designer of album covers, among them David Bowie’s “Diamond Dogs.”

Bob Jeter, 71, Nov. 20. He played for the Green Bay Packers, and I got his autograph when I was a kid.

Alan Gordon, 64, Nov. 22. He and Garry Bonner co-wrote “Happy Together,” a No. 1 hit for the Turtles in 1967 and one of the greatest pop songs ever. Even when done by Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention. (From “Fillmore East — June 1971,” 1971.)

Joern Utzon, 90, Nov. 29. The Danish architect who designed the Sydney Opera House. He never saw the finished building, having left Australia in a huff in 1966 after working there for four years and sparring with government officials over its cost.

Bettie Page, 85, Dec. 11. American cultural, fashion and sexual icon.

W. Mark Felt, 95, Dec. 18. The career FBI man was Deep Throat during Watergate. He helped Bob Woodward (and Carl Bernstein) bring down Nixon. I read “All the President’s Men” as a senior in high school, and it helped convince me — as if I needed convincing — that journalism would be my career. I always hoped I’d learn Deep Throat’s identity in my lifetime.

Dock Ellis, 63, Dec. 19. He claimed to have thrown a no-hitter while on LSD in 1970. File under “Good story if true.”

Eartha Kitt, 81, Dec. 25. “Santa Baby,” of course, but also the best Catwoman ever.

Bernie Hamilton, 80. Dec. 30. Ah, Captain Dobey from the old “Starsky and Hutch” TV show. But did you know he spent the next 20 years producing R&B and gospel records on his Chocolate Snowman label — and even recorded a blues album?

Be sure you make one more round of last stops. Head over to the Locust St. blog, where Chris offers “Absent Friends,” and lots more tunes to accompany it.

Hey, you know people, I’m not black but there’s a whole lotsa times I wish I could say I wasn’t white.

That line from “Trouble Every Day,” inspired by the race riots that scorched through the Watts section of Los Angeles in August 1965, is probably the most nakedly emotional lyric to be found in the Frank Zappa song catalogue. The man was not a confessional songwriter, to put it mildly; sarcasm and absurdist humor were his chief methods for facing the larger world in his music. But when a drunken driving arrest became the spark that sent black residents into the streets to burn, loot and fight with police, Zappa — like anyone watching the smoke rise from the skyline of his own city — could only respond with confusion, anger and sadness. Those feelings burn through “Trouble Every Day,” the best song on Freak Out!, the 1966 debut album from the Mothers of Invention, released barely a month before the first anniversary of the riots.

Well I’m about to get sick
From watchin’ my TV
Been checkin’ out the news
Until my eyeballs fail to see
I mean they say that every day
Is just another rotten mess
And when it’s gonna change, my friends
Is anybody’s guess

So I’m watchin’ and I’m waitin’
Hopin’ for the best
Even think I’ll go to prayin’
Every time I hear ‘em sayin’
That there’s no way to delay
That trouble comin’ every day
No way to delay
That trouble comin’ every day

Wednesday I watched the riot…
I seen the cops out on the street
Watched ‘em throwin’ rocks and stuff
And chokin’ in the heat
Listened to reports
About the whiskey passin’ ’round
Seen the smoke and fire
And the market burnin’ down
Watched while everybody
On his street would take a turn
To stomp and smash and bash and crash
And slash and bust and burn

And I’m watchin’ and I’m waitin’
Hopin’ for the best
Even think I’ll go to prayin’
Every time I hear ‘em sayin’
That there’s no way to delay
That trouble comin’ every day
No way to delay
That trouble comin’ every day

Well you can cool it,
You can heat it…
‘Cause, baby, I don’t need it…
Take your TV tube and eat it
‘N all that phony stuff on sports
‘N all THOSE unconfirmed reports
You know I watched that rotten box
Until my head began to hurt
From checkin’ out the way
The newsmen say they get the dirt
Before the guys on channel so-and-so
And further they assert
That any show they’ll interrupt
To bring you news if it comes up
They say that if the place blows up
They’ll be the first to tell
Because the boys they got downtown
Are workin’ hard and doin’ swell,
And if anybody gets the news
Before it hits the street,
They say that no one blabs it faster
Their coverage can’t be beat

And if another woman driver
Gets machine-gunned from her seat
They’ll send some joker with a Browning
And you’ll see it all complete

So I’m watchin’ and I’m waitin’
Hopin’ for the best
Even think I’ll go to prayin’
Every time I hear ‘em sayin’
That there’s no way to delay
That trouble comin’ every day
No way to delay
That trouble comin’ every day

Hey you know something people
I’m not black
But there’s a whole lotsa times
I wish I could say I’m not white

Well, I seen the fires burnin’
And the local people turnin’
On the merchants and the shops
Who used to sell their brooms and mops
And every other household item
Watched the mob just turn and bite ‘em
And they say it served ‘em right
Because a few of them are white,
And it’s the same across the nation
Black & white discrimination
They’re yellin’ “You can’t understand me!”
And all the other crap they hand me
In the papers and TV
‘N all that mass stupidity
That seems to grow more every day
Each time you hear some nitwit say
He wants to go and do you in
Because the color of your skin
Just don’t appeal to him
(No matter if it’s black or white)
Because he’s out for blood tonight
You know we gotta sit around at home
And watch this thing begin
But I bet there won’t be many left
To see it really end
‘Cause the fire in the street
Ain’t like the fire in the heart
And in the eyes of all these people
Don’t you know that this could start
On any street in any town
In any state if any clown
Decides that now’s the time to fight
For some ideal he thinks is right
And if a million more agree
There ain’t no great society
As it applies to you and me
Our country isn’t free
And the law refuses to see
If all that you can ever be
Is just a lousy janitor
Unless your uncle owns a store
You know that five in every four
Won’t amount to nothin’ more
Then watch the rats go across the floor
And make up songs about being poor
Blow your harmonica son!

This isn’t the place to analyze the roots of the Watts explosion: you can read the McCone Commission’s report on the riots, released in December 1965, and explore the numerous articles from the period. I’ll just note that the title of the report — Violence in the City: An End or a Beginning? — seemed downright prophetic as the decade progressed and the phrase “the long hot summer” took on a newly menacing sound. I wonder if that echoed in Zappa’s head as he wriote these lines:

You know we gotta sit around at home
And watch this thing begin
But I bet there won’t be many left
To see it really end