There’s no question that a number of others were more deeply affected by Frank
Zappa’s death in 1993 than I was. It’s not that I hadn’t appreciated his
talents – far from it – but his passing was, after all, not a surprise; the
cancer which led to his demise had been known of and even publicly announced
years before. And not to sound callous, but the months surrounding Zappa’s
death had signalled the passing of several precious souls (most notably comic
Bill Hicks) who had yet to achieve their full glory, while Zappa had, in his
busy half-century, left an incredible legacy for the rest of mankind to enjoy. Frank Vincent Zappa, it seems, would find little fault with my attitude. He
wrote in his 1988 biography that he did not consider his life – or himself – to
be anything special. He considered himself to be a musician and composer who,
well, played and composed music. One might claim that the sheer volume of his
work was enough to counter any notion of his being less that extraordinary.
Simply creating nearly 60 albums’ worth of material in under 30 years would
seem to indicate a life of worth, without even considering the quality and the
content of the music involved. Fortunately, Zappa’s work far exceeds the merely
prolific. His music, though it was at no particular time the “in” thing, or
perhaps for that very reason, meant a lot to a lot of people
The demand for the continued availability of Zappa’s work speaks volumes about
its timelessness and merit. That demand, in fact, has prompted the Rykodisc
label to undertake a previously unheard-of effort; the nigh-simultaneous
re-release of the entire Zappa catalogue (barring one legally tied-up film
soundtrack). Fifty-three albums in all have been mass-released over the last
few months, some featuring newly restored artwork and improved audio quality,
and all remastered to Zappa’s specifications in the last year of his life. The
mass-reissue is unprecedented, involving albums originally released on several
different record labels over a period of 27 years, with a best-of collection
and a lot of previously unreleased material to follow.
A great percentage of recent discussion of Zappa’s music attempts
to divide his work into two basic and seemingly contradictory groups: the
instrumental side of progressive, experimental jazz, and the lyrical side of
intelligent but often sophomoric and “potty-mouthed,” humorous social
commentary. As one who felt Frank’s presence somewhere off there in the
background from the time I was old enough to set foot in a pawn shop full of
used records (the stifling atmosphere of my closed-minded little hometown
apparently fostered a great deal of interest in Zappa’s art among those who
couldn’t always pay their rent), I look back on what seems to be closer to a
few dozen Zappas.
Sure, the FZ ofHot Rats and Burnt Weeny Sandwich both seem like
the same guy, an avant-garde jazz composer who was creating music far beyond
anything I could appreciate as the 12-year-old I was when I heard those albums,
while the creator of Freak Out, Absolutely Free, and We’re Only in it
for the Money was this fellow who made weird noises and revolutionary
statements that I still didn’t really understand, but was fascinated with
nonetheless. Pretty much all of Zappa’s albums up to the late Seventies fell
into my hands during that time thanks to the local pawn shops, with my response
to the various releases varying greatly; only those that were the most amusing
to the pubescent mind remain in my record rack today. There were the “dirty”
songs like “Dinah-Moe Hum” (Overnite Sensation) and the
then-controversial “Jewish Princess” (Sheik Yerbouti), which he followed
with the equally outrageous “Catholic Girls” (Joe’s Garage) to show he
wasn’t ethnically biased; the funny stuff like “Cheepnis” (Roxy and
Elsewhere‘s brilliant ode to cheesy B-movies recorded years before it was
“hip” to appreciate them); the stinging, disturbing (to a small-town lad) jabs
at the “Plastic People” of the status quo; and of course the sole Top-40 hit
“Valley Girl” (on Ship Arriving Too Late to Save a Drowning Witch) all
colliding at odd angles over a span of oh-so-many records over two and half
decades.
Where does one begin, now that Ryko has made all of Zappa’s work equally
available? Well, starting from the beginning with Freak Out (1966) isn’t
a bad idea. It gives a clear picture of various grounds that Zappa trod, from
dadaist performance art to guiltless, greasy garage rock, while preparing one
for the chaotic majesty of 1968’s Sgt. Pepper dismemberment We’re
Only in it for the Money. For the higher-browed, 1970’s Hot Rats is
the acclaimed full-length foray by Zappa into eclectic instrumental jazz, and a
showcase for his guitar skills. For those raised on FM radio and trying to
gently break the habit, the faux stadium rock of 1981’s You Are What
You Is, propelled by the aural pyrotechnics of ace axeman Stevie Vai and
some of Zappa’s more twisted lyrics (“You is what you am/A cow don’t make
ham”), is a good jumping-off point.
It’s difficult not to be fascinated by the ground covered by this man who
started out with little more than determination and a funny name, and left this
world a renowned composer and satirist, a man who wittily defended music (and
those of us who enjoy it) from censorship at Senate hearings and nearly became
a U.S. ambassador. In between, he recorded so much music that, even with all
that I’ve heard over the years, I feel as though I’ve only encountered the tip
of the iceberg. I’ve aged into appreciation and enjoyment of the jazz elements,
and I’ve only just begun to explore Zappa’s more classically-influenced works.
(Try 1993’s The Yellow Shark for full-blown orchestral Frank.) And yes,
I can’t help but envision how he might have affected the world, both musically
and personally (he came close to running for President in 1988) had he been
given another 27 years to work with.
Zappa will be remembered as a man who never backed down from his adversaries,
never compromised his music, never allowed his views to be censored. To some,
his lyrical low humor may have seemed like little more than an unpleasant trait
keeping him from becoming a “popular artist.” In fact, perhaps the controversy
and the “dirty” aspect of some of his lyrics were intentionally included as an
initial draw to young, plasticized college guys, allowing him to slap them in
the face with a dose of reality in the form of social comment. Who knows how
many listeners were seduced first by silly porn-rockers like “Dirty Love” (from
Overnite Sensation), and followed Zappa into a serious interest in jazz
and classical music? Hell, even those who only listened to a few minutes of any
given Zappa album before giving up and going back to Bad Company ended up a
little smarter than they’d started, whether they wanted to or not. And whether
it took one album, 53 albums, or a million, that’s a hell of a legacy to leave
behind. n
This article appears in July 28 • 1995 and July 28 • 1995 (Cover).